shou ♡

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 😔✌️

you could swear on your life that it was a complete accident all you want, but you know that nothing would be a believable explanation of why you were backstage when you shouldn’t be that wasn’t you being a creepy stalker. the two of them looked less than understanding with frowns (maybe even scowls) indicating that they weren’t in a considerate mood when you nervously sputtered that you were following someone who looked like your friend, so focused on tracking them down that you somehow didn’t manage to read all of the signs clearly reading “staff only.” oh, this really was the worst case scenario to meet your idols in, unable to tell them how much you admire them and asking for a picture like a normal fan would, instead insisting on removing yourself from their sight before they call security to do it.

they glanced at each other for a second then smirked as if they read each other’s mind and had agreed on something without needing to speak. “no, don’t worry about it, we understand.” elira’s sudden dazzling smile that exactly resembled the ones you’ve seen in posters caught you off guard, making blood rush to your face and making you feel hot. “so… if this your first wingwriters concert?”

“oh, i’ve actually attended every concert you’ve ever held in this country! it’s just— well, it’s such an honor to meet you guys in person! your performance today was one of my favorites, well, all of them are my favorites really,” you quickly found yourself rambling your admiration to them, telling them about how you bought every single piece of available merchandise that you could get your hands on and how you were in the top point five percent of their listeners on spotify. you weren’t quite sure why they suddenly decided to start a conversation with you, but you certainly weren’t going to pass up the opportunity to tell them how much you admired them. neither of them listened to the details since it was the same old words that they heard from everyone, however, their attention was focused on the rather cute fan who was spilling her heart out about how much she loved them.

elira cut you off mid-sentence, wrapping her arm around you and letting ike lead the both of you somewhere, “that’s so flattering coming from you!” you weren’t sure if her words were genuine or if she was trying to shut you up to steer the conversation elsewhere, now acting friendly like you were already acquainted (not that you minded or anything because, well, the elira pandora had her arm slung over your shoulder and her perfume smelled so good—). “so sorry about us being so rude earlier, by the way, we just some bad news about the next concert.”

you now realize that they were taking you to a trailer, one that was a bit further away from all of the commotion of wrapping up the event. were you allowed to be this deep in an area where outsiders were forbidden? two of the three band members brought you here and didn’t mention the possibility of getting in trouble, so it must be fine, right?

the inside layout was standard, yet it was colorful with a gleaming white and sparkling blue and full of posters of the wingwriters trio covering the walls. they set you down on a little bed and elira got you a drink from the mini-fridge while ike joined. you really tried to follow everything that she was talking about, but she got off-topic a lot and constantly skipped around in her stories— again, not that you minded because your idol who was the prettiest woman you’ve ever been blessed with living in the same timeline as was talking to you like you were a best friend. you were on cloud nine and all giddy inside, practically having hearts floating above your head like a lovesick puppy and holding the can of soda in your hands like it was something worth treasuring instead of consuming it.

seeing how completely unassuming and how smitten you were, she took this opportunity to lean forward and place a little peck on your lips. it was innocent and experimental, to test the waters and see your reaction so that she could estimate how far you’d let her go. she chuckled at your stunned expression and spoke first, “you’re really cute, you know that? what do you think, ike?”

the man who was silent and hidden this entire time made his presence known by sitting behind you, gently caressing your thigh before whispering in your ear, “she’s just adorable.”

they could see you melting in between them like ice cream in the hot summer sun from the attention, speechless from the flirtatious advances. you didn’t resist in any capacity so she kissed you again, more deeply this time while tenderly holding your face in her palm. you gasped as he bit the shell of your ear and began trailing his hand under your skirt, making you shiver under his touch. you weren’t sure how many rules you must have broken within the past ten minutes and the possible repercussions that could happen if you got caught.

although, this is the opportunity of a lifetime! sneaking around with your idol like this was something most could only dream of since it’s only a plot conceivable in fiction, but you were living it out right now with not one, but two of them! you would be stupid to pass this up and reject them! you indulged in their inappropriate behavior instead, reaching out to hold her face in your hands and kissing her back with a bit of tongue while leaning back into him. it took some confidence that you didn’t know you had in you when you were too nervous to even look them in a eyes a few minutes before, but they seemed more than pleased with your reciprocation and took it as unspoken permission to escalate it further.

elira chuckled at your little display of dominance that wasn’t going to last for much longer, quickly hiking up your skirt and hooking a finger around your underwear to pull it down. “god, you’re wet so wet already,” she marveled, looking at the wet patch on the fabric and sticking it in her back pocket as a souvenir. “such a short little skirt that barely even covers your ass, you were probably hoping for something like this to happen, weren’t you?” you didn’t even get to respond, getting cut off by a gasp as she gently rubbed at your clit and pressed in one finger followed by another. she made slow scissoring motions to stretch you out and licked her lips, eagerly prepping you to be able to take her with ease and pushing you over on your back so that she could fuck you properly.

your eyes rolled back to meet with ike’s length already waiting for you, fully erect and nearly dripping with anticipation. obediently, you opened your mouth and let him slip the tip between your lips like it was the only thing you were good for. he tasted bitter due to the poor diet of energy drinks you so often heard of, but it didn’t matter to you since you were being granted the honor to suck him off. he groaned as you ran your tongue along his shaft, sloppy sounds of slurping and his mewls being mixed into a beautiful melody of sin.

you were unable to focus on both of them at once and they had you torn, capturing your attention by doing some action they have yet to do and essentially playing ping-pong with it. feeling elira impatiently reveal her cock from her tight white shorts and sinking it into your warm so quickly make you choke around him, sending vibrations throughout his core and making him grip onto any piece of you he could get his hands on even harder.

her pacing was relentless, pumping in and out of you like you were a mere fleshlight. maybe you were in the moment, a toy just to get them off for the moment instead of a living and breathing fan, but you would be lying if the thought of being used by them so callously didn’t get you excited. you felt completely stuffed and her light blue cock hit your sweet spot so perfectly that it had you seeing stars, tearing up at the sensation while her nails dug into your thighs for her to keep her balance.

with every thrust that pushed you back into the mattress and had your tits bouncing under your top, you choked a little bit more on ike’s cock. you could barely see his crooked glasses that were on the verge of slipping off and felt yourself getting a little lightheaded from the awkward angle. nevertheless, you persisted in your goal to make him cum down your throat, lips slick with bodily fluids as he bucked his hips deeper and hit the back of your throat, “god, how are you able to do this so effortlessly? you must have so much experience sucking dick to get whatever you want, don’t you?” it nearly made him blush at the thought as if whatever he was doing wasn’t worse.

you could only whine in response since you were fully occupied, the only noises coming from you were squelching and gagging from both of your holes getting filled like a common whore. nice, quiet, and compliant, just how they like to fuck their cute little fans like you. it’s truly unfortunate that such an experience can’t be told to others, but it must be kept a secret if they are to continue such activities! they can’t have a scandal breaking out that the wingwriters have a bad habit of bringing unknowing fans who would give them the world backstage and adding their panties to an evergrowing collection, now can they?

“mhm, fuck… i’m close,” he mewled with the soft and gentle voice that you knew held so much power from his metal songs, the type of voice people would listen to as a guilty pleasure. you really wished that you could savor his words properly before you sputtered on the thick ropes of white he shot down your throat without warning, his hand holding your head in place so that you could take every drop of it without wasting and not letting go until you swallowed it all like a good girl.

elira took a bit longer to tap out than he did, absolutely animalistic and flipping you over onto your stomach at some point to rail you even harder. she was feral and had no problem making you scream so loud that everyone else at the concert venue would be able to know that she was the reason behind the noise. ike simply watched the rest of the show amused by it all, even having the kindness of holding your hand when her stamina finally ran out and she painted your insides with her seed before collapsing on top of you.

“what the hell are you two up to? our manager is up my ass about—” vox akuma burst through the door yelling about something of them getting in trouble with perfect comedic timing, stopping in his tracks once he saw the hot and sweaty entanglement of limbs from his fellow band members fucking the brains out of who he could only assume was a fan. he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, holding the position for a few seconds to think it through yet unable to ignore the stir of lust growing within him. have they really done this again? without him? all it took was a look of bedroom eyes from you realizing he was there for him to shut the door and approach the three of you, “fuck, i guess he can wait for a couple more minutes— move over for me.”

"Holy fudge" Boothill drawled.

His words were followed by a soft whistle as he cooed your name, the soft metallic whir in his voice causing a pleasant tingle to ripple down your spine. You shivered beneath him, blood simmering hotly beneath the cold press of his metal body as he hovered over you, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes as he watched your pussy swallow two of his fingers with rapt attention.

The tips of your ears burned red hot as the way your drooling cunt slobbered filthy around his vibrating fingers, warmth curling in the pit of your stomach as he buried his fingers all the way to the knuckle inside of you. A salacious moan bubbled up your throat as your long lashes fluttered over your burning cheeks, eyes hooded by Boothill’s favoured hat as it was pulled low over your eyes. Your thighs trembled as long wisps of his hair tickled your bare skin, goosebumps erupting along your arms despite the searing heat of your flesh. The sweat soaked bedsheets clung to your clammy skin as you pulled the material taut between your fingers, nails threatening to rip holes as the knot in your stomach twisted tighter. Your toes curled into the soles of your feet as Boothill massaged his fingers against your soused walls, your plush insides fluttering and pulsing as a third finger teased your sopping hole.

"Good girl" Boothill praised as he soothed his free hand along your hip, fingers digging into the soft pudge of your stomach as he watched your pussy struggle to take another one of his pulsing fingers. "Taking me so well, darl."

You could almost hear the neurons in his brain firing as the circuits in his inorganic body thrummed with energy, the pulsing of his fingers slowly intensifying as he poked and prodded your velvety walls until he found the blistering, gummy patch inside of you that made stars swirl in your vision. You shrieked loudly as a third finger pushed inside of you, a pleasant burn aching between your thighs as more slick dribbled from your pussy, translucent pearls staining the insides of your soft thighs as the beads of your arousal drizzled from your centre. You struggled to peel your tongue off the roof of your mouth long enough to form a coherent sentence, your head feeling dizzy as you tried to keep your eyes uncrossed and prevent them from rolling into the back of your head from the sheer bliss. You swallowed the budding saliva in your mouth, tasting the desire in the back of your throat as your bruised lips parted around his name.

"Boothill…please" you softly begged.

Your poor, neglected clit twitched and ached for attention, the heat simmering in your belly stoked into fiercer flames as Boothill pumped his thick fingers inside of you, your slippery pussy making the slide so much easier as he abused your soft spots with the tips of his fingers. A grin pulled at his lips as he flashed his pointed teeth at you, his tongue peeking out between the seam of his lips as your voice graced his ears like a chime from a shimmering bell.

"Please what, darl? Come on, use your words, pretty girl."

You almost choked on your words as the vibration of his fingers were knocked a notch higher yet again. Your heart droned in your ears like the loud beat of a drum, your pussy squelching noisily as you threw your head back with a piercing cry, your back curved into a beautiful arch as your lungs pinched in your chest. Boothill couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face as he watched your chest heave with exertion, soft tits bouncing and nipples pebbling from overstimulation. He was well aware he was being just a tad bit mean to you. But he couldn’t help it that you made the cutest little noises when you were being teased. A constellation of tears clung to the edges of your lashes as you gazed up at him with pleading eyes, teeth chewing on your lips as another wave of pleasure threatened to steal the air from your lungs.

Boothill leaned forward, fingers still plunging inside of you at an unrelenting pace as his face drew closer to yours. He flicked the rim of his hat up with his free hand, cold, robotic fingers curling around your chin and holding your face steady before your head could lull back once more. He hushed you as a small whimper crawled out of your throat, long strands of his hair spilling over your shoulders in a curtain of black and white as he pressed his lips to your cheek.

"Shh, pretty girl. I’m right here. Just tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you."

A soft noise stirred in your chest as your hands weakly clawed at his arm, nails scratching uselessly at his steel body as you tried to hold onto the fraying edges of your sanity. The heat in your stomach was almost unbearable and you didn’t know how much more you could take as pressure built in your belly, the feeling both foreign and familiar as you twisted beneath Boothill.

"Boot…hill…I wanna- want to cum" you rasped with a breathless whimper. "Aeons above please touch my clit."

"Ohh~" Boothill cooed before he clicked his tongue. "So that’s what my girl wanted."

Whatever retort was rolling around in your mouth was immediately swallowed when Boothill pressed his thumb against the slick pearl of your clit, pressing down on the tightly packed bundle of nerves as it flushed to life. Your thighs tensed as your moans echoed around your stuffy bedroom, the tips of your fingers turning numb as the heat in your stomach started to boil. Boothill swirled his thumb around the swollen nub of your clit, rubbing it in time to the frantic pump of his fingers. The sensations of his vibrating fingers were amplified by how sensitive and wet you were, his thumb bullying your clit with unrelenting attention as your pussy squeezed around his fingers. Your shaking hips rolled into his touch as the sweltering knot inside of you frayed, Boothill’s voice tickling your ear as his tongue swiped at the perspiration clinging to your skin.

"That’s it, good girl…son of a nice lady you’re gripping me so tight. It’s okay pretty baby, I’ve got you. Just let go."

His words were the last push you needed. The burning coil in your stomach shattered into a million tiny fragments, your veins flooded with white hot euphoria that made your hips lock into place as your pussy spasmed around his fingers. You squirted on his fingers as they continued to vibrate against your pulsing walls, thin strands of translucent fluid spilling from your core. The intimate press of his thumb against your clit felt heavenly as you rode of the waves of your pleasure high, voice scratching your throat as you moaned and wailed. But the prolonged buzzing against your wet and throbbing sex was quick to overwhelm you, the vibrations amplifying your pleasure to an almost torturous degree as another wave of arousal stole the breath from your lungs. You thrashed in Boothill’s hold as your legs wound around his hips, feet kicking his sturdy back as you squawked.

"Too much!"

The vibrations ceased and a sigh of relief whistled through your teeth. Boothill removed his thumb, fingers still stuffed into the hilt inside of you as he swooped down between your thighs and replaced his thumb with his warm mouth. You sighed and mewled with bliss as his lips pressed soothing kisses to the overstimulated bud of your clit, your fingers delving through his hair as you gently pulled on the long strands. His tongue teased the hood of your clit, scooping up your slick before swallowing thickly. A pleased purr tickled his throat.

He is pretending to be seiso.

I know he know nsfw stuff, he is just hiding it. You at the other hand, will try to find out how to awaken that hidden side of him.

Just recently he got a new haircut, it totally took you by surprise since you are used to him having a long hair, but the new hairstyle suits him well. The messy hairstyle he got, his bangs? Gosh.

And just yesterday you decided to go shopping for new fit for him, and again it suits him so good, he choose to wear a turtleneck though. Don't you wonder why he decided to wear such clothing?

Now that you think about it, his clothing mostly covers his neck—

Perhaps, his neck is his one of his weaknesses? You pondered, and now here you are in the living room of your shared humble abode. Thinking about what to do, there are numerous scenarios made in your head as you tried to figure out his hidden side.

Numerous time you also have tried to get that hidden side of him out, yet you failed miserably. He somehow always manage to escape so smoothly, as if he could see through your plans, and he perfectly evades the idea.

While you're thinking about what to do, Shu suddenly appeared from the corner of your eyes, walking to the kitchen. Seemingly to grab some food or something, he then noticed you sitting on the couch frowning.

"Babe? What's wrong?" He asked, making you snapped back to reality. You look to where he is, and shook your head slightly, "Nothing, I was, just. Thinking something silly that's all." You responded, he hummed softly, you look back at him as he is going around the kitchen gathering some, stuff. "You're still streaming?" You asked him, he stopped for a moment, he glanced over at you. "Yeah, I was planning to grind on some games though, wanna come and see?" He offered.

. . .

Here you are now, in his streaming room, there is a couch in the room, so you decided to make yourself comfortable there while he displayed the game he's playing on the TV across you.

You don't remember how long has it been, but he had been sitting there for literal hours, and you can no longer sit down on the couch comfortably.

So you just decided to go to him, pulling his chair back a bit to make some space for you to slip onto his lap. He at first was confused on why did you suddenly pull his gaming chair away, but the moment he realizes you tried to sit on his lap he fixed his position and let you sit down on his lap whilst he's playing.

"Got bored already? Sorry, just a little bit more and I'm done—" He apologized, you can feel his body shook slightly as he let out a soft chuckle. You can feel his hand on your lower back, while the other is on the keyboard.

Feeling feisty, you decided to kiss his neck. That caught him by surprise, he jolted slightly under you. "Babe— don't do that" He whispered to you, but you didn't listen and continue your onslaught on his neck. You can hear his breath hitched as you do, soon you heard him stop typing on the keyboard and he pushed himself away from the table, making the chair he's sitting on go backwards a bit.

"What's up with you?" He asked as he gently push you away, trying to see your face. Once he see you pouting, he could only smile apologetically. "Is it because I played too much?— I'm sorry babe.." He apologies once more, his hand, on your hips.

His thumb graze along the lines of your waist, his purple eyes softly staring at you. "You know, I noticed what you've been trying to do" he whispered, his thumb still rubbing against your skin. His violet eyes goes down to your neck, down further before he blinked and his eyes stared back into yours.

"Why are you so, eager to know about this, hidden side of me you're thinking of?" He asked, there is a glint of curiosity in his eyes as he waits for your response. "It seems impossible for someone like you to be, innocent, you know?" He blinked, once, twice. Before he let out a small laugh and pulled you closer to him.

Burying his face at the crook of your neck, he planted a gentle kiss.

"Do you really want to know?"

"...Yes"

. . .

On the bed, only in your undergarments. Tied up prettily with purple ropes, that is hugging your torso and your arms, from one knot to another. And then there's your beloved sorcerer still sitting by the gaming chair, legs crossed, chin resting on his palm as he watches his shikigamis glide around your body, tying you up.

"Are you alright? Is it too tight?" He asked as he finally got up from the chair and approached you on the bed, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand reached out to the ropes. Gently glazing his finger along the ropes, "Tell me if it's too tight." He whispered. You stared at him and shook your head, "It's, not too tight, I'm okay" Though your hands are tied behind you, you couldn't do much about it.

"Okay" he then planted a gentle kiss on your temple, "You remember the safe word we discussed a moment ago?" "Of course I do." He chuckled at your response. He shuffled a bit, his hand reached out to something behind you. After a moment he finally spoke—

"Lay down for me." You hesitantly laid down on the bed, only for you to realize he put some pillows behind you so you wouldn't lay down on a weird position. "Is it good? Do you need me to readjust the pillows?" You shifted a bit and look at him, "No, ..this is perfect"

He smiled at you and looked over by the tv that' stkll have his game on display, he let out a small sigh before looking back at you. "Well then, shall we start?"

. . .

Your eyes are covered, your other senses are heightened because of it. You are not able to see what your beloved going to do to you, you are left in the dark.

When you're just about to call out to him you suddenly felt something cold touching your skin, making you whimper upon the sudden sensation. "That' so cold— what is tha— ah—!" And then you felt something hot, "Shu—" you shifted on the bed, trying to evade whatever the thing that touches you. "Yes?" He responded, he sounded so innocent after what happened.

"Too much?" He asked and chuckled, you then felt his hand pressed down on your stomach. Not letting you move anywhere, "Stop squirming." As he said so you felt something hot touching your neck, trailing down to your chest.

It was his finger.

His finger moved from one place to another meanwhile the other hand that's pressing down on you suddenly grew colder. Making you whine, "Cold— too cold— hnn.." You unconsciously tried to close your legs, but the moment you try to do so, you are only getting blocked by Shu's body.

You felt the bed shifted slightly to your side, and then the next thing you knew you felt Shu's breathing right next to your ear. He planted a kiss on your earlobe, he then nibble on them as his hand that was previously on your stomach now going up your chest. Pinching down your nipples with the coldness of his finger tips, "sHuU!— NngG—!" Your voice cracked as his name escaped your lips.

You only heard a low hum from him, his lips trailed down from your ear, to your jawline, down further to your neck, and stopped right on your collarbone. Now both of his hands are playing with your nipples, pinching them every now and then.

"I'm here." He whispered as he continue his onslaught, his lips trailing down further to your chest, dangerously close to your nipples. "PleASeE!— aH— Mmm.." You felt his tongue licking your nipple, sucking on them even, making your body arched to him. Your hands desperately tried to escape the ropes, trying to hold his head still.

God, it felt so good.

The way he sucked and licked on your nipple drives you insane, but lord have mercy, he just refuses to touch your lower half. You're soaked, just from him playing with your nipples, and it got worse when you felt his mouth wrapped around one of them.

Not long after that, his teeth pulled on them, making you immediately let out a screech at the slight pain. Shu let go of your nipple and chuckled, "Whoops" He doesn't sound sorry at all.

His hand is now making their way down to your thigh, giving them a gentle squeeze before moving his hand into your inner thigh. Moving upwards oh so slowly, approaching your leaking core. "So wet, and I haven't even done much" he whispered, "Or is it already too much?" He added.

His violet eyes fluttered up, making eye contact with you. "Tell me, what is it that you want, hm?" His words tried to encourage you to say what you crave, want, need. But your voice refuses to get out, it's stuck on your throat.

"Well, if you don't tell me what you want, I won't be able to know what it is." He shrugged and moved his hand away, just gently playing with your thighs, giving them a squeeze every now and then. Waiting for your response, "So, tell me.." his hand goes further away, eventually holding your ankle, slowly rising them up to his lips.

"What is it that you desire?" He whispered as his eyes flutter close, his lips leaving a trail of kisses, from your ankle, further down. Till his lips reached to your inner thighs once more. "Want you, ...Hn— please?—" You pleaded, your hips moved, trying to make your leaking core feel a friction you've been craving. Desperate, trying to reach your high.

"Please— Shu— touch me, anything— I want to cum—" You whined, hips humping on air, making the Raven haired male held you down by the waist, "Mhm?" He simply hummed at your needy self. Not even bothered to help you, he just continue kissing your inner thigh, his lips moved even closer to your core, close but also not close.

"You want to cum?" Shu repeated as he let out a chuckle, goodness gracious this man. He just kept going in circles, making your head dizzy with his teases. "Please, please please please— I want to cum— shuu..." You pleaded again, and again, and again. You couldn't see his face, you don't know what face he's making as he heard your endless pleas.

You heard the sheets shuffling near you, and then you felt Shu's hand on your neck, rubbing his thumb oh so gently, and softly presses down on your pulse, your heart beating so fast, you bet he could feel it under his touch. "Your heart, they're beating so fast.. Are you nervous? ...or instead, are you excited?" He asked he then planted a kiss at the corner of your lips—

"You want to cum, right?" He added, you nod your head. And the next thing you knew his fingers finally brushed against your clit, his finger moved slowly at first, your body twitched here and there at the sensation. Your body temperature slowly rising up, your whimpers and whines getting louder as you reach your high. "I'm close I'm close—" you informed the sorcerer, and the moved his fingers faster than before.

Making your body jolted, you grabbed onto whatever that's close to you, and one of them is Shu's arms. "Cum." He said, as he moved his fingers. And after he said so, you came, and he stopped. Shu slowly took off your blindfold, it took a moment for you to adjust with the sudden brightness. Once your eyes have adjusted with it, you look at Shu, who' smiling at you. "You're doing so well" he said as you felt his hand on your thighs, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"Mm.. Thank you.." And just when you thought you're done, Shu's finger once again glazed on your sensitive clit, earning a whine from you. "Nngg—... W, wait—.."

"We're nowhere near done, This is only the beginning.

You're asking for this, be prepared."

©fakesimp . 2024

A/n !

I'm leaving the rest to your imagination 🙏🏻

This is sitting in my draft longer than anticipated, the last request might take awhile because—