Note
Hyp my good sir, I beg you for more on touch sensitive Dew 🙏
Touch for ghouls is a need. It might be said that it is for humans, too, but it’s different.
A ghoul that isn’t touched would…deteriorate over time, mentally and physically. They’d lose their mind and give in to the wild part of their soul.
The process had already started for Dewdrop, days before Rain was summoned.
Aether and Mountain had all but begged the young water ghoul to help with their mate once they'd noticed how Dewdrop fell in love with him at first sight. They realized quickly that Rain was that last chance; the last glimmer of hope.
And indeed, he helped Dewdrop slowly come back to life by reintroducing him to touch. Step by step the fire ghoul is healing and after a couple months he and Rain are preparing to take yet another step; sleep in one bed.
Before they do that, Rain sets up a wall made of bedding in the middle of the nest, to keep Dewdrop comfortable. The fire ghoul is grateful, wanting nothing more than to be able to sleep next to Rain, but scared of what unexpected touch would cause.
They decide on attempting to intertwine their tails—considering that the skin on Dewdrop’s is different than on the rest of his body, and that Rain’s own is very smooth; like the fire ghoul’s used to be.
“Goodnight, Dewdrop,” Rain mumbles when they’re all set. “See you in the morning.”
“Night, Rainy,” the other replies, and silence falls. Dewdrop’s anxiety makes it hard for him to fall asleep for a while, but when he lets it dissipate and focuses on the comfort of having Rain’s tail tangled with his own, sleep does take him.
Rain wakes up first in the early morning, to something heavy(ish) and warm spread out on top of him.
It takes a moment for him to wake up properly, open his eyes and realize that it’s Dewdrop.
At first he grins sleepily with pride, but then he panics.
What if the fire ghoul will freak out when he wakes up and fall back on his healing journey? No, no, Rain can’t have that. As much as it pains him to do it, he gently pushes Dewdrop’s sleeping body off of him and back onto the other side of the—somehow still existent—pillow wall.
Rain can’t stop chewing the inside of his cheek as he waits for the other to wake up. When he does, Dewdrop doesn’t notice the water ghoul’s anxious behavior. It’s a good half an hour later when he decided to tell him what happened—and ask how he feels about it.
“Okay, so…” Rain starts, “I need to tell you something.”
“Yeah, sure,” the other smiles at him kindly, “is everything alright?”
“Yes, it’s just–I feel like you need to know you…you slept on me.”
“On you?” Dewdrop repeats with confusion. “Like…like I was touching you?”
“Yeah, you must’ve rolled over and you seemed–uhm, quite comfortable.”
The fire ghoul stares at Rain with his mouth agape for a little while before speaking again, “Uh–first of all, sorry–sorry for squishing you.”
“It’s alright,” Rain chuckles, “you’re not that heavy.”
“Sorry, uh–I…” Dewdrop’s voice cracks, “I have to process.”
“That’s fair, take your time,” the water ghoul assures and moves away to do something unrelated, not to stress the other out even more than he already is. He disappears into the bathroom for a moment, too, to give Dewdrop space.
“So…looks like it’s all in my head,” he says when Rain comes back out.
“Seems so,” he agrees with a twitch of the corner of his lips.
“Do you think if–if I was able to sleep on you,” Dewdrop asks shyly, “do you think we could try hugging…now?”
“I don’t want you to–”
“Please. Please, Rainy, just for a moment,” he begs and Rain would be the most cruel person to have ever existed if he denied Dewdrop his hug.
He opens his arms and waits for the smaller ghoul to move. He’s nearly shaking—as excited as he is terrified.
Dewdrop closes his eyes before stepping forward. He gasps and clenches his jaw as Rain’s arm grazes his shoulder.
“I’m okay,” he whispers. He’s not giving up now.
Dewdrop lets out a hurt little sob and melts against the other ghoul, knees buckling. Rain wraps his arms around him and holds him up as the fire ghoul cries in relief.
He leans in and hits Rain’s chest and it’s…it’s fine.
He’s fine.
“You–you’re so–you smell so nice,” he giggles through the tears. He can finally smell Rain like he's been wanting to for months.
“And you’re so warm,” Rain replies, nearly as emotional himself.
Just like that, Dewdrop is alright.
83 notes
·
View notes
Text
𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧
Summary: After killing his best friend, he needs someone to hug and a shoulder to cry on. That's why, as his student, you are there for him.
You opened the door and peeked inside. Your eyes landed on Gojo, sitting on his bed, looking distraught. The sight of him saddened you. You wanted to help him, but you didn't know how.
You stepped inside the room, closing the door behind you. "Sensei..." you softly called out to him. Your voice was gentle and sweet, providing some comfort to the otherwise gloomy atmosphere.
Taking a few steps closer, you noticed his demeanor. You stopped a few feet from the bed, unsure what to do next. You sat next to him nervously.
He didn't want to see anyone, he didn't want to see anyone pitying him, but there you were, his student, the girl he loves
"Sensei... I-I know it" you said, your voice trembling with concern.
You knew it.
"Y/N..." he whispered, his voice lacking energy. He looked at you; he could tell you were worried, and he was glad—glad you cared about him.
You've never seen him like this. He was always happy; at least, that's how people saw him. But inside, there was always a pain, a loneliness—the pain and loneliness of losing his best friend.
But then you came into his life. You masked the deep loneliness and pain in his heart. He never felt lonely when he was with you.
He didn't care that you were his student; you were good for him and made him happy.
He didn't care how people saw him; you didn't make him feel lonely.
But today, the pain he had masked in his heart came to the surface.
He killed Suguru. He was his best friend. He was his only friend. And he killed him. He had to do it. He had to...
When his eyes met yours, he couldn't hold it anymore; he couldn't stand it. He turned to you and hugged you. With a sudden force, you fell on your back on the bed. Now, he was on top of you. He was hugging you tightly, burying his face in your delicate neck.
"I don't want to be like this, but I can't help it; I killed Suguru... my best friend, my brother... I don't know what to do, I feel so alone..." He said, his voice thick with emotion. Tears were finally falling, and he felt your warmth, and he couldn't help but let it out.
Satoru's arms tightened around yours, feeling your warmth and scent. He started to cry, the tears falling freely. He didn't care; he just needed this. His breathing hitched, and his chest shook, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He buried his face further into your neck, inhaling deeply, trying to take in your scent. It calmed him, made him feel better, and made him feel like he wasn't alone.
''I'm here with you. I'll always be with you. You don't have to hold yourself. You can cry when you are with me. Just please...''
You slowly wrapped your small arms around him, holding him tightly as well. His gaze fell to the ceiling, you hugged him tightly as you felt his tears soak into your clothes.
You listened to his confession, your heart aching for him. You knew it weighed heavily on Satoru. Your small hands gently rubbed his back, offering the comfort you knew how to give.
"Sensei, cry if it makes you feel better. You don't always have to be the strongest or look strong. You are a human being. "You reassured him, your voice quivering with emotion." You squeezed him tighter, wishing you could take away his pain.
...
Gojo clung to you, your words, your touch, feeling your arms around him, feeling you rubbing his back. Everything about you made him feel better, lighter, and like he wasn't alone. He took deep breaths, letting go of some of the tension.
"I... I'll never forgive myself for this... I shouldn't have let it go this far... I should have stopped him before it was too late... I should have found another way..." he mumbled, guilt weighing heavily on his heart.
"You can't blame yourself, sensei. He had already made up his mind. Even if you changed your mind at that moment, he would have gone his own way, even if it was late. You... you did what had to be done. Please don't blame yourself." you said softly, your voice filled with understanding.
His body shuddered as your words sank in. He breathed in deeply, feeling your fingers rubbing his back, comforting him. He needed this; he needed you.
"I know, I know, I should stop blaming myself, but I can't help it; it's my fault; I should've seen it coming, I should've stopped it, I should've done something, anything, but no, I didn't, I failed, I failed him, and..." He said, his voice shaking,
The tears continued to flow, streaming down his face, leaving wet trails on your clothes. His grip slowly loosened as he took another deep breath. He pulled back slightly, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.
"It's like a part of me died with him''
He lay down on the bed and took you in his arms. Slowly, he started to calm down, the tears still falling, but he started to breathe normally
As Gojo breathed normally, you noticed his eyes were red from crying. You gently pulled back from the hug, giving him space, but you didn't completely let go.
With a gentle smile, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against his cheek.
Your face flushed a deeper shade of pink as you pulled away and planted the kiss. You bit your lower lip, nervous about the reaction you might get. However, when Satoru smiled, you visibly relaxed.
He began to run his fingers through your silky hair, and you leaned into the touch, closing your eyes and enjoying the sensation.
"Thank you, Y/n-chan... For everything..." he said, his voice still hoarse from crying.
Upon hearing his words, you nodded, your expression warm and understanding. "Of course, sensei. We can stay like this for as long as you need."
Feeling his request, you snuggled closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You rested your head on his chest, taking comfort in his heartbeat and the warmth of his embrace.
"We can stay like this for as long as you need, Sensei..."
Satoru smiled, closed his eyes, and felt the weight on his shoulders start to lift. He knew he couldn't keep pretending, that he needed to cry and accept what he had done, but having you there made it easier, made it bearable.
He held you close, his arms tightening around you, he felt you snuggle closer, he felt your head rest against his chest, he felt your warmth, and he couldn't help but smile.
''Y'know I love you, don't you?''
As he spoke, you blinked in surprise, your cheeks flushing a deep rose color
"I... I know, sensei," you stammered, your voice barely audible. You looked up at him with adoration, your eyes filled with affection
''I-I love you too, sensei...''
Hearing your response, his heart swelled with affection. A genuine smile spread across his face, and he leaned down to press a tender kiss against the top of your head.
"Thank you, y/n-chan. That means a lot to me." he whispered, his voice laced with sincerity.
Your smile mirrored his, and your eyes sparkled with happiness. You implicitly returned the sentiment, your love for Satoru unwavering.
You nestled deeper into his embrace, your small frame perfectly fitting against his larger one. You vowed silently to yourself to always be there for him, to provide the support and comfort he needed.
He didn't always have to be the strongest; after all, he was a human, like everyone.
Fumi: like, write comments, and reblog if you liked, babess ♥
#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#jjk x reader#gojo saturo#jjk gojo#satoru gojo#satoru#gojo angst#satoru x reader#satoru x you#jjk satoru#gojou satoru x reader#jujutsu satoru#jjk angst#jjk#jjk fluff#teacher x student
59 notes
·
View notes
Note
Random question, but what do you think Killer likes to do in his free time? I personally think he likes to watch birds like a cat lol:D
According to killer, when in Stage 2, he studies human blood, souls, and monster dust in his free time. 💀
At least when under Nightmare, he’d probably just wander around once a mission is complete and sight see. There’s cats. People watching like a creep, and lurking around in the castle too—learning, watching, listening.
Probably spends a lot his free time just dissociating and staring off into space or sleeping whenever he can catch a few safe minutes—probably doing rounds around the castle, checking up on anyone and attending to tasks and chores.
I’m sure he doom scrolls on his phone, maybe he has video games on it or like a console if Nightmare allows. He probably just spends a lot of his time daydreaming whenever he isn’t bothering any of the others or attending to something—which probably isn’t actually often. I can’t see him being idle for long—even if just mindlessly going through established routines.
Likely attends to any gear and weapons in his free time, making sure everything is sharp and ready for use—just in standby, like himself. Waiting for the next inevitable mission, or task, or chore, or fight, or brief moment of potential short lived gratification drifting by him.
Killer, when in Stage 2, can’t really be allowed to remain idle and or bored for too long—he gets dangerous and I suppose you can say unstable. I’m sure Nightmare always finds him something to do and is never idle besides any potential brief moments of sleep—and if there’s nothing to do, Nightmare will find a hobby or activity for him to do or learn.
Read a book, try to learn to sew, let Cross train you and learn from him, wood carve, play a round of chess with Nightmare, go play games with the others, go hunt, a supply run. Whatever keeps him moving and not alone with potential to slip into his own thoughts that could trigger emotions and feelings and memories, and lose touch with the present in favor of the past.
I wouldn’t be suprised if Stage 2’s the type to have and try a lot of hobbies, but has a hard time sticking to any or seeing them through unless there’s some purpose he’s Determined to gain from it because he gets quickly bored.
It’s especially hard when he struggles to find any enjoyment or pleasure from these things besides the stimulation of something new—learning something new, using his hands in new ways, engaging in intellectual conversation, etc—and thus doesn’t see the point in doing it if he doesn’t have to, or if there’s not some form of benefit or reward.
Which is probably one reason why it’s hard to connect with bro. He changes hobbies so quick it’s hard to tell if he’s genuinely interested in anything.
#howlsasks#theartsynebulawhodoodles#canon k1ll_sans#< kinda#utmv#sans au#sans aus#stage 2!killer#killer sans#killer!sans#killertale#undertale au#undertale something new#undertalesomethingnew#something new sans#something new au#killertale sans#something new#undertale aus#nightmare sans#nightmare!sans#murder time trio#bad sans gang#bad sanses#nightmares gang#nightmare’s gang#utmv headcanons#utmv hc#cw dissociation#anhedonia
41 notes
·
View notes
Text
Fear of losing humanity.
Hatred of new body.
The desire to turn everything back.
Sebastian has been staring at his four-fingered hand for several minutes without even blinking. It was as if he didn’t understand whether it belonged to him, so it felt completely inappropriate, strange and large. He slowly moves his hand, not fully clenching it into a fist, paying attention to the feeling of how the tendons and muscles move on the floor through thick skin.
Solace turns his gaze on other arms, and the third at that moment seemed inappropriate, superfluous. He moved this too without desire. The muscles tickled unpleasantly.
The third eye was remembered then too. This presence began to feel unnecessary in the same way. But he continues to look.
Big body. He knows there are a lot of ugly scars under his clothes. Curved, rough, leaving light marks. This tail. This is difficult. The tail is obedient when Sebastian slightly changes his position. Thick skin creaks quietly on the floor.
He looks at the hand again. Why does he have the feeling that this is all just an ugly costume? It’s as if under this terrible shell is his own body. A good, warm human body. He has no extra limbs, his legs are simply hidden in his tail. Nothing extra. Nothing is lost.
He misses his old life, which is becoming increasingly difficult for him to remember, but he stubbornly holds on to all the memories. He remembers that he had a family. He knows he could play the guitar. He remembers what his mother cooked. What... He doesn't remember what, but he was always happy about her food. He loved something. There was something valuable to him.
He misses his past self, but for now he just lowers his hand, regaining a sense of control over this body. He doesn't want to think anymore about why or who did this to him, but he does anyway. He hates everyone who is to blame for what happened to him. He hates everyone because of whom he wakes up from phantom touches of medical devices and hands.
Sebastian just is so tired of everything. He wants to wake up and can't do it, because the time of the nightmare is not over yet.
29 notes
·
View notes
Text
⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑
Red Night
⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑
[NSFW] ‼ 18+ >MDNI<
Summary: You go searching for the hot vampire you saw and you get exactly what you want
Pairing: Vampire!Dabi/ Human Fem Reader
Content Warning: Enthusiastic Consent, Fear Play, Chasing, Blood, Blood Kink, Choking, Biting, Fingering, Rough Sex, Public Sex, Sex in the Woods, Clothed Sex, Mind Break (kinda??),
Word Count: 3.6k
Disclaimer: Character belongs to Kohei Horikoshi
A/N: Happy Halloween! Final part of my Halloween posts! The entire idea for these are technically because of @candycandy00 , so this is mostly thanks and dedicated to you candy! 💕💕
My Masterlist
⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑
The first time you saw him, you were...intrigued.
Dark scars contrasting pale skin like a mosaic, gleaming silver staples holding him together, pure white hair, shining like a halo. Yet the most prominent thing about him were his eyes.
Piercing blue, almost glowing. You've never quite seen anything like it. It was breathtaking. It was unnatural. It was beautiful.
And when he met your gaze, there was something...off...about him.
Maybe it was the way he seemed to catalogue everything about you in a single glance, maybe it was the gleam in his eyes as he looked at you, head tilted. Maybe it was the way he smirked; like he found a new toy.
No, not a toy. Prey.
Whatever it was, an uneasiness settled in your stomach.
He's not human. You know of them of course, the vampires that go bump in the night, though this is the first time you've been knowingly in the pressence of one.
You walked away with the feel of his eyes on your back and something dangerous settling in beside the unease within you.
*****
You thought that would be the last time you saw him.
You were wrong.
He was everywhere.
Like a shadow, he followed you; watching you, stalking you, hunting you, haunting you.
You would see him out of the corner of your eye, though when you looked, he was gone.
The feeling of being watched became a constant for you; fear a familiar friend.
And yet, after having grown accustomed to him, to that fear, you can't help the thrill that goes through you when you see him; the adrenaline rush in your veins whenever you feel his eyes on you, but you can't see him. The feeling of being hunted should be terrifying, and it is. Yet it's also so very exhilarating.
You know you're playing with fire, but you can't help it.
You wonder how it would all end.
You wonder when he would lose his patience.
*****
It happens when you decide to take a late night walk. Above you, the full moon glows with a tint of eerie red. A Blood moon, fitting for this night.
You know he's there, you caught a glimpse of white within the darkness, you can feel his eyes on you, and a shiver goes through you at what you plan to do.
You know this is where he frequents, practically his playground; it's why you're here. You crave to know him, to touch him, feel him; to have his hands on your body, his lips on your skin, his fangs in your neck.
And even through all of that, when he jumps down from the darkness of the trees above you, landing directly in front of you, the moment your eyes lock on his hypnotising azure gaze, on the vicious glee held within when you shriek in surprise, your instincts all immediately scream at you to run; because you are but a small prey in the presence of a predator.
You're running before you even process what you're doing, just following your instincts.
Running, running, running, your heart pounding, pounding, pounding.
The night air is crisp and cool against your face as you run. Your shoes hit the soft earth with the snap of twigs and crunch of leaves, branches snagging on your dress, tearing at the soft material and scraping your legs.
"I can smell you~" he rasps, his sultry voice sounding both distant and like he's directly next to you, all you see in the corner of your eye is that burning blue, before it disappears just as quickly.
"Run, little mouse," he coos, sounding like it's coming from behind you, making you turn your head back. But nothing is there.
"When I catch you, you're mine." His voice seems to come from multiple directions in the dark, and dread and excitement swirl deep in your gut, thighs burning as you run.
The thrill of the chase just adds to your excitement, knowing that the creature hunting you will inevitably catch you. And when he does, you will be at his mercy; his to do with as he wishes, his to use, his to claim, his to consume, body and soul.
The sudden silence blanketing your surroundings only amplify the heated fear, and all you can hear is your racing heartbeat, rushing blood, and the rustling of leaves.
The cold wind blows past you as he dances around you, playing with his prey as he darts around you, reaching out to brush surprisingly warm fingers along your skin, just to make you yelp.
The way he's so obviously playing with you somehow both makes you want to snarl and cry, and makes heat stir in your gut. It doesn't help that you catch a glimpse of a wide, feral grin whenever he's close enough to see it.
And then you stop seeing him.
You stop to catch your breath, every gulp of air dragging through your lungs, and you glance around wildly.
Having the vampire right on your heels is nerve-wracking enough, but the moments where he vanishes entirely are far worse.
Suddenly, you hear the rustling of leaves off to your side, and you automatically lash out, only for a scarred hand to grab your arm and press you into the rough surface of the trunk of a tree, a choked scream crawling up your throat.
Really, you should've known better than to try outrunning him.
You jerk and thrash automatically, the instinct to keep fighting and escape still present, but the vampire just keeps you pinned firmly against the tree, and only seeming amused at your squirming.
You force yourself to calm down, because not only will you acting like prey make this more dangerous than it already is, but this is exactly what you want! What you crave.
As you relax, a heated hand wraps around your throat, holding you in place, but not squeezing, and you're finally able to take in his appearance properly, and God, the sight of him with wild hair and an utterly unrestrained expression, grin so wide it looks like it hurts, as he drags his tongue over his teeth, the sharp points of his fangs glinting in the moonlight, is...Well, to put it simply, your underwear is drenched in your slick.
And this close, you realize that the pupils of his eyes are thin slits, like those of a cat's, and they're locked on you.
Chuckling darkly, he purrs, "Caught you, Sweetheart." His voice is a soot tinted velvet abyss, and you feel your knees buckle, but he keeps you where you are.
You pant, gasping for breath, as his thumb caresses the pulse point on your throat, the touch deceptively light and feathery.
He grabs your hip with his other hand, pulling you towards him; the heat radiating off him is almost suffocating as he towers over you, trapping you against the tree. "Now what's a pretty thing like you doing all the way out here, hm?" He tilts his head as his eyes rove over you like he's trying to figure out a puzzle.
You thought a vampire's skin would be ice cold, but he's practically a walking furnace; the feel of him disorienting you to the point of not answering.
Not that he seems to notice much.
A warm, wet tongue licks a stripe up your neck and your breath hitches at the sensation and slight sting of a scratch you didn't know was there, most likely from a branch.
The neckline of your dress is invitingly low, your neck and collarbones bare, and his hand on your throat slides to cup the side, tilting your head to lean in closer; slowly closing the distance inch by ruinous inch, until you could feel his breath against your skin, before burying his face in the junction of your neck and shoulder, nosing at the soft flesh there, inhaling deeply. "Fuck, you smell good.", he rumbles, his breath hot on your skin, his lips scorching where they brush, and you tremble in his hold, goosebumps raising in their wake.
"Oh?" His grip tightens on your hip and throat momentarily. "You want this, don't you?" His voice is a deep, amused purr, and you can feel him grinning against you.
"N-no, I—" you stutter, stupidly deciding to follow your first instinct at the shameful accusation; deny and lie through your teeth.
"Don't lie to me, Sweetheart. I can taste it." He presses his thumb to your racing pulse, licking over the small wound again. "Your blood at least knows how to be honest." he chuckles, taunting and mean.
You swallow thickly around the moan crawling up your throat, threatening to release.
"Well?" He murmurs, tapping his thumb against the hidden vein.
"Yes." You breathe, spilling your filthy truth and wicked desires.
He let's out a satisfied hum at your honesty and murmurs, "What's your name, sweet thing?", nipping at the sensitive skin.
You answer honestly, breathily, and he rewards you with a chaste kiss to your neck. "Touya.", he introduces himself in turn, and you think to yourself that it suits him.
"Mm, I want to taste you. Properly.", his thumb slides up to tip your chin up further, directing your eyes to meet his. "May I?"
You know he doesn't truly mean it, the question. It's merely an illusion of power, of consent, because really, what vampire asks their prey if they can eat?
He's simply humoring you, mocking you really, already knowing your answer but wanting to hear it.
Wanting to hear you so easily comply, willingly surrendering yourself, your dignity, to a creature of the night, a man you don't even know; laughably offering your very life force to an immortal.
He wants to hear the pathetic want of a mortal foolish enough to feel that way.
And yet.
"Please.", you sigh, sagging against him, a plea and a prayer as you bare your throat to him.
He breathes out a laugh. "Let's hope you don't regret it, hm?" His voice is a dark purr, a dangerous threat and a sweet promise, as he wastes no time in sinking his fangs into the soft skin of your neck.
You gasp when the sharp, stinging pain sets your shoulder and neck aflame as he pierces your flesh, marking you in a way no one ever has; your own teeth sinking into your bottom lip to contain your cries as a new heat washes through you, your hand moving up to tangle in his snowy hair, holding him to you.
His eyes roll back in ecstasy at the taste of your warm blood, his tongue laving against your skin as he sucks on your neck, feasting on it, and your grip tightens, tugging at the pale strands.
A low growl rumbles through his chest as he drinks from you, pulling you in impossibly closer, crowding you up agaisnt the tree, sliding his leg between your thighs, pressing up into your core. You absentmindedly grind down against him pathetically, panting; his hand on your hip sliding up to squeeze at your breast.
Already you're dripping as you grind your hips against his front, and moan when you can feel that he's hard for you.
He pulls away from your neck, seemingly reluctantly, his lips lingering on your skin momentarily.
His eyes are wild as he looks at you, pupils blown wide; grin broad and bloody, a single drop of blood trickling down the corner of his lips, and you think he's hauntingly beautiful.
"You taste divine." He breathes, and the tone is all dark pleasure, the low rumble in his chest a quiet constant, looking at you as though he's just found something precious; his hands roaming your frame reverently as he takes you in, licking up the stray blood from his lips.
A warm hand trails under and up your dress, and you gasp when he cups your clothed cunt.
"This is what you wanted, hm?" tilting his head, his eyes going to the wound he left on your neck, sluggishly bleeding. "Tsk, tsk, naughty little thing. Your blood doesn't lie, Angel.", he coos, rubbing slow circles into your clothed clit with his thumb, and you let out a shuddering moan. "And neither does your greedy body."
Hot shame rushes through you at your dirty desires being laid bare, at being claimed and devoured by this dark creature, and wanting it; enjoying it.
Nothing about this is okay.
And.
Yet.
Your needy whimper and glossy, pleading eyes looking up at him so prettily is all the answer he needs, and he smiles, sharp and vicious, and he leans in to let you taste it; taste his bloodstained lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. And like a fool, you kiss back, licking into his mouth; the coppery taste of your blood on his tongue adding to your primal desire.
He tears your panties off of you, the fabric falling apart easily with a loud rip, before immediately dipping two fingers into your sopping hole, curling them.
Your lips part on a gasping moan, eyes wide as you look at him, at that wolfish smile and gleaming fangs.
Your legs tremble as he spreads his fingers, scissoring you open, stretching you out for him. "Oh fuck~" you whine, nails digging into his forearm and bicep as you shamelessly grind down against him.
"More, more, Touya, please more." You babble, pleading and hoping he knows what you mean, because you can feel your orgasm nearing, but this isn't how you want to cum.
He just grins at you, because he knows, but feeling either merciful or impatient, or perhaps both, he pulls his fingers out with a squelch, quickly undoing his belt and pants, before lifting you, spreading your legs for him; the easy show of strength just making you burn that bit hotter, pussy throbbing.
"I've been waiting far too long for this." Touya sighs softly, the leaking tip of his cock teasing your wet folds, rubbing against your sensitive clit. "Don't worry, Princess, I'll give you exactly what you want."
He pushes in slowly, but completely, and your mind is gone, moaning long and low at the perfect stretch, trembling with how full you are all at once, as he splits you open on his cock, carving out a space within you just for him.
Tears roll down your cheek and he just licks it right up with a smile as he grinds into you, making you adjust to his size, before slowly pulling back.
"Mm, you feel as good as you taste." He punctuates his point with a deep thrust that drags a choked moan out of your throat as you take every inch of his cock.
Cerulean eyes lock on yours as Touya's mouth opens with a snarl to reveal gleaming fangs.
It's all the warning you get before his fangs puncture your skin once more, flooding your senses with that heady mix of pain and ecstasy.
You arch into Touya's touch as best you can without ripping your own throat open. "Fuuuck~" you whine, high and breathy, nails dragging down his arms for something to ground you, feet kicking out involuntarily as you clench around him. All at once, it's too much, too fast, but you might actually cry if he tries to stop. Your skin feels like it's on fire, your very blood lava; body and senses overwhelmed in the best way.
A growl rumbles in Touya's chest, almost a purr, as he drinks his fill, groaning low in his throat as his tongue presses against where his fangs have pierced skin and you almost sob at the pleasure-pain before clenching down rhythmically on his hot length, trying to coax him into fucking you; the only thing holding you back from bouncing yourself on the vampire's cock, the fangs in your throat.
"Touya~!", you whimper, squirming in the vampire's strong hold and shuddering when his cock drags against your walls, fucking you slow and deep.
Soon enough, Touya has you shaking and sobbing out sweet, little tortured sounds, and he laps them up too.
Noticing the sounds getting weaker, he pulls back, healing the wound with a lick, peppering bruising, open mouthed kisses down your neck, to your shoulder, before immediately biting down there as he snaps his hips forward, slamming his cock into you, so he can watch you throw your head back in pleasure as he grinds in deep.
"Oh, fuck—" , you sob, clawing at his back. "Move. Please, please, fuck me—"
His eyes widen as he removes his fangs and seals to wound, looking at you in a mix of curiosity and wonder.
Should prey be this receptive?
Though, he doesn't really care. All he knows is that he can't get enough of the sight of you, debauched and pretty, speared on his cock, begging to be fucked stupid.
He grins, sharp and bloody.
"Fuck, such a good girl for me, aren't you?" He coos, fucking into you steadily, pace gradually speeding up, rumbling as you moan and cry out.
"Mm, good. So good. So so good. Fuck yes, yes, yes—ahn—feels so good, Touya. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," you babble and chant, almost slurring, and neither of you know if it's from blood loss or just lust, but fuck you never want it to end. "Use me, drain me, kill me, I don't care, just fuck me, please~"
Touya lets out a surprised laugh at that, looking at you in bewildered awe, idly wondering if he overdid it, or if you're just that much of a little freak, and he feels some of his control slip, hitting your sweet spot perfectly.
You let out a sobbing moan as you try to meet his thrusts, but you asked to be used, so with the speed and strength of the vampire, you're soon left a drooling and twitching mess as you're used as nothing more than a fuck toy.
Touya's plan was to spoil you, take it nice and easy on his new little human, but you turned out to be such an adorable slut.
You asked, so sweetly to be used. How could he say no?
So, used you were.
"I'll use you all you want, but I won't kill you. I won't break my pretty new toy, Dolly, I'm keeping you.", he growls, and you feel like you're going to be branded with the heat of his bruising grip on your ass where he holds you spread for him as he fucks brutally into you like the beast he is, plunging into the deepest parts of you; your clothed breasts bouncing with every thrust, the filthy sounds of your sloppy hole filling the night air.
And like the fucking freak you are, you giggle, even as you pant for an ounce of breath, even as tears stream down your cheeks from feeling so fucking good.
Your pleasure builds and builds, and you're so close.
Touya feels it in your twitching insides, groaning. "You gonna cum for me, baby? Such a good slut for me, gonna cum from a monster's cock, huh?", his thrusts, still at that ruthless pace, are becoming uneven as he pounds into you.
You just nod desperately, and cock-dumb, your voice hoarse, panting and moaning like a whore, you beg, "Mhm, want your cum. Fill me up please, please, please—", as your hole greedily clenches around him rhythmically, like you're trying to milk it out of him.
"Fuck, cum for me, Angel. I’ll fill you up, mark you as mine." He growls, low and animalistic, all hot pleasure and possession.
Your orgasm is intense as it crashes over you, to the point that you don't even know where it ends. Your eyes roll back, vision turning white, as you gush around him.
The vampire lets out a near feral snarl at the way your cunt clamps down on him, and his fangs bury in your shoulder once more as he cums, thick ropes of cum painting your insides. He drinks in the way you moan as he fucks you through your orgasms, filling you up; the mess between your legs splattering every time he pumps into you, the white of it obscene in the dark of night.
He finally slows down to a grind, lapping at the bite carefully so it can heal, before looking you over and finding you barely conscious.
Coming down from your high, your breathing is laboured and you can't see straight, eyes lidded and hazy, yet you still have an adorably stupid grin on your lips.
He tilts your chin, luminous eyes piercing through you as he pants. "You're mine now. You understand that, yes?" His gaze remains trained on yours as his tongue darts out to lick up the few drops of blood that remain on his lips. The icy fire burning in Touya's eyes threatens to consume you whole, your body trembling under his touch as you nod and let out a breathy, fucked out little, "Uh huh", because it's all you can manage at the moment, your cunt pulsing around him.
"You will be a good pet and not let any other human lay their filthy hands on you, hm?" He rumbles, grinding into you, his fingers digging into your flesh.
"I'm yours." You moan, high and breathy, slurring. You want nothing more than to be owned, body and soul, by this man.
"That's my girl." With blood smeared on his lips, he grins, fangs glinting in the moonlight as he pulls out, letting you feel the mess that spills down your thighs and the delicious ache pulsing through you from being so thoroughly used.
You decided to play with fire, and Touya is more than happy to brand you as his.
⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑
#moonchild701#mha#bnha#dabi#touya todoroki#dabi x reader#dabi x you#dabi smut#vampire dabi#vampire au#halloween#my fics#mdni#happy halloween#mha smut#bnha smut
30 notes
·
View notes
Text
re last reblog I do see fanfic culture pushing/replicating a certain model of "what trauma looks like," "how trauma works"
this is a problem across all areas of society obviously, but transformative works are, well, transformative. they're about crafting and modifying narratives where the fan-creator sees a flaw or a lack -- often for the better! don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of "I take a hammer and I fix the canon," it's the main thing that gets my creative gears spinning -- but what happens when that "flaw" is simply a narrative not conforming to popular expectations?
some people just don't get PTSD from events that sound obviously traumatic. they're not masking, and they're not coping; they just straight-up didn't get the permanently-locked stress-response that defines PTSD. they walk away from a horrible experience going "well, that sucked, but it's over now." some people do get PTSD from events most people wouldn't find traumatic. we don't really know why some people get PTSD and others don't. but fandom has an idea of events that must be traumatizing, of a "correct" way to portray trauma. you see the problems with this lack of understanding in e.g. fans pressuring the devs of Baldur's Gate 3 to add dialogue where the player character badgers Halsin about his own feelings on his abuse -- because he must be traumatized, and his trauma must fit a certain mold and presentation of sexual trauma, under the mistaken impression that anything outside that narrow window is somehow "wrong" and disrespectful or even harmful to survivors.
take, for another example, the very common trope of a traumatized character who hates touch or sex "learning" to like touch or sex as a part of their healing process. certainly that can be healing for some people; other people will never like, or want, touch or sex, because of trauma or because they just don't. the assumption that someone who doesn't want sex or doesn't like to be touched must be traumatized, must be suffering from this perceived lack, is seriously harmful -- to asexual people, to people with sensory issues around touch, and to people for whom healing from trauma means freedom to refuse sex or touch.
and there's a secondary trope, one that's slightly more thoughtful but ultimately repeats the problem -- that once someone has learned that their boundaries will be respected, they'll feel it's safe to soften those boundaries. once they feel safe refusing touch or sex, they'll feel comfortable allowing it on their own terms. but many people don't, and many people won't! many people will simply never want to be touched, and never want sex, and they are not suffering or broken or lacking because of it. the idea that proving you'll respect someone's boundaries entitles you to test those boundaries -- the paradox is obvious, and yet this is something i've seen hurt (re-traumatize) people i care for.
people are imperfect victims. people don't heal in the ways you expect. many people have positive memories of their abuse, of their abusers. many people hurt others in the course of their trauma, in ways that can't easily be unpacked in a 5k oneshot. very few narratives of trauma and recovery actually fit the ones put forward by popular children's media and romance novels -- which are the ones I most see replicated in fandom spaces, because they provide the clearest narrative and easiest catharsis, and so they're easy and soothing to reach for.
that's not necessarily a bad thing! i am not immune to goopy romance tropes. i am not immune to teary catharsis. not every fic has to grapple with ugly realities. but there's a problem when these narratives become predominant, when people think they're accurate and realistic depictions of trauma, when the truth of trauma is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and doesn't fit any single narrative, let alone one of comforting catharsis
#bird original#see also: the murderbot diaries#murderbot does not like to be touched. murderbot does not like touching other people#physical contact is an unpleasant necessity in emergencies or to feign being human (something murderbot also hates)#at one point murderbot uncomfortably offers a hug to someone it cares for because she's upset and needs one --#and she refuses. because she knows it doesn't really want to; she won't ask it to do something it hates for her benefit#& yet murderbot fic often has it learning that touch ~isn't so bad~ and maybe there are a COUPLE people it likes to cuddle with.#the differences between vash in the original trigun anime and trigun stampede --#tristamp!vash is your woobie who hides his sad and traumatized heart under goofy behavior;#who copes and avoids through silly indulgences#2011!vash ... is not that#2011!vash isn't coping or masking. he feels immense grief yes; he also feels immense joy; the two are inseparable#he pursues joy moment to moment because he knows how fleeting each moment is#he loves people so intensely because he knows that he'll lose them -- so he has no time to waste with them#his grief is real and profound; so is his joy#i find that much more compelling and i feel like that's not a character i'd see in today's media environment#anyway#fandom#trauma#fanfic#throwing a golden apple into the tags with this but fuck it we ball
411 notes
·
View notes
Text
thinking 'bout how the lads interact with what the bracelets represent, especially in their decks
#marwospeaking#Yuuya is by far hardest to work with on this because he Varies. but that might just be him being opposite to Yuzu so it might count?#anyway Yuuya is a bushfire made by fireworks set off without proper precaution (the improperly set off fireworks being Zarc..#.. being influenced into the position that made the lads through his desire to both destroy and entertain his crowds)#It's small sometimes. but in the right conditions is an unstoppable conflagration#Yuuto literally does not die. In a world where we never truly get the other two (Yuugo and Yuuri) interacting with their host (Yuuya)..#.. outside of duels. he very much does. He is undead in a way the others don't quite match (pre Zarc revival) and it's opposite to..#.. En Bird's life (assuming it counts death too as part of its cycle)#Yuugo uses machine monsters - things that distinctly don't breathe. and in most cases have exhaust pipes billowing fumes#and machines can be warm to the touch at times. which you could feasibly slide against Rin's Windwitches for being Very Cold Ladies#Also he's trapped no matter where he is. Neo Domino has a stronger grip on him as a person than anyone else. and when he might finally..#.. escape that. he's trapped in someone else's body with no canonical recourse. because the story ended on Yuuya's terms and no one elses#Yuuri is hardest to place but I think he's very stationary. Sere's monsters are dancers - constantly moving - and she's very able to#adapt as she goes despite how stupid she can be book-wise. Yuuri is rooted into his role. even when he discards his loyalty his role was..#.. always in Zarc's interest no matter if he knew or not. The Professor's loyalty from him is an add-on to that#... I'd argue Zarc cared more about his pieces than Ray cared about hers also? He made cards for them on the fly so they'd Win#Even in moments where that victory is not in a wholly positive light - Odd-Eyes Raging and Gatlinghoul - but we know he's capable of it..#.. a la allowing Yuuya to debut pendulum monsters on his behalf in order to win against Ishijima#something something this can then apply to the other lads. they never lose except to each other and Ray's girls (at least on screen)#Yuuto survived 3 years of war. even despite Yuugo and Yuuri showing up. so methinks Zarc must've had a role in helping him survive#Like. Zarc's distinctly present for his Lads. Ray's not present for her lasses until one of them speaks through her#Sure it's very possible that's a bracelet thing - they are floodgates at the end of the day - and not a Ray thing. but it also wouldn't..#.. surprise me given Ray is an Akaba. we know they will sacrifice others for a gain later on - Ray's was sacrificing a whole world to make.#.. a safer one for everyone to live in. irrelevant on if they remember it or if they never existed originally. Except Leo Akaba. He does#(with memory reading tech) and it tortures him the whole time. she didn't mean to hurt him but Still#Zarc's distinctly not better than Ray - he's still broken wide open when it comes to his hatred of humanity (but not his human half)#and it resulted in multiple near-deaths the second time around - but I can't say Ray's that much better if it turns out the bracelets..#.. weren't floodgating her ability to help her lasses#Completely unrelated but. I don't like what Arcray represents ngl. makes it seem like Zarc could never move on with the help of his lads#and has to rely on someone who killed him and sent him to purgatory about it in order to heal.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
it is........ possible........... that my undying love for "character only uses other character's name/'real' name in moments of heightened emotion or sincerity because they don't feel worthy of it" and my love of the sacred nature of names in general was, if not sparked by, at least encouraged by how obsessively I watched TLU at like six years old (...and then fed even more by returning to it and finding the book in high school).
Say my name, then; if you know my name, tell it to me. // I would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name. // So happy and startled to hear her name spoken at last. // And when the professors prowl through the old tales, and scholars sift the old songs, they will never, ever find my name. // Bending under the heaviness of knowing their names. // His voice was the end of her: she vanished when he cried her name.
ET CETERA AND SO ON AND SO FORTH. do you see!! NAMES!!! AND THE POWER THEREIN!!!!!!
#Mouse talks!#and also touch oughfkgk do not get me started on the significance of touch in TLU and what it does to me#THE CAT COULD NOT LET AMALTHEA TOUCH HIM BECAUSE THEN HE WOULD NEVER BE HIS OWN AGAIN.#THE UNICORN ONLY LETS MOLLY TOUCH HER AND NO ONE ELSE EVEN AS AMALTHEA.#THE MOMENT SHE VERY NEARLY BECOMES HUMAN AND LOSES THE PART OF HERSELF THAT IS STILL A UNICORN IS WHEN SHE TRIES TO TOUCH LIR.#NAMES AND TOUCH: things that are way more intimate to me than they have any right to be!!!!!!!!#hence I think probably why everything I make is Like That. sorry I cannot help it!!!!
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Yandere! House Monster x Reader
Listen, I woke up in cold sweat at 4am with a vision: you and your stereotypically unavailable gamer boyfriend have moved into a new house. You find out very soon it's not as empty as you had assumed, but your worries fall on deaf ears. The tentacle monster lurking in dark corners just wants to make sure you're not lonely.
[Second Part]
Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance (mildly NSFW)
You didn't notice anything strange at first. Maybe it was considering its prey. You'd found a cheap, old house available for rent, and your boyfriend couldn't refuse the extra space for his mancave.
Oh, you poor thing. It watched your lonely evenings, your empty bed at night, your futile attempts to spend more time with your beloved partner. It had originally planned to devour your souls and await the next foolish mortals to enter its realm, but seeing your pitiful state prompted a change of heart. Metaphorical heart, of course.
It started gradually: testing the waters, or what you'd call a courting attempt. Doors opening by themselves, disembodied eyes lovingly gazing at you from the nearby walls. Dark tendrils making their way out of the shadows, just to announce its presence.
"I think this place might be cursed", you told your boyfriend one evening. "I've been stalked by amorphous silhouettes of blight and terror, and they whisper ancient blasphemies to me at night." He let out a worried shout and slapped the desk. "That's cool, babe. I'm kind of losing right now, though, so perhaps give me a minute?"
One night you were awakened from your slumber by a warm touch sliding across your body. You smiled into your pillow as the cheeky hands made their way down, fondling your curves and hungrily searching for your sensitive areas. You let out a soft moan, enjoying the moment, until you heard your boyfriend yell from the other room. Your eyes shot open.
The hands lewdly groping your privates were, in fact, tentacles. Your first reaction was to gasp, but you were quickly silenced by another slippery appendage pressing against your lips. Shh, shh. Allow the creature to do its thing, dear. Surely enough, within minutes you were a drooling mess, holding onto the sheets for dear life.
"You've been in a good mood lately", you boyfriend remarks, idly scrolling on his phone and crunching on his breakfast cereal. You ponder if you should tell him you've been fucked relentlessly by a monstrous creature inhabiting your new home. You glance at the counter and smirk, remembering how you just had to wipe your wet mess from it a few hours ago. "Keep it that way, hun, I could get used to not being pestered every hour", the man jokes with a laugh.
Does it count as cheating if your affair partner isn't really human? Although, you have to wonder if you're still dating to begin with. From the corner of your eye, you can discern faint movement above the young man, a shadow looming menacingly. The eldritch monster would not hesitate to tear your poor boyfriend apart if he tried to mess with its belonging.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere monster#yandere monster x reader#yandere headcanons#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines#monster x reader#monster x human#monster boyfriend#tentacle monster#monster smut#terato#teratophillia#monster fucker
20K notes
·
View notes
Text
lovesick ryomen sukuna is literally infesting my mind and giving me brainworms and i don’t think anyone gets it. how absolutely smitten sukuna would become with you, the puny little human he had originally thought to be unworthy of his gaze, let alone his time and attention.
it's nothing but time, the healer and killer of all things, that makes this cursed man realize just how much his entire world revolves around you. how he'd end humanity itself before he'd allow things to be any other way between you two.
lovesick sukuna who loathes being in proximity to those he deems as insignificant and inferior. he gets awfully irritated breathing the same air as those lowly underlings, and he predictably doesn’t like the touch of anyone else.
but when it comes to you, he has this unbridled desire to always be skin-to-skin, to keep you flush against his massive body and never let go until he absolutely has to. it's troublesome, but the weight of you in his lap keeps him oddly pacified whether he wants to acknowledge his restrained and mellowed demeanor in your presence or not.
lovesick sukuna who doesn’t like when others try to touch him in any way, shape, or form. but he’d let you do anything. you could dig your nails into his skin, tear his heart out, and he’d do absolutely nothing to stop you.
he is completely yours, just as you are completely his.
suggesting that sukuna enjoys your touch earns you nothing but unwarranted ridicule and excessive condemnation from him if you ever mention it; his chest rumbles as he reprimands you for being so foolish—all while he makes no move to stop your hands from brushing those wisps of pink hair away from his line of sight. he doesn't even interfere when your tender lips carefully brush against the tattoo markings littered across his face.
lovesick sukuna who is fully aware of how much he likes to return your touch, too. there was a time when he told himself he was far too busy to wallow in trivial matters of the flesh; but now it has gotten to a point where he can't stop himself from indulging in yours.
you feel so soft, so supple, and warm beneath his calloused fingers. sukuna's hands are big—large enough that a single hand of his almost completely covers the expanse of your tummy. the size difference between you two both humors and fascinates him, so much that he can't stop himself from kneading the plush of your stomach or the soft flesh of your thighs. it was sukuna's nature to barbarously ruin and pulverize everything he got his hands on, but here you were being the only exception.
lovesick sukuna who is never one to hold back in anything he does, yet he finds himself handling you with a little bit of care that he wouldn't dare extend to another soul on this earth. truthfully, he wants to devour you completely, but he understands he could snap you in half if he doesn't remain mindful about the amount of force he's exerting when he's bending and twisting and handling you every which way.
he has his moments where his uninhibited carnality and lust speak for him; when he loses control of himself and lets out out those guttural sounds that he never lets slip through his lips unless he's with you. sounds that are never heard outside of your most intimate moments, like the ones where he can't stop marking you and leaving behind dark, purple love-bites that will last a little while longer than usual.
lovesick sukuna has moments where his senses are clouded with the smell and taste of you as you exhale softly through parted, kiss-swollen lips while you lay dazed beneath him. those moments where he's kissed you for far too long and taken nearly all of the oxygen out of your lungs. vermillion eyes watch as your chest heaves and you puff out those small little breaths, and sukuna thinks it's cute how he can render you that way with little else but a kiss.
lovesick sukuna who thinks you are ignorant. he believes you don't truly realize the power you hold over him. you don't truly comprehend how he would scorch and set ablaze the entire world on your command. all you had to do was say the word, and he'd do anything. it's a bit unsettling to think about how tightly you've got him wrapped around your finger without even knowing it, but there's a part of sukuna that's in no rush to reveal such a vulnerability to you.
sukuna is not one for sweetly saccharine words and sentiments—but if there is one thing that rings true, it’s that his mind is constantly consumed by you—you, you, you.
#sukuna x reader#sukuna brainrot is eating me alive#i just like the idea#of him being down so bad#soft sukuna#jjk x reader#jjk fluff#jjk smut#sukuna#ryomen sukuna#jjk#jujustu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#mulanism
6K notes
·
View notes
Text
(yandere! vampire groom x gn! reader)
He just wanted you forever. Was that too much to ask for?
"I don't understand why you're being difficult. I thought you loved me."
You were a human, he was a vampire. You were destined to live a much shorter life than he is. In fact, he's already lived way longer than you have. 500 years without you. 500 years without having a meaning in life.
And now he's found you.
How could you be so cruel to deny both you and him eternal happiness? To take away the very reason he's willing to live?
"Why would you resist heaven's grasp? This is our fate, to be forever together. You know it."
His sharp nails grip your arms, eyes narrowing at you as he tries to convince you into seeing his point of view. He really just wants to shake you until you give in, but he probably will achieve the opposite if he does so.
"Come on, a human life is pathetic. You can barely live a hundred years. I am not seeing my spouse wither away in front of my eyes."
Your vampire groom's tone turns desperate as he grips the sleeves of your wedding outfit. You look absolutely beautiful, he thinks. All dressed up like the angel you are.
You'll look even more beautiful when you're turned.
"Why are you so hesitant to be a vampire? Surely being human is not that important to you."
But it is. He knows that. You've told him multiple times already. That you don't want to live forever, to see all your friends and family die in front of your eyes.
His eyes narrow slightly as you remain silent. He leans in even closer, face stern as if challenging you to speak back.
"Come on, is being human more important than being with me?"
"I- and if I say yes?"
The vampire's jaw locks at your answer as his grip on your upper arms tighten ever so painfully. Wrong answer. He didn't like that response of yours at all.
"You'd let me watch you die? You're cruel, you know that?"
He spits in your face as he pushes you against fhe church pew. The candles around you burn bright, their wax dripping to the cold floor of the church.
If you squint hard enough, you'd see a hint of fear in his cold eyes. Fear of losing you. Fear of you dying . Fear of you being ripped away from his embrace.
"But you should respect my choice-"
"And watch you die?! When it could all be prevented?!"
His voice is shrill, eyes widening in a mixture of anger. You wonder if you've ever seen him like this before. Seen him this angry and fearful, or this desperate and annoyed. He's always put you before him. Never asked you for anything but your love.
"Come on my love... You're not seriously dead set on staying human, are you? You'd be so beautiful as a vampire too. I'd let you drink from me and we'd be together forever!"
His grip on your arms grows tight before he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck. You remain silent, unmoving, rooted in your place. You didn't want to say anything. You know anthing you say will only anger him further anyway. He's so dead-set on turning you.
You'll reject him every step of the way though.
"I said no... Can't you just-"
"No. You're being selfish."
His words cause you to pause and think. You? Selfish? Well...
"Can't I have at least one thing? I deserve it. I deserve you."
You feel his lips touch the softness of your skin, his teeth threatening to pierce you. Instinctively, you try to push him away. No way! Was he actually trying to turn you into a vampire right now?
Your beloved groom merely holds your wrists down before nipping at your neck. Wait wait wait! Just hold on a moment-
"If you can't see it on your own... It is my duty to help you see it."
You lock eyes with your vampire groom, blood running cold as he slips a ring onto your finger.
"After all, I belong to you now, as you belong to me. In life and in death."
You feel a surging pain in your body as his teeth sink into your flesh. It's not like the bites he uses when he feeds, no. This time, it's clear he's doing it to lock you with him for eternity. To keep you with him.
"I am your husband now, my love."
Yours, forever and now.
Just like you are his, forever and now.
#yandere#tw yandere#yandere x reader#yandere drabbles#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines#yandere concepts#yandere vampire groom#yandere vampire groom x reader#gn reader#suiana rambling#suiana brainrotting
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
◝ ‿ You noticed how grumpy Sukuna had been all day, his temper flaring at every little thing, lashing out at servants with sharp, biting words. The deep, guttural growl that seemed to rumble from his chest set everyone on edge. His usual terrifying presence had become even more menacing, a dark aura clinging to him like a second skin.
Despite his brooding demeanor, a part of you couldn't help but feel a mix of concern and curiosity. You tilted your head slightly, watching him with keen eyes as he huffed, his expression stoic but tinged with annoyance. His four, fiery crimson eyes, which normally blazed with authority, now held a glint of something else-something darker and more irritated.
Approaching him carefully, you couldn't resist the urge to ask, "You doing alright, my love?" Your voice was soft, cautious, as if trying not to provoke him further. In response, he let out another agitated huff, but as he heard your voice, his irritation seemed to subside, if only for a moment.
His gaze softened slightly, the flicker of affection in his eyes undeniable. "I'm perfectly fine," he grumbled, crossing his powerful arms over his broad chest, trying to maintain his gruff demeanor. But you could see right through him-your presence alone had a calming effect, even if he refused to admit it.
You hummed quietly to yourself as you moved closer, a small smile playing on your lips. Without hesitation, you climbed onto his large lap, settling comfortably as he sat upon his imposing throne. He let out another quiet, dramatic huff, as if trying to emphasize his unknown frustrations. An idea formed in your mind, and you couldn't help but giggle softly. Though his face remained expressionless, you noticed that his lower set of eyes were locked onto you, following your every move with a silent intensity.
Despite his grumpy demeanor, you knew Sukuna well enough to recognize that he was drawn to you, his attention unwavering.
His lower set of eyes seemed to plead for your attention, even if his pride wouldn't allow him to ask for it outright. Raising an eyebrow slightly, he finally broke the silence, his voice gruff yet laced with curiosity.
"What's so amusing?"
You leaned in closer, the playful smile never leaving your face. "You're hungry, aren't you, my lord?" you teased, your voice tinged with amusement. "Is that why you've been so grumpy today? You haven't eaten a thing yet, have you?"
For a brief moment, Sukuna's grouchy expression faltered as your words hit the mark. "Are you implying I'm... hangry?" he questioned, his voice losing some of its initial sharpness. His four arms crossed defensively as his lower eyes averted your gaze. "I'm the King of Curses. I do not get hangry," he protested, though the slight rumbling of his stomach betrayed his claim.
You pouted playfully, noticing the subtle snarl of his lips in response. "You poor thing," you cooed, your hand snaking behind his head to rub at the sensitive undercut of his hair. He grunted under your touch, clearly enjoying the sensation despite himself. "Why don't you eat, my love? You're such a grouchy thing without a full belly."
Sukuna huffed again, leaning subtly into your touch. He hadn't eaten because he knew how much you disliked it when he indulged in his darker, more primal cravings—cannibalism, his twisted preference for human flesh or organs. He wouldn't admit that he was holding back for your sake, though. "I don't need to eat—I'm not that hungry," he muttered, but the quiet rumble of his stomach told you otherwise.
Before you could respond, Uraume, Sukuna's trusted subordinate, entered the room quietly and swiftly. They approached with a small bowl, offering it to you-a grim assortment of human parts carefully prepared for your lord. Uraume's presence was fleeting, and they quickly dismissed themselves, leaving you alone with Ryomen once more. You noticed how his abs clenched in hunger, even as his expression remained distant and stoic, his lower eyes locked onto your small hands holding the bowl.
"Are you sure?" you asked softly, teasingly, as you noticed the way his gaze lingered. His growl in response was all the answer you needed.
Sukuna's body trembled slightly as he fought to resist the overwhelming urge to feed. The aroma of the human flesh assaulted his senses, his mouth watering in anticipation. You could see his resolve wavering, the sound of his stomach rumbling growing louder, betraying his need.
One of your hands gently reached up to his face, guiding his gaze to yours with a tender touch along his jawline. "Shhh," you soothed, feeling his head lean into your palm, his usual resistance melting away under your touch. His four eyes met yours, the hunger in them now mingled with a hint of surrender.
You ran your thumb over his lower lip, lifting it slightly to reveal his sharp, lethal fangs.
With your other hand, you picked up a piece of meat from the bowl, holding it up to his mouth. "Hush now," you whispered, your voice soft and coaxing. "This will make you feel better."
As your thumb grazed his lip, Sukuna shivered under your touch. He tried to maintain his composure, but you could see the struggle in his eyes as his resistance began to crumble. The piece of meat you held in front of him seemed to taunt him, the primal desire within him threatening to take over.
"Hush now, boy," you cooed again, your tone patient and soothing, waiting for him to give in and take the meat. At your gentle command, Sukuna's pride wavered. The word "boy" irritated him slightly, but the hunger gnawing at him was too strong to ignore. With a resigned huff, he opened his mouth, allowing you to place the morsel on his tongue. As soon as the taste hit him, a low, guttural groan escaped his throat, and he began to chew, his primal instincts finally taking over.
You watched him with adoration in your eyes, your hand still caressing the side of his tattooed face as he ate. With each bite, you could see the tension and irritation slowly melting away, replaced by a deep sense of relief and satisfaction. His lower eyes closed slightly, contented, as he continued to lean into your touch.
After swallowing the flesh, his adam's apple bobbing as he did, Sukuna's voice was calmer when he spoke again. "More."
You smiled softly, letting go of his face only long enough to offer him another piece of meat. This time, as you held the food to his lips, his gaze remained fixed on you, a hint of irritation flickering in his eyes until you gently placed your hand on his jawline again.
He visibly relaxed, his irritation fading as he accepted the food.
Grunting in satisfaction, Sukuna leaned further into your touch, silently expressing his contentment with being fed and your understanding of his unspoken needs.
Once Sukuna had finished the last of the food you offered him, you found yourselves lying together in his chambers. His body was finally relaxed, the earlier tension completely gone. He nestled against you, his cheek resting on your soft chest, soaking in the warmth and comfort of your presence. You felt his head nuzzle deeper into you as he sighed in contentment.
"My good boy," you whispered, your fingers gently threading through his pink hair. "Just needed to eat, hm? So stubborn."
Sukuna let out a quiet grumble, a weak protest against your words, though the pleasure in his expression was undeniable.
"Not a good boy," he muttered, his voice laced with defiance, but his eyes were closed, fully enjoying the moment.
Despite his protests, it didn't take long for Sukuna to drift off into a deep sleep, his powerful lower arms wrapping around your waist as he held you close. His hands absentmindedly pawed at the soft flesh of your thighs, almost like a cat kneading its favorite spot, as he surrendered to sleep.
"Such a kitty too," you whispered softly, a fond smile playing on your lips as you watched him. "So grumpy until you're nice and full, hm? Then you take a nice long nap."
He grumbled faintly in his sleep, a sound that was both a protest and a sign of pleasure, his grip on your waist tightening slightly as he cuddled closer. As you held him, you couldn't help but feel a deep affection for the powerful, yet strangely vulnerable, king of curses lying in your arms. 𓈒 ꒱ა
#၇୧ ⠀ᅟ��⠀ ɓɑɓɓᥣes⠀⠀( ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ഒ ⠀⠀⁺#sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#sukuna x y/n#ryomen sukuna x reader#ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x y/n#sukuna fluff#ryomen sukuna fluff#anime x female reader#. . ˚˖𓍢ִ
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Blind Gojo adjusting to his new life…
The fight against Sukuna took a lot from everybody. With everyone making sacrifices, it was only right Satoru did too. He wanted to win, he was the strongest right? He had to win, no matter what. Losing the six eyes was just the mere cost of winning the battle. It was worth it right?
Satoru believed he didn’t deserve to live, but he had too now for everyone who died. Ultimately, deciding to now live his life as Satoru Gojo and not "the strongest” anymore. Losing the six eyes initially lead to frustration and anger, as he tried to adjust to being blind. He felt useless for a while, not being as efficient as he was. But over time, this loss lead to his personal growth. Gojo developed a deeper sense of humility and empathy for others, finally understanding the struggles of those who are not as gifted as he once was.
It wasn’t until he met you that he started to feel a sense of normalcy. And here he was at almost 30 learning how to live as a human for the first time. You taught him what true genuine love was and you patiently taught him how to reciprocate it back to you. He learned how to express his feelings to you instead of bottling them up inside. You created a safe space for him where he could unveil the true side of himself. Trust and intimacy forming between you two. Both of you navigating the complexities of loving each other.
He also didn’t know exactly what you looked like, not that he cared. His other senses were still in top shape and keen allies to him. That’s why his hands are always on you, he could feel you. Feeling the warmth of your body against his fingertips, large cold hands always coming to your face. He liked tracing your bone structure with the pads of his fingers, caressing your cheeks, and especially savoring your lips against his own. With each caress, he discovered new assets of your beauty, not defined by your visual appearance but by the sensations that awakened within him.
He could also smell your scent. He knows when you walk into a room when the sweetness of your perfume fills his nostrils, causing it to twitch like a bunny. He buries his nose into your hair because he loves the fresh fragrance of your shampoo. He loves when you bake him all his favorite sweets, the aroma of brown sugar lingering on you makes you smell even sweeter.
The sound of your voice. Satoru could never get tired of it. For once in his life, Satoru found himself not being the talkative one in a relationship. He cherished all the words that would leave your lips, each word a symphony to his ears. In the mornings Satoru would always lay in bed until you woke up waiting for the sound of your voice to be the first thing he heard each day.
All these aspects combined Satoru knew he was finally living the life he finally dreamed of. Every touch, every word, every moment was filling his deepest desires. In your presence, he found the reason why he deserved to live. He found peace and joy, a sense of completeness that he had long yearned for all in one person.
Even though he couldn't see anymore he felt things he didn’t before. He made up his mind that he didn't want to waste any more time. Satoru was now certain that his blindness didn’t stop his ability to love or to commit fully to you and he was more than grateful that you showed him that. It wasn’t long before you both decided to marry.
“She’s perfect…” you utter softly, handing the baby gently into an anxious Satoru’s arms. He cradles the baby just like you taught him, careful to not get too excited and accidentally hurt her. The baby babbles as she feels the comforting warmth of her father.
“The little sounds she makes are my favorite thing to hear,” he says, poking the baby’s cheek. “Describe her again to me, will you?” Satoru looks up from the baby, trying to decipher where you were.
You walk over to join him on the couch. “Of course, she has your beautiful blue eyes…” You noticed Satoru smiling, still holding his daughter close to him. “And your white hair…” you continue, Satoru’s finger coming up to her head, feeling the softness in her hair.
You describe every detail you could about the little baby to Satoru. You tell him about how her eyes seem to gaze into his soul full of love, and the way her tiny nose wrinkles when she sleeps just like his. A lone tear falls down Satoru's face, filled with heartache knowing that he will never be able to see her with his own eyes.
In that vulnerable moment, you hold Satoru close, letting him know that you were there. He smiles at you as he feels your touch, sniffling. There was determination in Satoru’s eyes. He was going to cherish every moment with his family.
"I'll be there for both of you," Satoru whispers, his voice filled with quiet resolve. His words carry a promise.
Thank you @suguwife for this lovely idea and the discord server as well!
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#satoru gojo#jjk gojo#jujutsu gojo#satoru gojo x reader#jjk satoru#gojou satoru x reader#jjk angst#blind gojo#jjk fluff
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Can someone please write a fic about that one scene where stiles grabs Derek’s face in magic bullet.
Where although he was out of it Derek could feel stiles fingers trail across his face. He could feel how softly and careful stiles was in that one moment. It had been the first touch from a human, from anyone, that did not cause Derek pain.
And when Derek wakes up he’s just obsessed with being touched by stiles again because he remembered how good it felt, how finally someone touched him and it didn’t hurt. Derek refused to wash his face for like three days after this because stiles had unknowingly scent marked him, and he couldn’t make himself get rid of the scent. How it made Derek feel like he wasn’t alone.
This action makes Derek’s wolf believe that stiles is pack, (stiles is the first pack Member!!) and he just keeps ending up in embarrassing situations trying to get stiles attention and his hands and him.
He probably just ends up blurting it out at stiles one day. Or maybe after killing Peter, he just get handle the weight of being alone, of killing the last member of his family, of being touched by Kate, of being hurt.
So he drags his body to stiles house and just gets on his knees and begs stiles to touch him, to make it stop hurting.
And stiles knows how hard it is to lose a family member so he does. He doesn’t think this will happen again, he just understands that Derek needs comfort. But Derek comes back over and over again and every time begs stiles to touch him. And stiles does, every time.
It becomes a comfort thing for the both of them, stiles running his fingers over the planes of Derek’s face. Derek gets to relax in the one place he’s safe, listening to stiles humming or muttering and the beat of his heart. It becomes a need, but soon stiles touching Derek isn’t enough, Derek wants to touch stiles. He wants to return the favour, he wants to scent mark stiles back. So everyone will know that stiles is claimed, that he is protected by an alpha who would kill for him. And he gets the chance to on the anniversary of stiles mother’s death.
Stiles is just so tired, his dad is working, will be all night. Scott is with Allison, and stiles doesn’t have the energy to beg him to pick him tonight. So he goes to Derek; Stiles isn’t really sure what this arrangement that he and Derek have but tonight he is the one who needs. He drives to the hale house and ends up sobbing by the time he gets there. He’s just sitting in the jeep in front of the hale house and he can’t move. And suddenly Derek is there.
Derek was already worried when he could hear the engine of the jeep pull up but when it turned off and all Derek could hear was stiles crying, he moved without thinking. He yanked the driver side door open and his heart broke. Stiles was sitting there trying to calm himself down, rubbing the tears from his face but nothing was working. So when stiles turned his head to him, eyes pleading and whining, Derek picked him up and carried him bridal style into the house. Derek just holds him for hours, memorizing the way stiles feels under his fingertips.
In the aftermath Stiles makes one joke about being a blushing bride (due to the blush on his face and being carried bridal style) and Derek is just hit with a vision of being married to stiles. Of being about to always be allowed to touch stiles and blue screens. Unfortunately Derek wolf takes this as expressed agreement that stiles is mated and married to them.
Derek buys rings the next day. Sure it takes him a few more years to propose but it’s the thought that counts. (Cocky Derek hale who flirts with stiles by calling him his pretty little wife, just to see stiles blush a pretty pink for him. But one day stiles responds that he doesn’t have a ring, so Derek just gives it to him.)
#sterek#stiles stilinski#derek hale#cheeky stiles Stilinski#let derek hale be happy#Derek deserves nice things#stiles is a nice thing#SOFT INTIMACY my beloved#stiles x derek#derek x stiles#derek hale is obsessed with him#jokes on Derek#stiles loves being able to constantly touch him and being close to the object of his obsession#they are both ridiculous touch starved#teen wolf#just sterek healing each other slowly#sterek fanfiction#they so sweet together#they need to be quarantined together for the greater good
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Sanemi Shinazugawa falling hard for his polar opposite but is too subborn to confess until he does
Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader
Word Count: 1,9k
Synopsis: Sanemi was never the type of guy who falls for something stupid as love. Especially not when it comes to his polar opposite, especially not with such a kind and gentle girl like you... Right?
Warnings: this is pure fluff y'all, reader and Sanemi being innocent babies, a tiny bit enemies to lovers
Thank you soo much for that cute request @blunderland, I just knew I had to write that asap hehe. Let me know what you think <3
There you stand with your stupid perfect face and smile so gentle that you could tame a demon with it. With worried expression, you bend over the little demon girl and inspect her wounds carefully.
“Don’t worry, you’ll feel better soon”, you speak out while caressing her dark hair.
What a poor girl she is. And her brother…Your eyes drift towards the boy with the beat-up face. What he had to endure is truly unfair, too much to bear for a single person. He really lost his whole family apart from that one sister who got turned into a demon.
And now he’s fighting for the demon slayer corps.
“I admire you.”
Tanjiro Kamado’s eyes widen in utter surprise.
“There’s no need to admire me. Actually, I’m the one who’s looking up to you. You’re the first person who didn’t judge my sister because she’s a demon.”
“Demons were once humans too”, you explain briefly while gracefully getting up.
“And I refuse to see them as anything else until they prove the opposite.”
“What kind of fuckery is this, (y/n)?”, an oh so familiar voice barks at you from behind.
Sanemi Shinazugawa really seems like a man with a heart made out of solid ice with his hateful orbs gleaming at Tanjiro and his sister.
“Don’t you think they proved themselves more than enough, Sanemi? If Kagaya-sama agreed on allowing Nezuko Kamado to live and her brother to continue fighting for the demon slayer corps, there is nothing to question for us hashira.”
“Don’t touch that demon brat so casually”, he hisses through gritted teeth while grabbing your wrist tightly.
Your heart skips a beat when his bare skin touches yours. How ridiculous it is that you developed feelings for him. Out of all the other hashira, it was always Sanemi Shinazugawa before everyone else. Those rare moments of tenderness he shows from time to time, the way he worries about his comrades without expressing his true feelings to the world. His closed like a treasure, so gorgeous that you can’t take your eyes off him.
“That isn’t a very nice way to talk to our guests, Sanemi”, you reply softly.
Urgh. He can’t fucking stand you with that scolding expression on your face, how your other hand still rests on top of the head of that demon brat. Why do you have to be so sickening kind to everyone you meet? Why are you even a part of the demon slayer corps with that strange attitude of yours?
“Guests? Are you talking about those intruders? If it was for me, I’d rip both of your heads off without blinking-“
“Sanemi.”
Before he’s able to react any further, he finds his own face framed by your much smaller hands and eyes focused onto his so intensely that he feels his cheeks heat up in an instant.
Why…Why is he suddenly feeling so hot? He should slap your hands away, should show you your place-
“Trust me, I understand your anger. But they are innocent until they prove themselves guilty.”
Those calm eyes who never lose their composure, the eyes he threatened to get lost in countless times already. Why do you have to be so damn gorgeous?
Gorgeous? He furrows his eyebrows, body yanking away from yours instantly. There’s nothing gorgeous about someone like you.
“If you really think that you’re a fool”, he bites back before turning on his heels and storming away.
What the hell was he even thinking? You, gorgeous…Just because your eyes seem to sparkle in the sunlight or the way your hair looks like liquid silk when a ray of light hits it perfectly. Or maybe because of the way your uniform hugs you so well, because of your strength. Or is it the way you look at him?
Sanemi shakes his head vehemently. That’s absolutely ridiculous. You’re the complete opposite of him. How could he ever like you?
“I think Shinazugawa-san likes you, (y/n)!”, Mitsuri babbles out while making her way back with you.
“Really? It definitely didn’t look that way”, you reply with low voice.
Oh, how much you’d hope that someday, the wind hashira actually likes you back. Even though both of you are polar opposites, even though you might never be on same terms. You still somehow managed to fall hard for him.
“Don’t give up hope, (y/n)! I definitely caught the way he looked at you earlier!”
You smile at the girl next to you gently, how she starts analyzing every minor detail of your confrontation earlier on. Mitsuri always swore that there is chemistry between both of you.
“And I’m never wrong when it comes to love, you can trust me (y/n)!”
“You’re a fool for treating (y/n) like trash, Shinazugawa”, Obanai comments dryly while letting his feet dangle from the tree he’s resting on.
“What are you even talking about, huh? It’s none of your business how I’m talking to her anyway.”
“(y/n) truly has a tender and kind soul. What a shame it is you hurt her like that”, Gyomei adds, tears streaming down his face in waterfalls again.
“Are you too dumb to realize she has feelings for you?”, Obanai continues.
You? Feelings for him? He huffs out loud. Absolutely ridiculous, maybe even impossible. Why would someone like you fall for someone like him? Not that he’d care for you like that anyway…
“I don’t give a shit”, Sanemi finally mutters through gritted teeth.
“Shinazugawa, it seems like you have a type”, Gyomei declares all of the sudden.
Something inside Sanemi snaps.
“Are y’all actually too dumb to realize that (y/n)’d never want me? I’m actually so far away from being her type I might be on a whole other planet! It’s like everything I am is exactly what she doesn’t want”, he finally blurts out.
Sanemi’s heavy pants hang in the air while the eyes of Obanai, Giyu and even Gyomei are set on him.
“You should really start working on your self-esteem, Shinazugawa.”
“JUST LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE Y’ALL!”
No, he can’t stand their bullshit anymore. Without listening to another word, Sanemi stomps away in the direction of his estate.
“(y/n) being in love with me? That I don’t laugh, why would I even care about that girl?”, he mumbles under his breath.
-a few days later-
Sanemi swallows heavy, orbs wandering up and down your body. You’re not wearing your usual black uniform and blooming haori. No, you look like a fucking goddess in that kimono and with those flowers braided into your hair.
“Do you think I look like too much?”, you question quietly, your own eyes wandering down your body in distress.
Maybe it was a mistake wearing that kimono for your meeting with Mitsuri. Of course, you knew she’d ask Obanai and Sanemi to accompany you. After all, it’s no secret that she adores the serpent hashira and knows too well about the feelings you hold for Sanemi. But now that you stand in front of him in something apart from your usual uniform, your confidence is blown away by the wind.
“You have to be kidding me. You look gorgeous”, Sanemi blurts out before thinking twice.
Fuck, did he really say that? You definitely think he’s a creep now. Maybe he should get going before it gets uncomfortable-
Your heart skips a beat, cheeks heating up in an instant. Did Sanemi Shinazugawa just call you gorgeous when he’s standing in front of you in that dark green kimono? How is it possible you’re never seen Sanemi in something apart from his usual uniform, that you never went out with each other?
“You look very handsome yourself. Dark green really suits you well”, you reply shyly.
Is it possible that maybe, just maybe, he might feel the same about you? No, that would be absolutely ridiculous, right?
“(y/n), actually there’s something I wanted to say you for quite some time now…” What the hell is he blabbering about? There’s absolutely nothing he has to tell you apart from how fucking annoying you are. You and your gentle voice, you and your captivating smile. You, the polar opposite of him-
“Oh, I actually wanted to tell you something as well!”, you reply a little too fast.
For a moment, you fear your knees might give in. Is this really the time to tell him about your true feelings? “Sometimes you have to be brave, (y/n), especially when it comes to true love! Confess to him!”
Mitsuri is the love hashira. She should know best, right? But what if you’ll make your relationship only worse by making him uncomfortable? What if he doesn’t even like you?
“Sanemi, I…I actually…I-“
“I love you, (y/n)”, Sanemi finally blurts out.
Oh.
There you stand with your opened mouth and blank mind. Did he really just say that? Maybe he didn’t mean it that what. But what if…What if he actually means it?
“You…love me?”, you breathe out.
“I know I’m your polar opposite and that I treated you like shit and I really don’t expect you to actually like me back. I just…wanted to let you know…”, the white-haired man opposite of you mutters while scratching the back of his head.
“But I actually do like you back…”
Sanemi’s eyes dart towards you immediately, his very own cheeks discolored bright pink.
“You…what?”
“I guess I was just never brave enough to let you know since I was sure you hate me…”, you mutter in response.
“Me, hating you?”
All of the sudden, you find his strong arms wrapped around your waist and his face only inches away from yours. You fail to breathe, your whole body refusing to function properly. That force of a man who never really seemed to care about you while your feelings for him were all over the place…He holds you so tight that your wobbly legs don’t have to carry your weight anymore, his usual so distressed orbs now looking down at you so passionately that your heart skips a beat.
“Do I look like I hate you?”, he challenges while pulling you even closer.
You expected a lot of things that could have happened today. Sanemi Shinazugawa declining Mitsuri’s invitation in the first place. Sanemi Shinazugawa keeping his safe distance to you. Sanemi Shinazugawa barking at you for being a blowhard. Sanemi Shinazugawa criticizing each and every little thing you do. But Sanemi Shinazugawa admitting his love for you, Sanemi Shinazugawa holding you tightly in his arms?
Not in a million years.
“I love you too”, you finally speak out.
“I actually did for quite some time. But I always thought you’d never like me back.“
“Well, here I am liking you back, idiot”, Sanemi mutters.
Is that a smile on his face? Why does it suddenly feel like his lips are moving closer? Oh, you thought about kissing that man countless times. Each and every night, you imagined what the privilege of feeling his soft lips pressed against yours might feel like. Is he rough, gentle? Did the wind hashira already share a kiss or two? Out of instinct, you close your eyes, allow yourself to get lost in his arms.
“Look what we have here. Seems like the two of you finally managed to admit your feelings”, Obanai’s dry voice jeers at you from behind.
Your eyes dart open immediately.
“No Iguro-san! You’re interrupting them!”, Mitsuri hisses.
“Are you too dumb to see we’re in the middle of something? Get lost, you fools!”
“I KNEW IT (Y/N)! I KNEW HE LOVED YOU!”
Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld
@froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake
@lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @sugu-love @ryva @baku2345
@komelrebi-san @kentocalls (your fic will be next) @barbuse @sunshine7queen @lavenderdrxp
@yaninnaacu @hopefulbelievertimemachine
#kny#kny x reader#kny x hashira#kny x y/n#kny x you#kny x female reader#kny fanfic#kny fluff#kny sanemi#kny shinazugawa#demon slayer kimetsu no yaiba#kimetsu no yaiba#kimetsu x you#kimetsu x reader#kimetsu sanemi#kimetsu fluff#demon slayer#demon slayer x y/n#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer x you#demon slayer x female reader#demon slayer sanemi#demon slayer fluff#demon slayer fanfic#sanemi shinaguzawa#sanemi shinazugawa#sanemi x reader#sanemi x you#shinazugawa sanemi#shinazugawa x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
ZERO-SUM GAME
It’s different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood. (Or: Aventurine wins you in a game of poker. He decides to cash out his prize right then and there—to enjoy you on the card table, laid out among all the chips and cards.)
8.6k words of psychological issues, explicit smut, and deranged characterization. aventurine tops, reader bottoms. public sex, voyeurism from strangers, piv, oral (reader receiving), fingering with gloves on, creampie. mild dubcon but the reader is ultimately into it. afab gn reader, they are playing a fem-coded role for an espionage assignment (dress, heels, makeup). themes of objectification. discussion of slavery and sa during slavery (not explicit). dead dove do not eat, mdni.
You are in the grandest casino of Kinyoshi Moon Colony, and Aventurine is running your latest husband into life-ruining debt.
You aren’t cut up about it. If your marriage (or concubinage, rather) were genuine, you'd maybe be annoyed about the loss of capital. But as it is, this relationship is an assignment from the IPC—one of the longest and most excruciatingly boring yet. Fortunately for you, Aventurine’s presence tonight means that you've finally gathered enough intel for Diamond’s needs. It is time for the IPC to terminate your latest contract, and Aventurine is here to collect you.
Which is a little funny, given your relationship. It is strange sitting across from your boyfriend, draped over another man and thoroughly ignoring him. You’re entirely focused on fawning over your husband instead—laughing into his ear, lighting his pipe and filling his whiskey glass, and oh, Mister Li, you're so funny, you're so clever, I think you should go all in!—but Aventurine doesn't react. He only smiles at the two of you, like he isn't bothered by the sight.
This is, of course, an act: when you came home from your last marriage (assignment), he'd made sure to pleasure you so thoroughly that you forgot all about your ex-husband (mark). Aventurine did not openly admit to any kind of jealousy at the time, but you could tell he hadn't been keen on letting another man touch you. He usually isn't too keen about anyone touching any of his things, in fact. Despite appearances, he always abhors the thought of losing anything important.
But any fears he might have are concealed right now. They’re always concealed. Hidden by the expensive suit, the countless stacks of chips, the golden walls and high-vaulted ceilings of the Venetian Zhijin, Masked by his generous gifts, his easy laughter, his careless frivolity. You can see right through his gilded smile. The rest of the table cannot.
They are all intrigued when Aventurine asks, a playful lilt in his voice, “How about we make this game a little more interesting, gentleman?”
The other players at the table consider him. The other plus-ones—concubines, courtesans, gigolos, and so on—look at him with calculated expressions of cursory interest. You do so as well, but only for a moment. Your gaze quickly returns to Mister Li’s face—your husband is meant to be your true focus, after all, not the game. You are not a player at this table, but an accessory. Closer to an expensive watch than a human being.
Some business magnate from the Triangulum Galaxy leans back and raises a brow. “I'm listening,” he says. You watch a bead of sweat travel down your husband’s neck.
“How about we up the ante,” Aventurine says, his voice light, “but instead of betting more money this time, we bet our dates?”
You think, in other star systems, other worlds, such a suggestion would invite riot. But Kinyoshi Colony being what it is, and the Venetian being the establishment that it is, the other players at the table only laugh. Nearly half of them deal in the trade of human beings anyway—this is nothing novel for them.
“Well,” one of them says, “it’s not like winning more money’s gonna make a difference to any of us.” A round of chuckling. He turns to his date—some noblewoman from Jarilo-IV who seems greatly out of her depth—and says, “What do you think, love? How do you feel about being part of my wager?”
She doesn't like it. She clearly doesn't like it, and she also clearly doesn't know how to say it. Were you not on the clock, you might intervene. Maybe. As it is, though, all you can do is observe quietly. All the power in this gambit lies with Aventurine. Even when surrounded by men who manipulate the wealth of entire cities, planets, galaxies—he remains in full control.
“There’s never any shame in folding,” he says, magnanimous. Then he looks your husband in the eye, smiling conspiratorially. “But I know there are some of us who aren't afraid to take risks.”
Li laughs. “You’re right about that, Mister Aventurine.” He gives you a fond smile. And of course he does—you’re his last shot at winning back all his losses for the night. “I think you'd make a pretty little chip, don't you?”
Although Mister Li is clearly less distressed at the thought of betting you than he was at the thought of betting his company just last round, you notice, out of the corner of your eye, a muscle in Aventurine’s neck twitching. It’s very, very subtle, and he'd have never let himself do it if the table’s attention were on him, but he did it. Perhaps it was involuntary. Your mouth curls.
“Sure, darling.” You try not to sound too giddy. “I’ll be whatever you like.”
Ordinarily, you wouldn't be so happy about this farce. This is, put plainly, a stupid way to extract you from your mission. Were the cards in anyone else’s hands, your husband could win and you might be stuck with him for another several weeks, at least—assuming that you aren't discovered and killed first. Or you could go home with another man and be subjected to the kind of things that men do when they trade human beings, and you don't think the IPC would care too much if you were. You are an asset before you are a person, after all. At this table, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being—and at the Company, you are an overpriced knife.
But to Aventurine, you're a chip in one of his games, and you don't mind that so much. Men who only know wealth will throw around their riches thoughtlessly, but men who have endured poverty will hold onto them tightly—desperately. Aventurine takes care of his luxury watches, his elegant knives, his liar’s dice. His capital. And he never loses anything. He always comes to collect. You trust him to collect you, even with this stupid plan, so you are calm as you watch the dealer shuffle the cards.
The table makes their bets. Most of the players go all-in. A couple fold, perhaps feeling some degree of concern for their partners, but it's more likely that they just have shit hands. A lot of the ones who continue playing have shit hands anyway. Your husband doesn't do too badly—a straight flush. He seems confident.
Then Aventurine lays out his cards. Ten. Joker. Queen. King. Ace.
All hearts.
You have to take a sip of your whiskey to stop yourself from laughing.
Aventurine, himself, has the grace not to look too smug about the outcome. Or maybe it's very unremarkable for him, all these winnings being pushed over to him—poker chips and human beings. Some of the other dates are clearly anxious as they move toward him (they are expected to be loyal to their husbands), and some are clearly excited (they are expected to be frivolous, hedonistic playthings). He humours them all, for a little while. Puts on the usual show as they crowd around him, charms them because it'll be good for business partnerships in case any of their husbands care even a little bit about them. You'd do the same in his shoes. But in your current ones (six-inch heels, black leather, red bottoms, luxury), all you can do is seat yourself on the card table and light up a cigarette. Waiting.
Aventurine eventually sends them all off. All I wanted was to get to know you, he says cheerfully, which is probably not a lie. After they leave, he asks the dealer to close the table and go on break. Turn a blind eye. You raise a brow when they obey him.
How interesting.
You're still enjoying your cigarette by the time he turns to you. You flash him a smile, one of the ones that you use for work. His expression doesn't change, but his thumb brushes against one of his many rings—switching off your synesthesia beacons for some privacy—and he leans back to study you. You know he's admiring you, but it could be mistaken for a leer.
“Well, well,” he says, “If it isn’t the esteemed concubine of Li Fengzhi.”
“The esteemed fifth concubine,” you correct. He hums, looking surprised.
“I thought you were the fourth. Did I misremember?”
“No, just misinformed. He took another concubine right before I arrived on Kinyoshi. He acquired a sixth just last week. Turns out he picks up paramours like they’re strays.”
“How inconvenient.”
“It made no difference to me,” you dismiss. “I’m his favourite anyway, but I’m sure you knew that already.”
“I’d have had to be blind not to notice it. You have the man wrapped around your finger.” Aventurine leans back, studying you as you smoke on your perch. “But before we continue—why don’t you come a little closer, esteemed Fifth Concubine?”
You make a face. “That title doesn’t sound as nearly as flattering in Avgin dialect as it does in Zhijinese,” you note, though you get off the table anyway. You don’t go very far, electing to seat yourself on his lap, your arms draping around his shoulders. The feathers of his jacket tickle at your bare shoulders; the satin of his gloves glide down the skin of your thighs before settling on your calves. “Since you’ve won my company for the night, though,” you sigh, “I suppose I can humour you, Mister Aventurine.”
“Lucky me.” He leans in, his breath sweeping the shell of your ear. His fragrance surrounds you, your body warming at the familiar scent of ambergris and vanilla. You realize, all of a sudden, how much you missed it. You have to stop yourself from pressing your face into his neck and melting—it would be a dead giveaway for your identity and also too revealing of your feelings. Aventurine might be endeared by it, but he might also find it disconcerting. He often needs to be tricked into intimacy.
He does enjoy being wanted though, and he can obviously tell that you want him. He pulls you closer, one of his hands giving your thigh a generous squeeze. It makes you throw your head back in a laugh, exposing the soft skin of your throat. You aren't surprised when he takes the opportunity to kiss it, his lips gentle against your pulse.
“You’re being very forward,” you tease him. “Did you miss me?”
“I’m just trying to be careful,” he defends himself between kisses, his breath warm on your skin. “We should try to conceal our mouths as much as possible. No one can intercept our synesthesia beacons, but someone could still read our lips.”
You give him a funny look. “We’re the only two speakers of Avgin in the known universe. Who could, other than ourselves, could read our—mmph…”
Aventurine has caught the rest of your sentence with his mouth. He’s hungry and wanting for you, the heat of his lips overwhelming. Your tongue is as practised as his, but you find yourself too distracted by your thrill to focus, your kiss wet and eager. Messy. Unprofessional.
You’ve never kissed any of your husbands like this. You’ve never kissed any of your other owners like this. You feel dazed when he pulls away.
You compose yourself. “So you did miss me.”
He smiles. “Guilty as charged.” A gloved hand rests on your face, satin tracing your lips. “How could I not? You’ve been away from the house for so long.”
Your eyes narrow. There’s no idiom for this in Avgin, so you flip briefly to Interastral Standard: “Pot, kettle, black. You leave home all the time.” You smack away the hand at your waist, petty. He looks amused. “And you almost always die.”
He switches out his smile for a pout. “Don’t tell me you’re still mad about last time.”
“You nearly got yourself blasted with atomics, so yes, I’m still mad at you.”
Now he’s frowning. “Am I going back to sleeping on the couch when you come back?”
“Yes,” you say. His deepening frown is meant to be read as a joke, but you know better. Deciding to throw him a bone, you lean in, whispering playfully into his ear: “You can still fuck me on it though.”
Aventurine hums, as if considering. His hands traverse your sides as he contemplates your suggestion. You move to straddle him, your thighs squeezed around his hips. When you grind against him, you can feel how much he wants you despite his composure, his control—his length straining in his pants, pressed against the silk covering your core.
“I don’t think I can wait long enough to fuck you on the couch,” he says, voice teasing.
“No?” You hum as his hands travel upward, feeling every inch of you. “The ship on the way home, then?”
“We don’t leave until tomorrow. Do you really think I can wait that long?”
You don't expect to feel the warmth of his hands on your chest. Your breath hitches when he starts palming your tits through your dress, neon eyes admiring the curve of them. One of his thumbs skims over the peak of your breast, and his mouth curls when your nipple hardens. “No bra? That's convenient.”
“I—” You squirm in his grip, whining. It just makes you grind against his lap more, your cunt moving against his slacks. A wave of heat runs through your lower half, and you clench around nothing. You can see people from a nearby table glancing at you, doing double takes. You can feel their lingering gazes on you, and you know Aventurine can too.
“I—are you going to”—your voice shakes as he pinches your nipple, as his other hand moves to squeeze your ass instead. Your dress is short—designed for easy access—and his fingertips easily skim the underside of its skirt. You wonder if he’s going to pull it up. You wonder if he's going to go even further than that.
But that would be an absurd thing to do in the middle of the busiest casino in the colony, which also happens to be the busiest trade hub in its star system. It would be absurd even for the two of you. Nevermind the reactions of the other players in the room—the staff here would immediately blacklist you, and so would every other gambling house in Kinyoshi.
You try to calm yourself. “Are you—ah—going to take me upstairs?”
He's fully kneading your breasts now. You can feel your clit throbbing, your body responding to his rough and unrepentant touch. “Hm… I don't think I want to.” Aventurine’s voice drops. His smile takes on a distinctly wicked quality. “I think I'll take you right here.”
“But we’ll get kicked out,” you whine. Even as you protest though, you're panting and moving your hips now. Grabbing at his arms, rutting against him like you're in heat. His fingers hook around the thin straps of your dress, pull them down your shoulders, already starting to indulge despite your reservations. You bend into his touch.
“Kicked out? By who? The staff?” He smiles, as always. “I own the place now. I don't think they'll be giving me trouble.”
“Y—you what?” For a moment, you're too shocked to keep up the wanton show. “You do? Since when?”
“Since last night.” He thumbs one of the straps that's fallen halfway down your arms. The rest of your dress threatens to come down with it. “Technically it's the IPC who acquired it—or, well, their shell company did—but I'm their designated representative here. I signed the contract.”
“The IPC isn’t going to be upset that you're fucking a concubine, who's not even your concubine, on their new property?”
Aventurine shrugs. “They know the kind of establishment the Venetian is. People gamble with humans here all the time, you know, so this has definitely happened before. The IPC definitely expects it to happen again. And besides”—he returns his attention to your dress, starting to slip the fabric down your shoulders—“I'm just cashing out my winnings. I'm sure they wouldn't deny a gambler his vices. That'd be bad business.”
You want to say more, but then he tugs, suddenly exposing you. You’re bare in front of him—in front of everyone. You can feel eyes on you. Heat curls in your gut as he grabs your tits again, his satin gloves smooth across your skin, and your nipples pebble beneath them. “Hm… much better.”
“But…” You bite your lip, glancing around. There are so many people watching now—so many voyeurs, who've forgotten about their games and their slots. Though there are a greater number of people who are continuing as usual, studying their hands, smoking their cigarettes, unperturbed. All regulars and VIPs, you know from your intelligence.
Aventurine pauses as you catalogue the room, raising a brow. Probably he's surprised at your sudden modesty; you usually have none when his touch is involved.
“Of course,” he adds, “if you'd rather enjoy the suite upstairs…”
“No—I don’t mind staying down here… it's just that I’ve never…”
Your voice trails off. Your eyes traverse the space again. There are people who’ve fully thrown their cards down, greedily drinking in the sight of you instead. Even some of the dealers are watching between hands, glancing at you instead of watching for cheaters. Like this is public entertainment, like you're a show.
Aventurine tilts his head.
“You've never had sex with an audience?” he guesses. He sounds surprised—perplexed. You don't know why. You know he knows it's a stupid question. You know he knows the answer.
You had sex in front of people all the time before you met him. You did it for the exact reasons that he’s almost certainly done the same. To this table of business magnates, you are closer to an expensive watch than a human being; to the IPC, you are more like an overpriced knife; to this gambling hall, you're an interesting sideshow.
To your captors who fucked you in public, you guess you were something like a toy.
The thought sitting in your mouth is this: you've never had sex with an audience and enjoyed it. It was painful—not painful for the heart or the mind or anything else sentimental, but painful like it felt you were a fish being gutted open by a knife. And even beyond that physical pain, you simply didn't enjoy being passed around. You didn't like being owned by those people. You didn't like being an object for their entertainment, a spectacle to be consumed.
But it's different with Aventurine. You like being his luxury hand watch. You like being his elegant knife, his liar’s dice, his pretty poker chip. You like being his plaything, spread for his viewing whenever he wants. You want to be his object—the object of his affections, something he can parade around just like his expensive suits and his beautiful jewellery and his ostentatious furs. Look at me, he uses them to say. Look at what I own. Look at what I own despite this commodity code on my neck. Look at what I've won despite my eyes and my blood.
You want him to own you too. You want him to show everyone that he won you, that he bought you, that you're his possession now. That he, and he alone, is free to treat you like a toy.
You're getting wetter just thinking about it.
“Nevermind,” you whisper. “Let's do it.”
His smile widens ever so slightly. Slyer than usual.
“Good,” he says. He guides you into standing. “Let’s get you settled then.”
You're seated back on the card table. The cigarette is forgotten in the ashtray next to you. Aventurine takes the time to straighten out your dress, lifting the straps back up and affording you some modesty—before he gently lays you out.
You look up at him as you're spread in front of him, laid out next to his royal flush and winnings. Like you're another chip in his stacks, the most expensive one. He puts a hand beneath your leg, drapes it over his shoulder. He takes the opportunity to kiss your calf, his lips delicate.
You glance at the tables around you. You watch the business owners and politicians as they watch Aventurine. You watch them as they watch your boyfriend pepper kisses up your leg, unless he's settling in between them. Your thighs spread easily for him, and you don't resist as he hikes up your skirt.
Then he frowns.
“I’ve never seen these panties before.”
“They’re new,” you relay.
“From your husband?”
“Yup.”
“I see.”
You can't see his face, but he sounds distinctly displeased. You expect him to complain, to say they're not expensive enough or not designer enough or just plain ugly.
You don't expect him to tear them right off.
“Aventurine?!”
You're so surprised you sit up, just in time to see him throw tatters of silk to the floor.
“What?” He looks up at you, expression unbothered, almost mild. “It wasn't your colour.”
Your mouth opens. “But it was still very nice!”
“I'll buy you nicer ones later. I’ll buy you a whole drawer of nicer ones later, when we’re done here.”
He looks down again, humming. Your cheeks flush as he spreads your legs again, baring your glistening sex to him—this time completely bare. Satin glides along the inside of your thighs, and your breath hitches when he reaches their apex. You feel the light touch of a finger along your opening, and you feel your body responding, tightening around nothing.
“Tell me,” he says, “What else did your husband do with you?”
His voice is casual, almost disinterested, but you know Aventurine is listening carefully.
“Not much,” you answer truthfully. “I haven't cum in months, you know.”
“Oh?” He sounds surprised. “You don't have sex with him?”
“No. He's fucked me a lot. It”—you whimper, pausing when you feel his fingers spreading you open, fluttering hole and swollen clit exposed to him—“it just wasn't very good.”
“Then”—you feel a thumb press against your clit, and you swallow—“he never touched you here?”
“N-no.”
“Stupid of him.” He’s drawing slow, lazy circles into the bud now, making you squirm on the table. You press yourself eagerly toward his familiar touch, having desperately missed it for months. Aventurine, perhaps sensing your neediness, asks, “And you didn't touch yourself?”
“He didn't let me,” you whine, and now he's frowning at you.
“I knew I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he says, and you have to bite back a laugh. Aventurine’s mouth curls at the sound, and he leans in to place a kiss on your thigh. “But that’s fine. I'll make it up to you now.”
Aventurine kisses are soft and precise. They pepper a path up your thigh while his fingers continue to play lazily with your clit. You want—need—to feel something inside you, but he doesn't oblige. His fingers merely run along your entrance, teasing your dripping pussy with luxury satin, and that's all they do, even as your hips buck needily toward him.
He pauses for just a moment. When you look at him, you see him staring at you—at the brand on your inner thigh, the commodity code that your captors left on you, branding you as a product to be used and sold.
His voice is almost soft when he asks, “And what did your husband say when he saw this?”
“He never did,” you reply. “He always fucked me from behind. And he never went down on me.” You pause, thinking about the way he spoke of his business. Of his trade partners. Of what your captors had done to your home when you told him about it, feigning intimacy only to be matched in cruelty. You think about the way he fucked you, how it felt to be gutted open on his expensive, silk sheets.
None of it matters to you, really. This is behaviour that you’ve long accepted, that your body always anticipates. But you always like to offer Aventurine intimacy, whether real or feigned, whether he returns it equally or responds with undeserved cruelty: “I think it wouldn't have bothered him if he had noticed it.”
You can't see Aventurine’s eyes, but you can feel his reaction when he places a chaste kiss on your product code.
“I should have gotten you out of there sooner,” he repeats. Then he pauses. “Maybe I shouldn't have let you go at all.”
“I didn't mind,” you say. You aren't lying. “You gave me up for a reason.”
He stands. Cups your face with a palm, luxuriant fabric and gold rings pressed against your skin. Sometimes he's given up the aventurine stone temporarily for assignments, parting with it in elaborate gambles that he always manages to win. The way he’s touching you now reminds you of the way he holds the gem whenever it returns to his hand.
“Well,” he says, “I’m sorry it took so long to get you back.”
Aventurine tilts your chin up for a kiss. You meet it eagerly, and it's so tender in its familiarity that every memory of your husband fades. There's only Aventurine, and his gentle mouth, and the way his hands slide your dress down again, how he palms your breasts again. How he teases one nipple with his expensive rings until you're moaning into his mouth. How his other hand travels down until his gloved hand is cupping your heat. You drag your hips against his touch, desperately seeking some kind of friction, your wetness drenching the cloth. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your body aching to be filled by him, aching in a way that it does for no one else.
It’s one of the most addictive feelings you've ever known.
Aventurine only stops touching you so he can push away all the chips, clearing space on the table. He ignores the cacophony as countless stacks fall over, not sparing the plastic coins a single glance. Like you're the only prize that matters to him, even though the sum of his winnings come out to more than you ever were worth.
He lays you out on the table again, flat on your back, exposed, before kissing a path down your body—your neck, your breasts, your stomach, between your thighs. He deigns to give your product code one more kiss, his lips so gentle that it makes you tremble—and then he finally puts his mouth on you. He licks a hot stripe from your dripping pussy up to the crest of your sex, and your eyes close in bliss.
If you felt any uncertainty before this, it's completely gone now. Your hands ghost over your tits, playing with them as Aventurine’s tongue plays with you. He sucks on your neglected clit, fingers squeezing your thighs, keeping you spread open and still for him. He presses in, lets you drag your cunt over his greedy mouth and grind your clit against his face. Heat and pressure coil tight in your belly as he pleasures you, your body flushing with the kind of bliss only Aventurine can give you. You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t notice how quiet the rest of the hall has gotten, the cacophony of chatter and slot machines oddly subdued—almost missing. In their absence, the obscene noises that Aventurine is drawing from your mouth and body are louder than they should be.
The pleasure in your belly is just starting to swell when he pulls away. You give him a pleading look as he leans over you, but before you can start begging for more, you feel his fingers press against your heat. He watches you with keen eyes as he starts rubbing your pussy, maybe enjoying the desperate noises you make at his touch. You buck your hips, moaning as your clit and entrance grind against the fabric of his gloves, seeking friction. You’re empty, aching, desperate to be filled, but you think you can finish like this, just by rutting against his satin fingers—
Aventurine withdraws his hand, and you whine.
“No,” you beg, “please, please keep going, I was getting close—”
He raises a brow, feigning surprise. “Keep going?” He brings up his hand, shows you his gloves. The satin is soaked, shiny and stained with your slick. “I don't think I should. Look at what a mess you’ve made of my gloves.” Aventurine hums, frowning. “These are designer, you know. And limited—there are only 95 pairs of these in the whole universe. And you're ruining them.”
“I'm sorry,” you say, mind so fogged with lust that you can't even return his teasing. “I'm sorry, I'll make it up to you, I'll do anything, just—just let me cum—”
“Anything?” His smile is sly.
“Anything.”
“Well. I suppose if you help me clean this up, I wouldn't mind rewarding you with more.”
You don't need to ask what he means by that. When he holds out his hand to you, runs a finger along your lips, you obediently open your mouth for him. Your tongue slides along the wet satin, only making his glove messier—but he seems not to mind. He merely watches intently as your tongue cleans his fingers, taking in the obscene image of you hungrily lapping your own slick off the expensive fabric.
He lets you ruin his glove thoroughly before finally drawing back, peeling it off.
“I'm not sure that did any good,” he says, frowning. “I’ll probably need to buy a new pair. But”—he pulls away, and you feel him settle between your legs again, his hands spreading them. “I'll still reward you for the effort.”
Aventurine is quick about getting his mouth back on you. His tongue is hot on your skin, expertly teasing your clit. You feel his fingers running along your entrance again, growing sticky with his need. He laughs when you press your hips toward his hand, desperate to be filled.
Then he's pressing his bare fingers into your heat, and your back is arching off the table.
The moan you let out is obscene. It only gets worse when his fingers curl, making the pressure in your belly even heavier. Utterly shameless, you beg for him as he fucks you with his fingers: Aventurine, please, please, I need more, please, I'm so close, I'm so close.
As if taking pity on you, his mouth finds your clit again, his fingers pressing into your sweet spot at the same time. And he doesn't let up, pushing into it even when you think you can't take anymore—tongue swirling against your overstimulated bud, fingers making you gush uncontrollably. You practically sob when you cum, a noise of desperation that echoes in the gambling hall.
His smile looks a little fonder than usual—or maybe just entertained—as he stands again and leans over you. You taste your own release in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, and he strokes your face when he pulls away.
“So good for me,” he praises. “Are you going to let me do more?”
You nod eagerly. “Whatever you like,” you say, all sense of shame gone from your body, “and however you want.”
Aventurine’s mouth curls. “Your husband fucked you from behind, right? Why don't you bend over for me, then? Let's show him how he should have been doing it.”
You see the diamond pupils of Aventurine’s eyes glance off to the side, where, sure enough, your husband is spectating with some of his business partners. You force yourself to turn away before you can smile, hiding your expression from the other men. You’re not meant to derive any real pleasure from any of this, let alone pleasure of the vindictive kind. Your relationship with Aventurine is supposedly nothing but a gambler and his newly won, human plaything. It would be suspicious if you appeared to be anything else.
You slink off the table in a distinctly performative way, and Aventurine plays equally into the show—probably an act as familiar to him as it is to you. He guides you into turning around, your eyes falling on the scattered cards on the tabletop, the casino’s eyes falling on you. His hands waste no time in pulling down your dress and reaching around to knead your breasts, in full view of the rest of the gambling hall. You're only vaguely aware of your audience now, registering the interested, hungry stares, but not really caring. You're too focused on the way that Aventurine is tugging and twisting at your nipples, at how he’s pressed up against your ass, his cock straining through his pants. You grind needily against him, whining.
Aventurine kisses your shoulder. “Poor thing. You've been neglected for so long, haven't you?” His hands retreat, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Then your skirt’s being pushed up and you're being bent over, your dripping pussy fully presented to him. When you feel the press of his cockhead against your entrance, you desperately try to push yourself back onto him. But he doesn't allow you to—only running the tip along your wet folds, still sticky from your release, while he stills you with a gentle touch on your hip.
You make a pathetic, desperate noise. Aventurine chuckles, though there’s now a breathy quality to his voice.
“Be patient,” he chides. “I'll take care of you.”
You know he will. He always takes care of you, in a way that no one else ever has. Even when he gambles your life for some mission, even when he can barely afford you the barest hints of intimacy, even when he displays your body to an audience of slave traders and murderers—he always takes care of you. Even if you are only a knife or a wristwatch or a chip in one of his games, he still treats you like you're worth holding onto.
Aventurine finally moves. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel his cock sliding into you. Usually he needs to be careful after your long missions away from him, knowing you'll be tense. He understands that your body always anticipates being in pain after being touched by other people. But he has you so worked up right now—still dripping from your release, still pliant from his fingers, still eager to please him before the crowd—that your cunt easily swallows his length. The stretch is pure bliss, pleasure unfurling in your body as you're filled up properly for the first time in months. He's just as affected as you, breath shaking as he bottoms out.
“Fuck,” he breathes—laughs. “Nearly forgot how good this feels.” He pauses, his breathing slowing—almost stopping each time you squeeze around him. You turn back, throwing him a pleading glance, and he meets it with an endeared smile. “Eager today, aren't you?” He hums, a hand sliding along your waist. “You really do need to be properly fucked.”
He's stalling. Trying to give you a moment to adjust, but you don't need it. “Yes,” you encourage him. Aching for the press of his cock against your walls, you grind against him, and you hear a strangled groan as you force him to move inside you. “Please, Aventurine—please, please fuck me, I need it so badly—”
He hums, both hands grabbing your hips, his fingers sinking into you. “Well. Since you asked so nicely.”
The first thrust has your eyes going wide, your hands reaching for the card table as you’re forced to bend over. You spread our palms next to the mess of heart cards and shiny tokens, bracing yourself for the way your body’s about to be used. He doesn't give you time to breathe after, each stroke filling you deep and fast. The rest of the gambling hall grows very, very quiet as Aventurine fucks you, and suddenly all you can hear is the appreciative murmur of the crowd, clink of ice cubes in aged whiskey, the noisy flick of lighters as more patrons opt to pause their games and enjoy the show. You hear the shattering of all the stacks beside you, hundreds of thousands of dollars in chips fall over beside you, tokens clinking as they roll across the tabletop. But all of that is soon drowned out by the wet noise of your pussy being fucked open, the squelch of your slick around his cock. You moan each time he bottoms out, eager to be filled.
When you feel his cock press into your sweet spot, your moans quickly turn into cries.
You hear something like a breathy laugh from Aventurine. Your body always reveals itself so easily to him, and you know he enjoys it. He hits that spot again and again, builds an agonizing tension in your body with every thrust of his hips. It has your pussy gushing around him, your thighs growing wet and sticky with your need.
Just when it feels like you can't take anymore, he reaches down and presses his fingers against your throbbing clit. Your knees buckle as he toys with you, chest heaving against the table as he sets a brutal pace. You're—overwhelmed, mind going hazy as you're fucked mercilessly. So far gone, you can hardly register the disgruntled expression of your husband, the hungry gazes of his companions, the way that other players are starting to shift in their seats, palming themselves at the sight of your pussy being split open. There's only the tight coil in your gut, the chips between your fingers as you grab uselessly for something to ground you, the cock that's filling you over and over and over—and oh fuck, you’re going to cum, you're really going to cum after being won in a game, from having your pussy used like a sleeve, from being watched by men who will never own you no matter how many times they trade you, no matter how many times they fuck you, no matter how many times they pass you around, because you'll only ever belong to Aventurine—
Your orgasm crashes through your body, and you sob.
It's a broken, blissed out noise. Your pussy is equally shameless, gushing as you pulse around Aventurine’s cock. You go limp as he fucks you through your orgasm, uncaring about the mess you're making. He only groans as you squirt all over him, hips stuttering as he reaches his own peak—spilling himself inside you, pumping you full. Aventurine’s body slumps over yours as rides out his high, his face pressing into your shoulder. You find the wherewithal to shift yourself, just enough to your lips against the tattoo on his neck. He looks at you for a fleeting moment, the blue ring of his eyes electric on you, before capture your mouth in a desperate, messy kiss.
The two of you stay there for a long moment, panting into each other. Then Aventurine collects himself, remembers how to talk: “Fuck.”
You piece yourself together just as easily. Maybe even faster. Smiling into his mouth, you ask, “Enjoy yourself?”
“Clearly.” Aventurine presses his lips into your neck, lingering only briefly. “Can you walk?”
“I think so.”
Aventurine takes his time with moving, as if basking in the afterglow—or bragging in it. But he does rise, eventually. Pulls out slowly, making you shudder. He helps you to your feet, lets you hold onto him for support. His spend drips down your thighs as you right yourself, messy and hot on your skin. You can feel it sliding down your legs as you walk, braced against Aventurine as he guides you in the long walk toward the elevator. It slips all the way down to your calves, to your expensive heels, even onto the marble floor.
You're fairly certain that it's not an accident when Aventurine flips up your skirt as you pass your ex-husband. At the very least, it isn't a mistake when you stumble in that same moment, bending over and giving him a good look at your well-used pussy, now overfilled with your boyfriend’s cum. You don't stop to look at him, but you know he must be red-faced, displeased—aware that he’s been humiliated. Beaten by a Stoneheart, concubine stolen by Sigonian, one of his favourite possessions claimed by a former slave. You'd laugh if you could.
You can't help but kiss Aventurine while the two of you wait for the elevator, a smile glowing into his lips.
It's absurd, but a staff member approaches the two of you as you indulge in one another. Aventurine pulls away as you’re approached, looking mildly annoyed as he switches on his synesthesia beacon.
“Sir,” the staff says, “you’ve left your other winnings at the table.”
Even in his post-orgasm bliss, Aventurine responds promptly. “I’ll cash it all,” he says. “Send the money to my room. I'm not coming back tomorrow.”
“Very well. And the terms of the… human resource exchange that just happened?”
Aventurine’s jaw clicks. It's quiet, but surprising. You watch him carefully.
“We didn't bet contracts,” he says. “This is a concubine, not a slave. But tell Mister Li I'll buy them anyway. I'll pay whatever price he wants, which I’d wager is the company that he gambled and lost to me. Maybe suggest that to him.”
“Of course,” the staff member replies, bowing. Despite the first-rate service, Aventurine looks like he can't get out of there sooner enough as he guides you into the elevator. You give him a curious look as the door closes.
“You're going to give up a multiplanetary corporation just for this?” you ask.
“Not entirely. The IPC was planning to acquire it anyway. It'll be ours again in a few months.” He stares at your reflections in the mirror, his strange eyes lingering on your dishevelled form. “We’ll put your intel to good use,” he adds, and although Jade or Diamond or any of your real bosses would say this with a smile and reward you with a bonus, Aventurine’s expression is unreadable.
“What's on your mind?” you ask, fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re worried about something.”
Aventurine blinks, and it takes him a moment to recover.
“Nothing. Just hoping we didn't give our relationship away just now.” He cups your face with a hand, guides you into looking at his smile. A deflection. “I might have gotten carried away.”
You lean into his touch, eyes playful: a performance. As if he's some stranger that you're servicing, a captor being entertained; as if you're a plaything about to be used. As if you expect to be treated like the disposable commodity that your husband just gambled away.
“I wouldn't worry,” you reassure him. “I'm sure after the show we put on, it'll be clear to anyone that you're only keeping me around for sex.”
It's very, very subtle, but a muscle in Aventurine's neck twitches. He'd never allow it in a game of cards, never before the IPC, never before the prying eyes of slavers and killers—but he allows it in front of you. He always unwittingly bares himself to you, even as he swallows his discomfort before adopting his usual, vulpine expression. You don't think anyone else would notice what lies beneath the gilded surface of his smile, his liar’s eyes. You don't think anyone else would notice his tells, his vulnerabilities, his quiet fear of loss.
After all, there is no one else in this universe who knows how to trick him into intimacy.
Winning has always come with a certain emptiness for Aventurine. Gambling is, after all, a zero sum game. He plays a royal flush and people lose their homes. Winner takes all. He survives the fighting pits, his blade dripping red with the lives of other slaves. Winner takes all. He runs from the stench of blood and burning flesh, praying for thunder and rain loud enough to drown the screams of his dying kin. Winner takes all.
He alone survives. He alone enjoys his riches. Ever since the Avgin died, he has always been by himself. There is no amount of coin nor credit that will ever change this.
Here is another unyielding fact that hollows any win: that no matter how many credits he collects, he will always be a chip himself. He will always be a plastic token worth sixty coppers. Gambling is a zero-sum game, and ever since the day he was chained, Aventurine has been the pool of riches divided among winners. He has always been the commodity being traded between hands. He has always been the prize to be cashed out and used. Even now, with all this money and power, it will never be him who comes to collect: it will always be the IPC. Winner takes all.
Such is his fate. Luck is always on his side, but he has always had the losing hand against destiny. No matter how many times he wins, there is nothing that will ever truly belong to him.
But then he met you.
Then he met you, and now his luck does not always feel like such a cruel or empty thing. Now the zero-sum game has meaning. He hedges his bets in the market and buys out a planet, and acquires you along with the shares. Winner takes all. He gambles his life against a nuclear power and comes out on top, and the IPC allows him to keep you by his side. Winner takes all. He plays a royal flush and wins at a table of slave traders, and he gets to fuck you until you can't think of any cock but his own. Winner takes all.
Gambling is a zero-sum game, and when you're the reward, Aventurine wouldn't have it any other way. He’ll never share you with anyone. He'll never sell you to anyone.
He’ll never lose you to anyone.
Sometimes it surprises him, this attachment he feels to you. He doesn't quite understand it, but he thinks it mostly just has to do with how good it feels to fuck you. Much like gambling, Aventurine has never enjoyed sex until you came along. Sex for him has always felt like a humiliation, like being gutted open as a captive animal, like being won and passed around in the grand hall of some gaudy casino.
Which is, in fact, another thing he never thought he'd enjoy: having sex in the Venetian Zhijin before an audience of revolting men. He'd resented having to do it as a slave, but he’d enjoyed doing it with you as a Stoneheart. He'd even do it again if he could—take you over and over again on that card table, fill you up with his cum. Spread your cunt in front of everyone, so they could see for themselves that you were now his. Winner takes all.
Winning doesn't feel empty when you're his reward. Sex doesn't either. Because Aventurine isn't a chip or an animal or a commodity when he fucks you—he's a player. Someone with a seat at the table, as just as wealthy and powerful as the slave traders around him. Someone who’s allowed to own something—really own something.
Really allowed to own you.
Aventurine owns you. When he fucks you, he is a player at the table, and you are the prize he gets to keep. And no matter how you feel about him and how you act toward him—this is all the two of you will ever be. He knows this. He knows that you know it too.
So sometimes he can't fathom it, the way he treats you in bed. The way he always kisses your commodity code when he sees it, the way he allows you to kiss his own. The way he always thinks about pleasuring you until you're drunk on his cock, so addicted to him that you’ll never want to be touched by anyone else. The way he always likes how your body feels when it's being shaped by his hands. How different it feels from being forced to touch other people.
How badly you make him want something that he's always hated.
And this is what he understands least of all: how he doesn't like to hear you say aloud the true nature of your relationship. How he doesn't like it when you accept this reality and say, you're only keeping me around for sex.
It hollows him out when he hears it. A bitter feeling swells in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow.
Aventurine keeps his face neutral as he enters the suite with you. As soon as the door is shut, you pull him close—close enough for him to see the blurred lines of your lipstick, smudged from his mouth; close enough to see the white diamond necklace on your neck, a collar for a concubine; close enough to see the finger-shaped discolorations on your throat, poorly hidden by your foundation.
Close enough to see all the things done to your body by others—all the things you didn't choose for yourself.
“How do you want to have me next?” Your fingertip traces his lips. “On the bed? In the shower?” Your eyes are playful. “Maybe against the window?”
Aventurine’s hand cups your cheek, gold rings pressed against your skin. His hold is delicate, more careful than with anything else he's ever handled—any of his watches, his furs, his jewellery. Even more than with the aventurine stone.
“I want to kiss you,” he says.
You blink.
“Kiss me?” Your brow ticks up, but then your face lights up in supposed understanding. “Okay. You can kiss me. And then?”
“And then I'll keep kissing you.”
You tilt your head, not understanding. “Really?”
“What? Is that off-limits now?” He leans in, expression playful. “Don't tell me I've got to go back downstairs and win back permission to kiss you from your husband.”
Before you can say anything else—ask anything else, perceive anything else—he presses his mouth to yours. Your eyes widen for only a moment before falling shut, your arms wrapping around his neck. Your lips part for him, and he delights in the noise you make as he deepens the kiss.
He did lie, in a way. The two of you do end up fucking again—this time in bed, your mouth gasping into his as you fall apart for him, wet and needy around his cock. You're so warm around him, so pliable beneath him, so desperate when possessed by him. He knows that he could keep going, that he could do anything to you, that you'd be eager to let him use you however he wants.
But all he does afterward is kiss you.
This is yet another act that he never thought he'd enjoy. Kissing has always felt like a chore or a power play or a manipulation. It has always come with a certain emptiness—just like gambling, just like sex. And then he met you, and now it no longer feels so hollow. Because when he wins bets for the IPC, he feels like a poker chip in one of their games, but when he’s fucking you, he feels like a player at the table. And sometimes, when he kisses you—when he holds you close, when you come down from your high and press your face into the crook of his neck and in the vulnerable haze of your bliss, tell him, I missed you—
—he finally feels like a human being.
end notes: christ alive I have never written anything so horny glddjsksjs. I apologize for both my mid smut writing and deranged characterization 💔
initially this was supposed to be brainless pwp about aventurine eating you out on a poker table but I kept asking myself “why the hell did aventurine gamble for human beings and why are these two insane enough to be fucking in a casino tho lol”, and thus a coherent narrative was born from my shameless lust for this guy! but please also don't take the story too seriously because this is a dumb smut piece first and foremost and I mostly wrote it with my clit 😔✌️
that being said, if you are curious about the subject matter that I covered – here's an afterword expanding on my intentions with the themes.
#aventurine x reader#aventurine smut#hsr smut#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#x reader#im so tired of editing this the quality of this piece is a lost cause sldkfjsldkfj#DIVIDER BY @/CAFEKITSUNE BTW it is so cute i thought it was perfect for this fic#anyway. sorry to everyone for character assassinating our favourite gambler#yueshuo.fics#dead dove#cw.slavery
2K notes
·
View notes