One Year Of This Account With Only Six Posts To Its Name. Slay Ig.

Kinda spoilers for nezha 2 but gawdamn was Ao Bing's dad hot as fuck as a human.

When (or if) I'm finished with my Mydei post, I'm fucking writing about Ao Guang (probably, who tf knows what my brain does) because this son of a gun can't pass up on a hot dilf.

But fr tho the movie was fantastic, Nezha is such a funny little prick and Ao Bing is just the cutest.

Raw raw raw, or whatever lady gaga said.

LOOK AT HIMMMMMMMMMM

Also, can't believe I'm actually reading fics in my mother's tongue on ao3, but at this point I'm desperate for content and the CN writers are just *mwah* chefs kisses, Michelin star level stuff.

Eating this up frfr

HEAR ME OUT

Aventurine and his partner have been together for a while when they somehow try working through Aventurine’s past trauma by showing him what a true master is like (reader)

Note - heavy bdsm, master/slave, anything else you’d like but I would prefer this being a healthier one so not non/con or forced

Thank you! 💖💖

“LET ME SHOW YOU WHO I AM”

pairing. Sub!Aventurine x Top!male reader

synopsis. In where Aventurine finally submits on his own terms, he learns what it means to be touched without being taken. — 4.3k

warnings. mdni, nsfw, amab reader, master/slave kink, collaring kink, light bondage, fingering, blowjob, handjob, overstimulation, begging, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation kink, subspace, aftercare, safe word use, past trauma, discussions of past abuse, implied SA (not graphic), hurt/comfort

The room was quiet.

Not sterile. Not cold. It smelled faintly of lavender and wax polish—warm light spilling from a shaded lamp. The blinds were drawn. The door was locked.

Aventurine stood in the center of the room like a model in a glass case, posed. Perfect. Still. He had removed his gloves first. Then his rings. Then his coat. Every motion methodical. Almost clinical.

You’d seen him negotiate with CEOs more relaxed than this.

You sat on the edge of the couch, legs slightly parted, arms resting on your knees, watching him like he was something fragile. Not in the way that meant he’d break—but in the way that meant he already had, at some point, and learned to glue himself together into someone flawless.

And he was flawless. That was the problem.

"You're not breathing," you said quietly.

Aventurine blinked. Then inhaled like he forgot that he needed to. A short, clipped breath. He forced a smile. "I'm just… preparing."

"For what?"

He paused. "To give you what you want."

You let that sit. Let him feel it.

Then you stood—slow, controlled—and stepped into his space.

"Look at me."

He did. Carefully. He always looked carefully, like his gaze was a scalpel and he was afraid to cut too deep.

You reached out, brushing your knuckles against his jaw. He didn’t lean into it. He didn’t flinch either. He simply absorbed the touch like it was something he had to endure—an input to be processed, not felt.

“I want you to listen,” you said. “And I want you to listen as Aventurine. Not as someone performing. Not as a client trying to impress me. As you.”

His throat worked as he swallowed. “…I’m listening.”

“I’m not asking you to submit because I want to dominate you.”

He stiffened.

“I’m asking you to submit because I want to keep you safe.”

A silence followed. Longer this time.

You let your hand fall from his jaw and gently, deliberately, took his hand in yours. You turned it palm-up—his fingers were smooth, trembling ever so slightly.

You pressed a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

“That’s the only reason,” you said. “Everything else—the commands, the structure, the rules… those are tools. Not punishments. Not games. They're ways to show you something you weren’t allowed to believe.”

He stared at you, eyes flickering. “Which is?”

“That being owned can feel like being protected.”

His lips parted—then closed again. He didn’t speak.

But he was still listening.

So you guided him to the couch. You sat down first, then tugged him forward by the hand until he was kneeling between your legs. Not to humble him—to center him.

"Now," you murmured, letting your fingers brush along his throat. “Let’s make something clear before we go further.”

Aventurine swallowed again. You felt it beneath your fingertips.

"You are mine only if you choose to be. And that choice doesn’t disappear just because you're in a collar or calling me Master."

His breath hitched. Slightly.

"You have a safeword. And you will use it."

You felt him tense—but it wasn’t fear. It was confusion.

“Why?” he asked softly. “Do you think I’ll regret it?”

“No,” you said. “I think someone else made you believe you weren’t allowed to.”

He froze.

And there it was.

That flicker. That twitch beneath the surface. You saw it behind his eyes—how he wanted to deflect, wanted to throw on that trademark smirk and laugh you off, pretend none of it reached him.

But it did.

Because the first time you called him "slave," he hadn’t flinched. But he hadn’t melted either. He had looked like someone waiting to be hurt. Obedient, yes—but not present.

You didn’t want that again.

“I don’t want obedience like that,” you whispered.

His lashes flicked up. His eyes were wet—but not crying.

You kissed the space between his brows. “I want your devotion. Your trust. Not your fear.”

He went still.

“…Then I don’t know how to be yours,” he said softly.

You tilted his chin up.

“That’s okay,” you said. “I’ll teach you.”

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　𓆩♡𓆪

The collar was black. Supple leather, lined in deep velvet. Not flashy. Not harsh. Nothing sharp or ornamental. It wasn’t a trophy. It was a promise.

You fastened it slowly around Aventurine’s throat, adjusting the buckle until it sat snug against his skin, resting in the hollow between his collarbones. His breathing had grown shallower with every click, every brush of your fingers. But he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t stop you.

And now—now he knelt.

He looked beautiful like that. Not just in the aesthetic sense, though he always had a way of appearing curated, even when undone. No—this was deeper. He looked like something offered.

The room was low-lit. Heavy drapes. No mirrors. No performance. Just you and him, framed in candlelight and silence. Your voice was the only thing allowed to break it.

“You’re trembling.”

His eyes flicked up, fast. Shame tightening his jaw before he could stop it.

“I’m not—”

“You are,” you said gently. “And that’s okay.”

He exhaled like the air had been trapped in his chest for years.

You reached out, brushing his hair from his forehead, slow. He didn’t lean into it, but he didn’t pull back. Still learning. Still testing the depth of the space you’d carved open between you.

“I want to hear you say your safeword.”

“…Now?”

“Yes.”

His lips parted, then closed again. A flicker of pride, of resistance. Not defiance—just fear dressed in finery.

You tilted his chin up, thumb dragging along the edge of his jaw.

“Say it for me, Aventurine.”

“…Citrine.”

The word hung in the air. Soft. Almost delicate. Like it didn’t belong in his mouth.

“Good,” you murmured. “That word is power. Not weakness.”

You saw it flash in his eyes. That old wiring. That ache. The way he’d been taught that power only came through performance or control, through being sharper, cleverer, faster.

And now here you were, asking him to surrender.

You reached for his shirt. Silk, crisp, fitted. The kind of thing he wore like a second skin. You undid the buttons slowly, not ripping or demanding, but unwrapping him like something valuable. Something earned.

By the time you slid it off his shoulders, his breath had quickened again.

“Color?” you asked softly.

He blinked. “Huh?”

You smiled. “Give me your color.”

“…Green.”

Safe. Uncertain, but safe.

You trailed your fingers down his chest—bare, smooth, too still.

“I want to see you move when I touch you. Not freeze.”

He swallowed hard.

You leaned in, lips brushing just beneath his ear. “You don’t have to be perfect here. You just have to be mine.”

He shivered.

“…Yes, Master.”

There it was. That subtle quake beneath the surface. Not fear. Relief.

You reached for the tie you’d laid on the bed earlier—rich crimson silk, soft and long. A blindfold, if needed. A restraint, if wanted. But tonight, just a tether. You looped it gently around his wrists behind his back—not tight. Just a suggestion.

“Sit back on your heels.”

He obeyed.

You let the silence stretch, letting him feel the leash of your presence even without a word. Your gaze burned into him—watching the way his chest rose and fell too fast, the way his fingers twitched behind him, even restrained.

Then you spoke. Low. Commanding. Steady.

“Say it.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Say… what?”

“Who you are.”

His throat bobbed.

You took a step forward, letting your fingers trail beneath the collar at his throat.

“Say it, Aventurine. Who do you belong to?”

“…You.”

“That’s not enough.”

He shuddered.

“I belong to you,” he whispered. “I’m… I’m your slave.”

The words cracked on the edge of something old—something raw.

And you knew. That this wasn’t the first time he’d said it. But it was the first time he wasn’t punished for saying it wrong. The first time he wasn’t being used like a toy to be broken and left behind.

This was the first time he said it and wasn’t afraid.

You stepped around him slowly, trailing your hand across his bare shoulder as you did.

“You’re mine,” you said, voice smooth as heat. “Because you asked to be. Because I said yes. And now… I’m going to show you what that means.”

You stopped behind him, let your hand drop lower, brushing the curve of his spine.

“You’re going to listen.”

Your hand slid lower—over the waistband of his slacks, down to his thigh.

“You’re going to obey.”

You knelt beside him now, brushing your lips over his temple.

“And if I touch you and you shake, I’ll hold you.”

He let out a small sound—too raw to name. You felt his breath stutter. His entire body leaned just slightly into yours. Like the tension in his shoulders had finally started to give.

“Color?” you asked, voice warm.

“…Green,” he whispered.

You smiled.

“Good slave.”

His eyes fluttered shut. His lips parted. And for the first time since you’d collared him, Aventurine didn’t look composed.

He looked free.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　𓆩♡𓆪

You guided him onto the bed slowly. Not forced. Not posed. You didn’t bend him—you invited him. And he followed.

The sheets were dark—deep maroon silk, soft enough to slide against bare skin without a sound. The collar caught the light in a subtle gleam as Aventurine lowered himself down, legs folded beneath him, arms still behind his back. You sat in front of him, letting the room fall to quiet.

He was breathing a little too fast again.

You reached out, cupping his jaw in one hand. His lashes fluttered.

“Color?”

“…Green,” he whispered.

Your thumb stroked his cheek. “You’re doing beautifully, treasure.”

His breath hitched again, this time from something that almost sounded like relief.

You leaned in and kissed him. Soft. Just once. And when you pulled away, you saw the dazed flicker in his eyes.

You didn’t ask for more yet. You just started touching him—slow strokes of your fingers over his chest, his arms, his thighs. Mapping. Worshipping. Letting him feel like something sacred.

“You’ve been holding yourself together for so long,” you murmured, tracing the hollow of his hipbone. “You don’t have to anymore.”

Aventurine’s body twitched under your touch, heat flashing across his face. He was already hard—aching against the front of his slacks, pulse pounding through him in quiet, desperate waves.

You kissed his collarbone, then lower. “I want to see what you look like when you come apart.”

He made a noise—small, breathy.

“I want to see how messy I can make you.”

Another whimper. This one sharper.

You undid the button on his slacks. Pulled the zipper down with slow, steady fingers.

"You’ve kept yourself so clean," you said. "So controlled."

You slid his pants down, along with his briefs. His cock sprang free, flushed red, already leaking.

"But this isn’t clean," you whispered, wrapping your hand around the base. “This is filthy. Needy. And it belongs to me.”

He shivered violently. You felt his knees twitch beneath him.

“You’re mine, Aventurine.”

He nodded. “Y-Yes, Master.”

You pumped him slowly—light pressure, thumb teasing over the slit. You kissed down his thigh as you worked, feeling the tension begin to fracture.

"That’s it," you whispered, lips brushing his inner thigh. “Breathe for me, pretty boy.”

He did. He tried. He was panting now, head tilted back, fingers clenched behind him like he didn’t know where else to hold the sensation.

“Such a good thing,” you crooned. “So obedient. So sweet. So ready to break.”

Your tongue flicked over the tip. He jerked—gasped.

"Color?" you murmured against him.

“…Green,” he rasped. “F-fuck—green—”

You hummed in approval, then dragged your tongue up his shaft, slow, tasting every drop he’d spilled.

"Look at you," you whispered, mouth just above his cock. "So wet already. You’d let me ruin you with just my tongue, wouldn’t you?"

He moaned—loud.

So you took him in. Not all the way. Just the head. Just enough to pull a shudder from his hips before you pulled off again.

“Not yet,” you murmured, hand stroking him again, firmer. “You don’t get to cum until you beg.”

You leaned up, lips brushing his ear.

“And not like a businessman,” you whispered. “Not like a negotiator. Like a whimpering little thing.”

His cock twitched in your fist.

"Say it."

“I—”

"Say what you are.”

“…Your p-pet,” he gasped.

You squeezed.

"Not good enough."

“I’m your—your toy—your slut—”

"Good," you growled. "Getting closer."

You tugged his head back by the collar, made him look at you.

"You’re mine, aren’t you?"

“Yes—yes, I’m yours—please, Master—please let me cum—"

And then he choked on a sound. His whole body jerked.

And the word fell from his lips:

“Yellow.”

You froze.

Not in fear. Not in failure.

In readiness.

Your hand left his cock instantly. You released the collar. Your voice softened.

“Hey.” You cupped his cheek. “You did perfect. You’re safe.”

His breathing was erratic. His eyes were glossy. But he wasn’t panicked. Not quite. Just too much. Overwhelmed. Drenched in sensations he’d never let himself feel before.

“I didn’t want to stop,” he said, voice breaking. “It just—just hit too fast—”

You nodded. Kissed his temple. Held his jaw steady.

“You did everything right,” you whispered. “I’m proud of you.”

He shivered. A small sound leaked from his throat—frustration. Shame. Something old.

You held him.

“You said yellow,” you murmured. “Not red. That means we slow down. We breathe. We check in.”

You reached for the silk tie around his wrists, undoing it gently.

He was trembling now.

And when he whispered, “I’m sorry,” you cut him off immediately.

“Don’t apologize,” you said. “Not for taking care of yourself. Not with me.”

He went quiet. Eyes searching yours.

“…So we can still—?”

You smiled.

“We’re going to continue. If you want to. And this time?”

You leaned in, kissed him slow, deep, open-mouthed.

“I want you to give me your surrender.”

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　𓆩♡𓆪

He was still shaking when you brought him back to the bed.

Not from fear. Not from regret. From how much it was.

He let you hold him without asking. Let you kiss the top of his head, run your fingers down the back of his neck, cradle him in your lap like something precious. And when your hand slid to his thigh again—he opened his legs without hesitation.

“I want you inside me,” he whispered. “Please.”

Your fingers traced the line of his inner thigh, featherlight. “You sure?”

His breath caught.

Then, “Yes, Master.”

You smiled, leaned in, and kissed the side of his mouth. “Then I’ll give you what no one else ever did.”

He blinked, eyes fluttering.

“What’s that?”

You kissed his throat, tongue dragging over the edge of the collar.

“Time.”

You laid him out like he was something sacred—chest to the sheets, legs parted, cheek resting against a silk pillow. He looked wrecked already. Hair wild, skin flushed, cock twitching against his stomach. He still had the collar on.

Your hand ran down his back slowly, fingers trailing the curve of his spine. You watched his hips twitch in anticipation.

And then you whispered, “I’m going to stretch you open now.”

Aventurine shuddered.

“Not like them,” you added, voice low and warm. “Not fast. Not hard. Not careless.”

You pressed a kiss to the small of his back.

“Like this.”

Your hand slid between his legs, parting them more. You took your time with the lube—warm, slick, worked between your fingers before you ever touched his hole. You let your thumb rest against the rim, not pushing, just being there.

“Breathe for me,” you whispered. “Color?”

“Green,” he rasped. “Fuck, I’m green—just—please.”

You slid one finger in. Slowly. No resistance. Just heat. Just a shaky, desperate moan beneath you.

“That’s it,” you murmured. “That’s my good boy.”

He gasped into the pillow, his whole body tensing—then softening.

"You're so tight," you praised. "So soft inside. You were made for this."

You curled your finger, watching the way he arched, hips twitching.

“M-Master—”

You hummed, kissing the dip of his back.

“I know. It’s good now, isn’t it?”

He nodded, whimpering.

You took your time. You didn’t rush the second finger. You didn’t stretch him to watch him squirm—you stretched him because you wanted him to be ready. You wanted to give his body the chance to welcome you.

Not endure you.

Aventurine was panting now. His cock leaked freely onto the sheets. Every twist of your fingers sent a sob through him.

“You’re doing so well,” you whispered. “Letting me open you. Letting me feel how warm you are inside. This hole is mine now, isn’t it?”

He moaned—wrecked, high, humiliated.

“Yes, Master—it’s yours—just yours—”

You slipped in a third finger, carefully, watching his back arch as he cried out.

But he didn’t say yellow.

He didn’t say stop.

He pushed back.

You grinned.

“Oh, you’re greedy now,” you murmured against his ear, one hand reaching around to grip his leaking cock. “You want it all, don’t you?”

He whimpered. Nodded. Twitched in your hand.

"Say it."

“P-please,” he sobbed. “Please fill me—break me—fuck me full—I want to be yours inside—please, I need your cock—”

You laughed—low, hot, proud.

“Oh, my sweet little slut.”

He gasped—choked on it.

You leaned down, kissed the back of his neck. Then whispered, “You like being called that now, don’t you?”

“…Y-yes—”

“You like being my toy. My slave. My obedient little hole.”

His whole body seized.

“F-fuck—!”

You pulled your fingers out—slow, careful, teasing.

He sobbed at the loss.

You lined yourself up, pressed the tip against his stretched, slick entrance.

He pushed back instantly.

"Greedy thing," you growled. "Beg for it."

“Please, Master—please—fuck me—ruin me—make me your cumdump—please—”

And you gave him exactly what he asked for.

You sank in.

All the way.

Slow. Measured. No brutality. No rush. You slid into him inch by inch, letting him feel it, letting him open around it, letting the stretch burn sweet and thick as your cock filled his aching hole.

Aventurine gasped—his voice a cracked moan as his body trembled beneath yours.

“Oh, f-fuck—” he choked out, knuckles white as they dug into the sheets.

You leaned down, one arm braced beside his head, the other gripping his hip tight, keeping him spread open as your cock bottomed out, balls resting snug against his skin.

“There it is,” you whispered into his ear. “Feel that? That’s me, inside you.”

He whimpered. You felt the clench around you—tight, slick, hungry.

“This is what you needed all along. Not a man who takes. A man who fucks you like he owns every inch.”

You pulled back—slowly—and thrust in again, long and deep, your cock dragging against the sweet spot that made his legs shake.

He moaned—loud, broken. His cock throbbed untouched against the sheets.

You kept the rhythm slow, heavy, grinding deep with every thrust, pushing the sound out of him with every roll of your hips.

“Y-you’re so deep,” he gasped. “I—I can feel you in my stomach—Master—please—”

You kissed his neck, teeth grazing the collar. “You’re taking it so well. My pretty little whore.”

He shuddered. “Yes—yes—call me that again—”

You thrust deep—he jerked, crying out.

“Say it.”

“I’m your whore,” he whimpered. “I’m your obedient whore—use me—please—just—”

He clenched around you, hole fluttering, walls pulsing like he was already about to cum.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair, pulling his head back.

“Don’t cum,” you growled into his ear. “Not until you break for me.”

Aventurine whined, a high, needy sound, mouth open, drool slipping down his chin as you kept fucking into him—slow, deep, deliberate.

“Faster,” he sobbed. “P-please—Master—please fuck me harder—need it—need you to ruin me—”

You slammed in hard. He screamed.

“Oh, that’s it,” you growled. “You like it now, don’t you? You like being fucked stupid.”

“Y-yes—yes, I do—please—don’t stop—”

You pulled the leash tighter, using it to anchor him as you began thrusting fast, hard, pounding into his slick hole until the slap of skin-on-skin echoed with every deep, bruising thrust.

“You gonna cum like this?” you hissed. “Face in the sheets, used, leaking, begging?”

“Yes—yes—I’m your cumslut—I’m yours—only yours—”

His words collapsed into gasping cries, voice breaking every time your cock slammed into that same aching spot deep inside.

You reached under him, fisted his cock—already wet, throbbing, twitching.

“You want to cum, slut?”

He nodded frantically, tears slipping down his cheeks.

“Then fucking ask.”

“Please—Master—please let me cum—let me make a mess for you—please—”

You grinned.

“Cum for me, slave.”

He screamed.

His body seized, hole clenching so tight around your cock it almost pushed you over the edge. His cum splattered across the sheets in thick, hot streaks, and he collapsed beneath you—shaking, moaning, drooling, trembling with every aftershock as you kept fucking him through it.

He was babbling now. You didn’t need to understand. It was all yours.

You growled low, thrusting one last time and spilling inside him, hot and thick, grinding deep as you filled him to the brim. He sobbed into the sheets—completely broken open, your cum leaking from his fluttering hole as he whispered, “Thank you, Master,” again and again.

You kissed his shoulder.

“You did so well for me,” you murmured. “So good. So obedient. So mine.”

He made a small sound—something close to a sob—but there was no fear in it.

Only peace.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　𓆩♡𓆪

You didn’t let go of him. Not once. Not when he came undone under you, not when his body collapsed into aftershocks, not when his sobs started—quiet and broken, into the silk sheets.

You stayed inside him, shallow and warm, one hand on his waist, the other splayed across his chest. His breath came in shivers. His body twitched with every small pulse of aftershock, still spread open, still marked by you.

And still, he whispered, “Thank you, Master.” Over and over again. Like a prayer. Like a child afraid of silence.

You kissed the back of his neck. Gently. “You don’t have to thank me for not hurting you.”

His fingers curled in the sheets. He didn’t answer right away.

You pulled out slowly. Your cum dripped down the inside of his thighs, hot and wet, and he didn’t move. He just exhaled—long, cracked, like the last of his performance was melting out of him.

You left only briefly. Warm towel. Cloth. Water. When you returned, he hadn’t shifted.

He was still kneeling.

Silent.

Shaking.

You moved behind him and eased him into your lap. Chest to back. He folded like he’d been waiting to. You wrapped your arms around him and held him there—wet, ruined, open—and he let you.

You cleaned him gently. Slow, soft, reverent. Not possessive now. Not hungry. Just present.

“I want to hear your color,” you whispered.

“…Green,” he breathed. “Just… slow.”

“Slow is good.”

Another breath. Then, quieter: “I don’t want to go back to my room.”

“You won’t.”

You tightened the towel around him, pressing your palm over his heart. The leather collar was still warm under your fingers.

“Does this still feel good?” you asked, thumb brushing it.

“…Yes.”

“Does it still feel like a leash?”

“No.”

“Good.”

You tilted his face toward you. His eyes were red, wet, shining.

He swallowed.

“I kept waiting for it.”

You blinked. “For what?”

“For the part where you stopped asking,” he said. “Where you just… took.”

Your breath stilled.

He looked down, shame creeping like old blood into his voice. “They didn’t ask. Not after I was sold. The first ones just—”

You adjusted your hold—firmer now. Grounded.

“I know.”

“There was a man who called me by my serial number,” he said. “Said names were for people.”

You didn’t speak. You held him tighter.

“I used to think… if I offered it first, let people use me, I was in control. If I moaned loud enough or spread my legs fast enough, maybe they’d forget I didn’t want it.”

His voice cracked. His jaw clenched.

“But none of them ever stopped.”

You found his hand. Laced your fingers through his.

“…And you did.”

You didn’t say of course. You didn’t say I’m not like them.

You said: “You said yellow. So I slowed.”

And something inside him shattered.

He didn’t break pretty. He broke real. Face crumpling, shoulders shaking, tears falling hard against your skin as he buried his face in your chest and wept.

Not from shame.

From being seen.

You rocked him gently. Back and forth. Holding him through every sob, every tremor, every time he tried to apologize only to collapse again.

“I didn’t think I could ever be like this again,” he whispered.

“Like what?”

“Soft.”

You closed your eyes. Kissed his hair.

“You’re not soft. You’re just safe.”

His breath hitched.

“I don’t remember the last time I felt wanted,” he said, voice thin, “without needing to win something first.”

“You didn’t win me,” you murmured. “You let me hold you.”

His lashes fluttered. His voice dropped to a whisper:

“…Was I good?”

You cupped his cheek, thumb wiping a tear from his flushed skin.

“You were perfect.”

He laughed. It broke halfway. “I look pathetic right now.”

“No,” you said, smiling. “You look mine.”

He flinched—just slightly—but he didn’t deny it.

You kissed his nose. Brushed his damp hair back.

“Can I ask you something?”

“…Anything.”

“What do you want me to call you now?”

You didn’t rush it.

“You can keep Aventurine. Or Slave. Or…” You paused. “Kakavasha.”

He blinked.

His breath caught in his chest.

“I haven’t heard that name in so long,” he whispered. “It feels like it belongs to someone else.”

You nodded. “It does.”

He looked at you, startled.

You smiled.

“But maybe… that someone still lives here.” You placed your hand gently over his heart.

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His throat worked. His lashes fluttered.

You leaned close, nose to his cheek.

“Until you decide… I’ll call you what I see.”

He swallowed.

“And what’s that?” he whispered.

You kissed the edge of his collar.

“My beloved.”

Ao Guang sketch

Exam stress got me tripping, here's some words.

Hot Summers

NSFW below, empty blogs dni.

Sub male x Dom reader (male aligned, can be read as strap.)

Dancing in the night, with the city far away as the noises of the cars get drowned out by waves. You danced, hand in hand, to the sound of water crashing onto the sand. A fleeting summer dream, made at the beach.

His hand in yours, your eyes on him. Slow breathes from the corners of your mouth, his little stutters as he demands you to handle him rougher, move a little faster even though minutes before he was yelping so loud. Screaming as he came on your hand, arching his back, pushing himself further onto you, such a sweet boy he is, so pretty and good for you. If the neighbours were home they'd file a noise complaint with how loud your lovely boy moans for you.

He tells you to bite him, mark him all over, push him over the edge. His soft little whimpers as you hit that sweet spot over and over has him screaming bout how deep you are. He cries about how mean you are when you stop, edging him till he kicks his feet at you, demanding you to Keep. Moving. Damnit.

Such a little brat he is sometimes, but it's the last day of the summer. Better enjoy the heat before the cold settles in~♡

I am in so much pain rn, my stomach hurts, my head hurts, and my throat is dry, but here we are.

In the spirit of kinktober, my absolute exhaustion and my want for more subby nerds, I present to you... This monstrosity

Younger!Boss Male reader X older!Nerd Colleague.

NSFW work, don't like don't read 👍

Light dacryphilia, Semi public (? Idk they bang after hours), overstim, getting caught 👀

Nerd Colleague who likes to play games, his office cubicle is literally decorated with mini figurines of his favorite characters, he would play online multiplayer games with the younger employees, he would teach them tricks and all the hidden things to find.

Nerd Colleague who's older than you by a few years, but you're his boss because you founded this company yourself. He talks to you like you're just a teen, but treats you with respect as well. It's kinda funny to see him fumble a little when you walk up to him looking serious as hell, but start asking him about games.

Nerd Colleague, who helps the new employees whenever they have a problem. You see him patting some guys back and feeling a little bit jealous, you would walk up to them and start a conversation. You're basically scaring the new employee away, but hey, at least your favourite man in the office is talking to you about a new update he's excited about.

Nerd Colleague, who gets confused why the younger employees are calling him the "office mom" and you the office dad. You also notice someone is shipping you two, you have your own little office Fandom. You tell your colleague not to care too much, just kids being kids.

"you're calling us kids when you're barely five years older than us?"

"then stop calling me dad"

"hell no, I'm not living in a divorced household. Stay with mom"

Nerd Colleague, who fell asleep at his desk one day, and ended up being the only one left... Except you were also there. Just, kinda watching him?

Nerd Colleague chuckles at you, gesturing for you to come over so he could give you a little kiss on the forehead.

I mean, just sayin, the new employees might call the two of you their parents, but the fact they didn't manage to figure out you two are actually dating was funny to the both of you.

Nerd Colleague who is also freaky. You both are, you match each other's freak really well. He wore a tie to work today for the fact he wants you to use it on him. In the office.

Nerd Colleague, who is a brat. Brattiest brat you have ever met. Constantly complaining about how he has more stamina then you dispute being older.

You prove him wrong later, after making him cum on himself so much his mind goes mush. You barely even needed to do anything with his cock and he's already leaking. You don't even need to get his pants off to feel it getting a bit wet ♡

Nerd Colleague gets tied up with his own tie but not in the way he expected. It's around his tip so he wouldn't get to come that easily, while your own tie was the one around his wrists.

Nerd Colleague who instantly stops being a massive brat, begging so nicely for you to release the tie on his dick.

Nerd Colleague who starts crying asking you to take off the damn tie. You don't, but you do give him little kisses to clear those tears away. He whimpers and complains about the "harsh" treatment you're giving him.

Nerd Colleague who finally gets to cum. And then you pick up the pace again, without giving him time to recover. He cries even more now, calling you unfair, you don't even bother, you're content on watching his tears fall down his pretty face as his eyes roll back from the pleasure.

Nerd Colleague who limps to your car. Complaining all the way there because you fucked him too hard. it's fine though, he did say he would get his revenge back home. You hope that revenge is as fun as what just occurred in the office.

...

"... I hate my job."

"Not my damn fault you forgot your phone, dumbass. At least we do know they're definitely mom and dad now."

"it's giving 'self fulfilling prophecy vibes', y'know? Calling them our parents and they end up banging?"

Vinny's extra notes :

Ngl I don't have anything planned for kinktober, this one is very light in terms of content. Might do a MHA fic, something like Shigaraki X reader or Dabi x reader if I feel like it. Should I do monster fucking? I feel like I should. Or something with sub Mr Reca when he comes out (my unfinished symphony ahh looking man). I love myself some mentally unhealthy men.

MY BOY IS BACK

Judging from your expression... you haven't forgotten me, have you?

Judging from your expression... you haven't forgotten me, have you?

What do you mean by "Abyss Lectors all look the same, come back in human form"? ...It seems the farewell gift I gave you at our last parting failed to leave a strong enough impression.

I even went out of my way to pick some lovely flowers for you this time. But our Highness knows not of my coming, so I can't help you pass on any messages.

So, do you think you can forgive me at last? Oh, come now! Lower your weapon and let's talk this over...

Not much of a post but this has been rotting in my brain dungeon for soooooo long.

The "too many beds" trope reversal trope

Dear holy beings and whatever fuckery that exists in this plane of existence, you have no fuckin idea how I want actually content of Too Many Beds like imagine this :

You and your lover/friend/rival end up at a shitty hotel in the middle of god knows where. Every room is booked by couples to, y'know, do the deed. The receptionist dumped you and your companion in the only room available, the family room or something like that. You have no problem with needing to share, but this place is trash and the blankets are so thin. You sneak out of bed, tugging at your companion's blanket as they stir awake, grumbling at you for waking them out after they finally fell asleep. You whine, and crawl into their bed, and you cuddle... Or well, whatever you wanna do.

Bam, content. Now, time to go back into hibernation.

-Vandal

I don't know what possessed me to write but here goes. Not beta read.

Nsfw Warning

Sub! GN! Character x GN! Reader (can be read as a strap)

"What's next?"

It's a question that's been in your mind for a long while.

Graduating college, finding a job and all that is nice, but where to next?

A lover? A friend? Or did you need something else? Or nothing at all?

But with them underneath you, panting your name like a prayer, repeating over and over, you quickly focus on the cute face beneath you instead. Their legs trembles as they weakly wrap their thighs around your waist, they drool and arched their back just for you. They moan and whimper as you ram into them, shaking the bed a little, they start mumbling about how full they felt as drool slips from the corners of their puffy lips.

They're so good for you, so pretty with their hair spread on the pillow like a halo, your pretty little angel.

Who cares for a lover, friend or whatever. You have an angel beneath you, and perhaps they're all you need right now.

I can't believe I wrote this :)))))) anyways, I don't have a schedule, I don't really take coms and basically write when I feel like it so yea

So I'm back from the dead, yippee! Now here's a word dump of how I wanna bang a big bad evil guy.

Sub! Villain X Hero Reader (male aligned, but no gendered terms used)

Not grammar checked, Smut at the end<3

Mean Villain, who was a monster of the hero's own creation. Perhaps the hero was a friend he fought with, an ex lover, or just rivals that went too far. But they both know there's no turning back when they meet again at a battle field.

Mean Villain who enjoys annoying and pissing off the hero. A habit that carried over the years from whatever past they had. He just loved seeing the hero so riled up, so mean and angry and how the hero's muscles would tense from the taunts.

Mean Villain, who tried to get the upper hand every time he fought the hero by doing surprise attacks, usually ending up getting thrown and pushed against the wall because the hero literally just swings them to the nearest surface they can and pins them down.

Mean Villain who enjoyed it a little too much, having to bite the hero so he could squirm away, hoping to whatever god that exists the hero didn't see how red his face was. He spent an embarrassing amount of time to spend that energy on his hard-on and accidentally moaned the Hero's name, accidentally moaning it too much.

Mean Villain not noticing that the hero had bugged him, a voice recorder was on his villain outfit just laying on the floor

Mean Villain, hiding his emotions as best as he could, wondering why the hero looked so flustered when they met again.

Confused villain who doesn't understand why this is happening. He has never had thoughts this horrendous about the hero. How the hero's hand could slide against his pecs so nicely, and squeeze his chest while the hero's fingers plunged deep inside.

Confused villain who wakes up hard like a freaking teen and gets so embarrassed that whatever evil plan of the day gets cancelled. His lackeys were so confused why their boss was throwing darts at a picture of the hero while mumbling how about how hot he was.

"Think boss lost it." "No shit Sherlock, but at least we have an off day".

*cues to unholy screeching and shouting, where the villain complains about the hero's body being too big and stuttering once he thinks about what else would be big*

Confused villain who found the hero ending patrol one day, and the hero looked so pissed while getting ready to fight. The villain accidentally complements the hero, leaving the two of them absolutely mortified. The villain ran with the hero chasing after him, trying to get answers.

Confused villain, who accidentally entered a rival villain's territory. Taken by surprise and captured, locked in a warehouse without his suit, wearing whatever rags were prepared by the henchman. Terrified about the fact that the territory he was in was of a hostile competitor, someone who would kill the villain if given the chance.

Confused villain who blacked out. Tied to a chair and beaten all over, they might be strong but this was on another level... He could hear a loud crash as his vision faded and his mind went numb, he pleads to whatever higher power that existed that we would be saved.

Recovering Villain, sleeping so prettily on the hero's bed.. he woke himself up when he fell onto the floor, the hero was quick to check on him, leaning down so close that their lips were almost touching.

Recovering villain who said "fuck it, we ball" and kisses the hero first, while the hero deepens the kiss to the surprise of the villain, who whimpered as the hero started squeezing his body like how he would in his dreams.

Pretty villain thrown back onto the bed, wearing an oversized sweater of the hero and looking so cute~ He writhes his body as the hero touches him so delicately, kissing all the little places where his healed injuries were, worshipping this tattered, broken body so softly.

Pretty villain who cries as the hero picked up the pace, he could feel the hero's fingers so deep inside him, cute little huffs coming from his mouth as he tries to hide his place with the hero's pillow.

Pretty villain, whose body gets folded into a mating press as the hero slipped into him. His pretty little hole was squeezing down so nicely, his face with tears streaming down was just angelic. The hero's constant murmurs of encouragement makes the villain cry even more. It was so gentle, so deep, so good~

Pretty villain who moans so loud, moving his hips just so the hero could reach deeper, getting off to the fact that he likes being pampered and praised. His eyes rolling up as he could feel the hero's hand on his dick, preventing him from coming over and over.

Pretty villain who lost count how many times he's come, how many positions they were in, just laying on the bed with his thighs on the hero's shoulder. The villain couldn't mumble out a single coherent sentence, but he fills the air with short breaths and pleads. Blurting out about how big and deep the hero was, how he wanted to get filled up so nicely.

Pretty villain who wakes up next to the hero cuddling him, as he starts to annoy the hero again, asking to be pampered. Something's just never change.

Sometimes I forget this account exists and mistake this as my main, and then I remember cuz someone liked one of my three (?) existing posts. God what the hell did I write 💀