I got multiple asks about how the demons would be with darling in a sexual sense, especially about when I mentioned Muzan using aphrodisiac on reader. So let's dive into it.
Yan!Upper three x Foreign!Female!Reader x Yan!Muzan
Foreign!Reader masterlist
Warning(s): heavy dubcon, use of aphrodisiac, drinking alcohol, heavy NSFW, AFAB!reader, fivesome, BDSM elements, power imbalance, sexual teasing/edging, oral F!receiving, oral M!receiving, penetration, masturbation, strong language, bodily fluids, overstimulation, exhaustion, a bit of cannibalism if you squint, reader is going through it, Douma >:(
WC: 5.5K
18+
A/N: Sorry if the chess moves are not realistic, I don't know anything about it and asked google for help.
What Goes Up Has To Come Down
"Okay, but why me?" you asked before you could even think it through.
To be fair, you weren’t really thinking anything through at the moment.
Somewhere between your third glass of red wine and the outfit change—from the delicate kimono Kokushibo had given you to Akaza’s loose pants and one of Dōma’s shirts—you’d stopped filtering your words at all.
For once, the Infinity Castle was quiet. No shifting walls, no sudden rearranging of rooms and windows—just the gentle drift of a carpeted platform through a sea of a thousand glittering lights, blurring into stars with how foggy your vision had become.
Your alcohol tolerance wasn’t high to begin with, and Muzan rarely allowed you to drink unless it was for a special occasion.
Aside from the rare offerings at Dōma’s cult—gifts from his followers to honor “the God-given woman”—you usually drank only once or twice a month.
So when Muzan suddenly offered you a glass of specially brewed red wine, you were far too miserable to question it. You’d learned long ago that asking the wrong questions only led to privileges being stripped away. So you nodded right away, taking the dark liquid with an eager smile.
For whatever reason, he let you drink something worth more than your ribs—and the taste, along with the slow buzz, was worth it.
You’d forgotten how hazy alcohol could make your mind feel, though.
"What do you mean, 'why you'?" Akaza asked, sliding his pawn to e4.
The wine sloshed inside the crystal glass as you took another sip, trying to clear your head enough to think of both an answer and a counter move.
The glass rested delicately between your pointer and ring finger while your other hand pressed a knuckle against your lips.
"Y’know—why am I here?" You mirrored his move with a pawn to e5.
Akaza finally looked up from the board, staring straight at you. You tilted your head back at him.
You hated that stare of his—the one he gave you whenever he thought you were being dumb. The slight tilt of his head, the raised brow, those eyes practically shouting at you.
"Because we like you, my flower! You know that." Dōma chirped, fanning his cheek as he leaned in from the cushion beside you.
You huffed, straightening your back. You’d been sitting crisscross on the floor, hunched over the chessboard like a child.
"Yeah, I know that. But why do you like me? You’ve all lived for hundreds of years without ever doing this with anyone else."
You took another sip, savoring the sweet taste as it slid across your tongue.
Akaza shrugged before sliding his rook all the way down the file, the piece landing with a solid thunk.
"You're different," he said flatly.
You groaned.
"Different how?!" You whined, throwing your arms up. The wine nearly sloshed over the rim of your glass before Kokushibo plucked it neatly from your hands.
He’d been sitting beside you this whole time, watching as you lost—and lost, and lost again—to Akaza.
In your defense, you’d only just learned to play when you entered the castle. Akaza had years of practice on you.
Kokushibo returned the glass once you lowered your arms, though his glare lingered.
"That’s for us to know," he said, voice calm and low.
You threw your head back with a noise of pure frustration, then forced your attention back to the board. Brow furrowed, lip jutting out, one hand propping up your cheek while the other brought the only good thing here—your drink—back to your lips.
"Fine, fine, fine. Stay mysterious, or whatever," you muttered, fanning yourself as the heat built under your skin—probably from frustration.
The haze from the wine wasn’t helping. All the pawns were starting to blur together as your vision began to spin.
Maybe you should quit after this glass.
Kokushibo leaned down, whispering in your ear.
You grinned, sliding your queen to h7.
Akaza shot you a long, unamused look.
"Cheater," he muttered, tipping his king over.
A giddy laugh slipped out of you as you tipped back the last gulp of wine—a victory shot.
Kokushibo took the empty glass from your hand just as you started clapping, shaking your head in disbelief.
"Finally, I beat you," you cheered, lobbing your king at Akaza with sloppy aim. He caught it effortlessly and tossed it right back.
You didn’t catch it. The piece thunked against your forehead instead. You blamed the alcohol to save whatever shred of dignity you had left.
With a dramatic groan, you flopped onto your back, sprawling across the carpet as the flickering lights above swam in your vision.
It would have been beautiful—if it weren’t your cage.
You tugged at your shirt, skin clammy and sticking to the fabric. Did alcohol always make you sweat this much?
One hand pressed against your cheek—it was burning hot.
Your fingers fidgeted, your feet wiggled, and a restless energy crept through your body.
Out of the corner of your eye, you registered Akaza packing up the pieces while Kokushibo’s knee nudged lightly against your side.
A shiver ran through you at the touch, heat spreading deeper.
God, you’d definitely had too much to drink.
Tilting your head back against the floor, you caught sight of Muzan scribbling in his notebook, entirely unfazed by anything happening in the room.
Dōma shuffled closer, flopping onto his back with a soft oof.
You felt his rainbow-colored eyes flick from you to the ceiling, then back to you again.
"What," you hissed, tilting your head to glare at him with a dead-eyed stare.
He only grinned wider, fangs glinting as he edged just a little closer.
You’d grown used to Dōma’s antics by now—enough to recognize which flash of teeth meant what.
And this one was mischievous. You hated those.
Dōma shrugged.
"Nothing. Just wondering if you want another glass?" His cold palm brushed against your cheek, tracing idle patterns across your skin.
Your eyes fluttered shut, heart kicking up at the refreshing chill of his touch.
The realization hit, sharp and sudden—you inhaled too quickly and shot upright again.
"No—no thanks. I think I’m going to bed soon," you forced out, pressing your hands to your head as the discomfort clawed deeper. The heat wouldn’t relent. Your heart thudded uncomfortably in your chest, your head pounded, your limbs restless. It was smarter not to stay up much longer.
Dōma reached for you again, but you jerked away from his touch.
"Hmmm, okay. Probably for the best—your words are slurring, and your accent’s getting heavier," he cooed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
You squirmed under the gesture.
"I didn’t even notice," you muttered, clicking your tongue as if that could somehow reset your slipping Japanese.
Kokushibo gave a small nod. "If I’m honest, I have barely understood a word you’ve said for the last fifteen minutes."
You pulled a sour face at him.
"Then why are you letting me keep drinking? You know I hate it when you can’t understand me."
You didn’t even know why you felt so frustrated—alcohol had never made you feel like this before.
There was no answer to your question.
You sighed, waving your hand weakly as your body grew unbearably hot. Your breaths came shallow, legs shifting restlessly to ease the uncomfortable pressure pooling low in your belly.
You hadn’t eaten enough before drinking.
Maybe that was why the effects hit so hard, so fast.
Dōma offered you his fan, but you declined with a small shake of your head.
That was when you noticed—all of them were looking at you. Not with their usual I’m just admiring you kind of gaze, but with something sharper. Intent. Expectation.
Akaza leaned forward slightly. Dōma bit his lip. And Kokushibo… you were almost certain he hadn’t blinked in ten minutes.
You shifted again, desperate to relieve the burning, stingy sensation twisting in your abdomen.
"Shouldn’t you all be out on missions or something? Your staring is bothering me." Your sentence broke apart with a soft pant, and you tugged at your shirt to stir even the slightest breeze against your flaming skin.
Akaza’s eyes flicked nervously across the room. Dōma snorted lightly. Kokushibo only stared, as though he were waiting for a cocoon to split open and reveal a butterfly.
You groaned, shifting your thighs to create the smallest bit of relieving friction before turning toward Muzan.
"Muzan… what is going on here?"
The demon king didn’t lift his eyes from his notes. He ignored you completely.
You pressed a hand to your forehead and shut your eyes tight.
The haze thickened, blotting out thought until all you could feel was the fire spreading beneath your skin, your heart hammering faster and faster.
"Never mind—I’m going to bed," you muttered.
You pushed yourself up, but your legs wobbled. The room spun, your head too heavy, thighs trembling under you.
Before you could fall, Kokushibo caught you, suddenly towering from behind.
His hands settled on your sides, and you whimpered at the contact—the sensation was overwhelming, every nerve alive, screaming.
It felt like your body registered even the faintest touch a hundredfold.
"I got it, thanks," you rasped, but your feet wouldn’t move. His fingers had already branded a path down to your hips, burning trails into your skin.
"You don’t look so well, darling."
Dōma’s voice chimed in your ears, and you jolted when his cool palm pressed to your forehead. His colorful eyes broke through the blur of your vision, narrowed in exaggerated pity.
He pouted.
"Seems like our little lady is burning up," he sang, then straightened, his face slipping out of sight.
You dropped your gaze, breaths coming heavy, heartbeat thundering in your ears.
All you could think about were Kokushibo’s steady hands on your hips—and Dōma’s suffocatingly close presence.
The fire in your belly only burned hotter.
"I—" you swallowed, "I feel sick."
A groan slipped from your throat when Akaza came to your side, his hand brushing against your cheek with delicious, cooling relief.
Your head instinctively followed as he pulled back, desperate to chase that fleeting comfort.
"Maybe it was the wine. You guys should’ve stopped me from drinking so much," you whispered, voice ragged and thin. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the fire crawling under your skin, writhing toward your belly like insects.
Akaza hummed softly, allowing you to press your head back into his hand in search of something cold, something grounding.
But your breaths came faster now, shallow and uneven. You couldn’t understand why—why the fog in your brain thickened instead of lifting, why you leaned into their touch, why your body responded this way.
This wasn’t alcohol. It couldn’t be.
Had you caught some kind of illness?
The faint snap of a notebook closing made your eyes flicker open. Muzan was standing now, crossing the room with slow, deliberate steps.
His icy crimson gaze swept over your flushed face.
He raised one clawed hand, tracing lightly along the curve of your cheek.
Your eyes squeezed shut at the touch, nerves sparking wildly, screaming for more.
And before you could stop yourself, a breathy moan slipped past your lips.
If the rational part of your brain were still intact, you’d probably feel embarrassed at the sound you’d just made—or at least wonder how his touch could draw such a noise from you.
"Do you want me to help?" Muzan cooed, his fingers drifting toward the neckline of your oversized shirt, teasing along the hem.
You bit your lip as another whimper slipped free, his voice mixing with his touch to send a flood of heat crashing low through your body.
"Darling, do you want me to take this feeling away?" he asked again, firmer this time, his tone sharpening when you didn’t—couldn’t—answer him at first.
A ragged breath escaped you as you finally nodded.
"Y-yes… please…" Your voice broke into a low whine when Kokushibo lifted your shirt just enough to rub slow circles into your hips with his thumbs.
Why did everything ache so much? Why was their touch the only thing that soothed it?
For a flicker of a moment, your mind managed to claw its way through the haze, catching on the absurdity of it all.
Was this really happening because you’d had a bit too much to drink? You weren’t sober, sure—but you weren’t drunk, not like this.
So why? Why, why, why—
"Ah—" your thoughts shattered when Kokushibo pressed closer against your back, his lips testing, tracing a slow path from your earlobe down the line of your neck.
You shivered, tilting your head instinctively, as though baring your throat might quiet the nerves screaming for more.
"’Shibo," you slurred, the name breaking apart under your tongue. His kisses were overwhelming, so much that you couldn’t even manage to say his name properly.
Normally, you would never have let him this close.
But this—
This felt too good.
You were already lost in the way his mouth mapped your jawline, so distracted you barely registered Dōma sliding his icy palms beneath your shirt.
You yelped when his nails dragged under the swell of your breasts, tracing their outline with deliberate cruelty.
"Look at you," he purred, his voice suddenly at your ear, breath brushing your cheek. "We’re going to make all the pain go away, flower."
Then he kissed you—softer than he ever had before.
"Promise," he whispered against your lips, before seizing your mouth again, rougher this time.
You whimpered, your brain short-circuiting as dopamine flooded your system like a drug you couldn’t get enough of.
You panted and whined with every insistent press of his mouth. He didn’t even need to coax your tongue—he was already inside, taking, devouring.
Dōma’s mouth wasn’t only good for talking, you realized, as the need for more of him became unbearable.
You would do anything to put out the fire consuming you.
Your vision blurred, your nerves tangled, but you still felt Akaza’s hands charting your body—soft, reverent, tracing the places the others hadn’t already claimed.
"You want us to get rid of the feeling here, yeah?" Akaza hummed, pressing his palm to your lower stomach before sliding it downward. His hand slipped past your waistband, cupping your sex.
Your senses erupted, your body moving on its own, desperate for friction. Even the smallest touch made you feel ten times better.
You tried to answer him, but all that escaped was a pitiful moan, swallowed instantly by Dōma’s eager mouth.
You didn’t even know what you were doing anymore—you only knew that whatever they were doing felt good.
It didn’t feel right.
But that thought scattered the moment Akaza tugged at your panties. You sagged back against Kokushibo like he was the only thing holding you upright, hands clutching at Dōma’s shoulders while Akaza worked his fingers through your folds.
"Oh my—you're soaked," Akaza breathed.
You groaned in reply, thighs quivering, your abdomen blazing with want.
Dōma chuckled, pulling away from your lips. You let out a weak protest at the loss, ignored instantly.
"She ought to be, with the amount she took."
The fog in your head was thick—too thick—but that sentence cut through it.
"W-what—" you fumbled, the word breaking apart as Akaza gave your clit one experimental rub. A moan nearly slipped free.
Dōma’s fingers traced along your chin before catching it between his thumb and forefinger.
"Nothing, love. Let me taste you again."
And just like that, you were plunged back into the consuming heat of Dōma’s mouth dominating yours.
Meanwhile, Kokushibo bit at your skin like a starving man, his broad hands roaming up and down your sides.
The bulge straining in his pants didn’t go unnoticed by your overstimulated senses as it ground subtly against your backside.
You couldn’t even keep track of the noises spilling from your throat when Akaza slid one finger into your dripping cunt with ease, testing the shape of you before pumping slowly.
His eyes never left your face, drinking in every twitch and flicker of expression.
The burn only intensified, and you whined desperately for more, practically begging for another finger.
Akaza let out a surprised laugh before sliding a second one in, teasing you with the stretch.
You gasped into Dōma’s mouth as he pinched and circled your nipples, drawing another whimper from you.
Then Akaza curled his fingers against that perfect spot inside, and a high-pitched moan tore free of your throat at the overwhelming bliss.
If Kokushibo stepped back now, you were sure you’d crumble to the floor—you leaned against him so heavily, his body the only anchor holding you upright.
It was all too much and not nearly enough at the same time. The fire crawling across your flesh only raged hotter, refusing to be extinguished.
Your lungs burned too, begging for air, but Dōma was merciless, pulling your tongue into his mouth, refusing to let you go. Weakly, you dug your nails into his shoulders, clinging for breath.
He growled at your resistance, tugging at your bottom lip before letting it go.
"Sorry, baby. Forgot you’re weak."
His tone wasn’t playful anymore—ragged, deep, hungry—and you whimpered under it.
Behind you, Kokushibo tugged your pants downward, his arousal pressing harder against your lower back.
"Let me help," Akaza murmured, sinking to his knees.
You huffed at the sudden emptiness as his fingers slipped away, your body clenching around nothing.
"Akaza—" you bit down on your lip to stop the word from turning into a plea.
When had you ever begged for them?
"Hold on, angel. Hold on."
With one swift tug, you were bare.
The fabric pooled around your ankles, and you gasped as cold air licked over your exposed sex.
Then Akaza’s mouth was on you—devouring, relentless, like he meant to make you his three-course meal.
Your head snapped back against Kokushibo’s chest as pleasure surged, your arms sliding down Dōma’s body until they found the Upper Three himself.
Your fingers tangled in his hair as your moans echoed through the Infinity Castle.
Your legs shook violently, but the three demons kept you upright, refusing to let you fall.
The fire inside you flared higher, but with it came an even sharper craving—for more of them.
At some point—when, you couldn’t tell—Kokushibo had freed himself. You only realized when you felt the thick length of his cock dragging across the seam of your ass.
Dōma pulled back, leaving your mouth stuck in a perfect, breathless O—and Kokushibo immediately claimed it with his own.
Dōma didn’t hesitate to replace Kokushibo’s teeth on your neck with his own.
You whimpered, shaking your head in weak protest as his tongue traced the scar he’d left on you so long ago.
"Oh, just a little. Don’t be scared," Dōma cooed—then bit down, hard.
You screamed into Kokushibo’s mouth, but he didn’t let you pull away.
Dōma drank greedily, sucking and slobbering, desperate to draw every drop he could from you.
He moaned at the taste.
"If it wouldn’t kill you, I’d do this all day long," he rasped, soothing the sting and burn with a lazy swipe of his tongue.
Meanwhile, Akaza devoured you like never before. One moment his tongue plunged so deep inside you it felt like he brushed your g-spot, the next he was clamping onto your clit, circling and massaging until your thighs quivered uncontrollably.
"Are you done yet, Akaza?" Kokushibo’s voice rumbled above you, startling in its suddenness, his gaze dropping to his companion on the floor.
Akaza only hummed in response, the vibrations making you arch your back with a desperate whine.
The heat in your core was tightening, coiling, threatening to snap.
"Please, ’kaza… please… feels so good," you begged, fingers knotting tighter in his hair as frustrated tears welled in your eyes.
The fire still raged under your skin, every touch overwhelming, but it wasn’t agony anymore. Not with the way he was working you apart.
Kokushibo growled low in his throat as his deft fingers slid down to your clit.
Whatever sound escaped you was swallowed by his tongue as he doubled his efforts—impatient to have you, or maybe just jealous.
Kokushibo had always had jealousy issues.
With Akaza’s tongue and Kokushibo’s fingers working in tandem, it didn’t take long before the coil in your belly snapped. A sharp cry tore from you as your body convulsed.
Your chest heaved, shallow pants spilling out as you shook through your climax. Akaza slowed his pace, while Kokushibo drew his hand back up to your sides, steadying you.
For a moment, the fire dulled, leaving you suspended in bliss.
You collapsed fully against Kokushibo’s chest, but he didn’t even budge beneath your weight. Dōma leaned close, lapping a stray tear from your cheek.
"So pliant, so sweet. We can just do whatever we want with you, huh?" he murmured.
Half of it didn’t even register—your brain too tired, too foggy to keep up with the Japanese.
Below, Akaza licked up everything that spilled from you with an eagerness that made something in you twist uneasily. He moaned against your cunt, and you hissed at the overstimulation, pushing him away with a trembling hand.
Sweat slicked your skin. Your mind drifted between consciousness and the pull of sleep.
And then—
The fire returned. Sharp this time, like knives pricking at your lower belly.
A sob ripped from you, frustration mixing with exhaustion. You just wanted to rest.
Kokushibo eased you down onto the floor. Instinctively, you curled into yourself.
"No. Come on, darling. Open," he commanded, not asked, nudging your legs apart as he slid into place between your thighs.
You whined as the head of his cock pressed insistently at your entrance.
"I don’t—it hurts—" The words tumbled out broken, half-formed. You didn’t even know what you were trying to say, or if your brain could form a coherent sentence at all.
All you could do was feel—and hope that fire inside you would finally burn out.
Your hands clung weakly to his robes, but Kokushibō seized your wrists with ease, pinning them above your head in one hand while hoisting one of your legs high over his hip.
Then he pushed inside without warning. Not fast, but not gently either—for someone his size, it was overwhelming.
A choked moan clawed up your throat as your back arched involuntarily. Your walls clung to him, slick and desperate, pulling him deeper. The confusion made your head spin—you didn’t know if you wanted to resist or to beg for more.
Kokushibō held you steady, driving into you with unyielding control. His thrusts stayed deep, never pulling out farther than the thick ridge of his head, his balls slapping wetly against your ass with each movement.
You felt every vein, every ridge, every drag of him stretching your cunt. The fire dulled beneath the weight of overstimulation, replaced by a dizzying blur of too much sensation at once.
Your shirt rode up higher with every thrust, fabric bunching beneath you as the rough carpet scraped against your back.
A low groan rumbled from Kokushibō’s chest as he pressed his forehead to yours, then crushed his mouth against your lips.
You babbled—broken words, maybe his name, maybe nothing coherent at all.
"Here, let me help with that," Dōma’s singsong cut in from above.
His cold fingers toyed with the fabric bunched around your chest before tearing it clean apart. The shirt split open, leaving you bare, sweat-slick skin finally kissed by the cool air of the castle.
But Dōma didn’t leave. He sat down instead, lowering your head into his lap, smiling down at you as if you were nothing but a doll to be passed around.
"Kokushibō, could you please turn her for little old me?" he chimed sweetly.
You didn’t catch the words—your foggy mind could no longer keep up with the Japanese. All you heard was the relentless squelch of Kokushibō driving into you.
Then—sudden emptiness. He slid out, leaving you clenching around nothing.
Before you could make a sound of protest, Kokushibō manhandled you onto your hands and knees, and slammed back inside as though the thought of being out of you for even a second was intolerable.
Dōma hummed, sliding a hand into his robes to free his aching cock. Your eyes widened at the sight, a helpless whimper slipping past your lips.
“Shhh.” He hushed you with a smile, pressing your head forward. “C’mon, open that pretty mouth of yours. I’ve been waiting all night for you to turn into putty.”
His claws gripped your jaw, squeezing until your mouth parted. You were too far gone to resist, lips slack and trembling. Dōma took it as an invitation and slid himself into your mouth.
Your whine vibrated around him as he guided your head up and down with a rough rhythm. Tears streamed freely, salt mixing with the slick mess he was making of your lips and chin. You tried to flatten your tongue, hollow your cheeks, anything to keep up.
“Thaaaat’s it, little flower,” he moaned, shuddering at the tremors your sobs sent down his length.
Behind you, Kokushibō shifted, angling his hips to slam the thick head of his cock against that devastatingly sweet spot inside you. Each thrust rocked you forward, driving Dōma even deeper down your throat until you gagged.
As if that weren’t enough, another touch grounded you—warm, steady. Akaza caught your trembling hand, wrapped your delicate fingers around his shaft, and guided them into motion.
“You look so good, love,” he murmured, voice softer than the others, reverent even as he used your hand. “You’re doing so well for us.”
The praise blurred with the overload of sensation. Kokushibō pounded into you with ruthless precision, Dōma fucked your throat like a man drunk on the sound of your choking cries, and Akaza moaned low as he moved your weak grip along his cock.
You were unraveling, a sobbing, trembling mess. Your body clenched desperately, that unbearable fire curling tight and ready to snap.
“Through your nose, just a little longer,” Dōma coaxed, his tone sing-song despite the way he was panting. He drove your head faster, laughing lightly as your tears dripped onto his thighs.
Kokushibō’s thrusts grew more erratic, more forceful, his chest rumbling with a guttural growl. He struck your sweet spot again and again until your climax crashed through you like a tidal wave. Your moan was strangled, muffled around Dōma’s cock, but it shook through your whole body.
Kokushibō’s rhythm stuttered. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself deep and spilled inside you, grinding his hips forward to keep every drop from spilling. His mouth found your shoulder, your spine, biting over marks Dōma had already left as if to claim them for himself.
“This is how it should be,” he murmured against your skin, though you couldn’t make sense of the words.
Dōma groaned, shoving himself all the way down your throat, holding you there until you thought you’d choke. His release spilled hot and thick, and his laughter rang out as he watched your throat bob.
“Swallow it. Pretty please.”
You did, choking it down until he let you go, pulling back with a hiss of satisfaction.
Beside you, Akaza’s breath came ragged and low. His cock pulsed in your fist, and with a strangled growl he spilled in thick, hot ropes across your hand. “Sorry—sorry, love… you just feel so good.”
When he finally let go, your wrist dropped uselessly at your side.
Kokushibō pulled out with a satisfied grunt, leaving you trembling, sore, and leaking onto the carpet below.
Your thighs trembled, and you fell onto the carpet, boneless and exhausted, the fire still shimmering just beneath the surface.
Dōma pulled out of you with a wet plop from your lips. He held your head in his palms, forcing you to look up.
"We should do this more often." He grinned, and all you could do was shake with silent sobs escaping you.
You were on the floor now, spent and overwhelmed. Your cheek pressed against the carpet, and all you wanted was to sleep this off.
But the world wasn’t on your side tonight. Your body was flipped onto your back.
"Tired already? From them?" Muzan’s red eyes bored into yours. He was between your thighs before you could react.
You forgot he had been watching the whole thing play out in front of him, and he had done nothing. He just enjoyed you being taken by his strongest demons; waiting until he could wreck you for the last time when you were already broken in.
A cold hand slid down your stomach to the mess between your legs. You cried as his fingers brushed over the mingled juices of Kokushibō and yourself.
Your weak hands tried to push him away, but he didn’t even notice.
"I didn’t know the drug would be this strong. You didn’t scream or resist once," Muzan continued, undoing his own trousers.
Your brain was putty—but that didn’t mean unfocused.
"Drug?" you whimpered as Muzan kissed your collarbone, sucking at the flesh beneath your ear. Your eyes rolled back at the sensation.
"Looks like all this made you lose your ability to speak Japanese," he said, almost softly.
He was speaking in your tongue now. You hadn’t even noticed you could understand.
Muzan slotted himself inside you like the man he was—no hesitation, no thoughtfulness, just his needs first.
Your throat was too hoarse to make any sound other than whimpers, choked moans, and occasional sobs.
He moved inside you, filling you completely, staking his claim over the others.
"I thought I put too much at first, but it seems like it was just enough." He rocked your body like it was nothing to him—just a warm hole to lose himself in.
He kissed you, pressing your head into the carpet—a show for the others.
She’s mine.
"You fall for my trickery too easily, dear. And you want to survive in the outside world? Not a chance," he mused, laughing at the tears and drool sliding down your face, broken syllables of his name spilling from your swollen lips.
He wasn’t pounding into you like usual, making sure everyone knew you were his, and the others were just leasing you.
He was slow, deliberate, making you feel every inch of his pulsing length.
When his fingers began circling your swollen, overstimulated clit at a deliciously steady pace, you realized what he wanted: for you to come undone first. To show the others he could make you feel better than anyone who had ever had you.
"That’s it, good girl. Let them hear who’s making you feel this way."
You gasped his name in response, arching your back as the last coil of heat in your belly tightened.
"That’s right. I’m the one taking the pain away, aren’t I? And I can return it just as easily." He pinched your clit, making you jerk and cry out. "But I’m feeling merciful today—taking all of us like a good little pet."
His pace didn’t falter as you clenched around him, a hoarse cry spilling from your mouth as the coil snapped and the heat dissipated into nothing but an aching cold.
Muzan rode you through your high. His hips didn’t stutter once as you fell limply to the floor. He used your body like a ragdoll, waiting for his own release.
The only indication he was close came when he shoved his tongue into your mouth, dominating your own. He came then, burying himself fully in your aching, abused cunt.
He froze like that for a few seconds, drinking in the sight of you, his mouth devouring you as if trying to consume you wholly—but being denied.
Muzan pulled out, letting your body drop to the floor like a worthless object, there only to serve his needs before vanishing when he was done.
He never lost that regal posture, tugging himself back into his pants and straightening his blouse before returning to his notebook.
You were aching, boneless, your brain reduced to mush. Tears stained your cheeks, silent sobs still shaking your body.
Akaza picked you up, as he always did.
"I'm going to take care of you. Just rest, love," he whispered against your ear, pressing a soothing kiss to your temple.
All the effects from before melted away. You weren’t sweating, and your heart no longer thundered in your ears. The heat lingered, but it wasn’t painful anymore.
You laid your head against Akaza’s chest, closing your eyes.
Hopefully, you could beat him at chess tomorrow without Kokushibō’s help.
“i don’t get you,” sukuna mutters, arms resting on his knees as he stares at your cat, who sits primly on the floor, tail flicking lazily. “you’re small. your head is tiny. you have no claws worth a damn, and yet you strut around like you own this place.”
your cat blinks at him slowly. the audacity.
“oh, so now you’re being mysterious? yeah, real intimidating, runt,” sukuna scoffs, leaning in. “tell me, why the hell do you scream at five in the morning for no reason?”
your cat meows. sukuna nods, as if that was an actual answer.
“nah, i don’t buy it. i know when someone’s bullshitting me.” he strokes his chin, as if deep in thought. “and what’s with the scratching? you have a whole damn tree to tear up, but no, it’s gotta be the couch, huh? or my chair. my throne in this shitty modern world.”
your cat remains utterly unfazed, licking a paw and dragging it over its ear. sukuna clicks his tongue in frustration.
“you think you’re untouchable. you think you can do whatever you want just ‘cause you’re small and cute?” he narrows his eyes. “you remind me of someone.”
you narrow your eyes right back from your hiding spot behind the doorway. excuse me?
but sukuna is too deep in his investigation to notice. he gestures toward your phone lying face-down on the table. “and what’s with you and cameras huh? every time there’s a flash, you go feral. you act like you’re being dragged to hell.”
your cat’s ears twitch. a clear tell.
“ohhhh,” sukuna smirks, leaning in like he’s caught onto something juicy. “what, you got a dark past? you some kinda criminal? don’t want your face out there ‘cause you’re on a hit list?”
the cat swipes at sukuna’s knee, and he actually pulls back with a scoff. “oi, don’t get violent with me, brat. i asked a simple question.”
you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing.
“i should make you my disciple,” sukuna suddenly muses, tilting his head as he assesses the feline before him. “you got the attitude down. the little mind games. yeah… you could be something great.”
your cat sneezes.
sukuna frowns, as if personally offended. “...you’re turning down my offer? just like that?”
he sits back with a dramatic sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “unbelievable. you’re worse than your owner.”
excuse me again???
before you can march in and object, your cat gets up, stretches leisurely, and then—just to really assert dominance—turns around and sticks its tail right in sukuna’s face before trotting off.
he stares after it, jaw clenched, eye twitching.
“…i’m gonna eat it.”
you finally lose the battle against your laughter.
I have a remmick x gender neutral!reader request (I hope you do those, if not it’s okay!). Reader is a lone, fledgling vampire - perhaps they became a vampire through being cursed, or whatever strikes your fancy. I’m dying for more Sinners vampire lore.
Anyways, reader is on their own, not knowing how to vampire, barely surviving, throat on fire with thirst because they don’t understand their new afterlife until they meet Remmick. The two can be companions, which they so obviously need.
Rotten Blood
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*
A/N; Thank you for the request!! I absolutely love this idea and can 100% do a gender-neutral reader :) Of course Remmick still calls them the usual pet names (darlin’, baby, etc.) since I believe those can be for anybody so interpret as you will!
Summary; As a new vampire, you have no idea what to do but don’t worry, Remmick will help you.
Content; GN reader, fledgling vampire reader, getting turned, vampirism, suicidal ideation, hive minds, starvation, death, Remmick is weird and a smartass (what else is new), blood and injury, fighting Remmick, Remmick gives you your first meal, vampire bonding, very dependent relationship
Wc; 4.2k
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*
You’ve never before known a hunger like this.
You feel it within every cell of your immortalized body as you stumble through the moonlit forest in a daze. Roots catch the toes of your boots, intent on dragging you down and keeping you there with them as they consume your flesh that’s so inherently wrong. You know it wouldn’t be difficult, you know that if you fell you wouldn’t be able to get back up. Starvation is like a beast stuck in the confines of your form, growling within your stomach and creating a tightness like a clenched fist in your chest. Your lips are dry and cracked, your face sunken, skin sallow, throat burning like you swallowed acid.
The teeth in your mouth feel unfamiliar, sharpened at the ends and crafted with the purpose of tearing into flesh. They create an ache in your gums, full of a desire to rip and devour and drink the warm life of God’s creations, the same ones you’d been taught to cherish. They’ve refused to retract since that night, your own body ignoring your commands in favor of the hunger steadily consuming you.
It was two weeks ago now, the time that passed feeling like an unbearable blur tracked through the moon’s cycle. She was full when your family was killed in front of you, and now she’s merely a crescent sitting amongst the stars.
You hadn’t known the man, neither did your parents. All they’d seen was a person in need of help and god bless their hearts, they’d welcomed him in so he could have a place to rest. You’d merely been visiting, something you did every month now that your parents were getting older, having no idea it’d be the last time you ever did such a thing. You were in your room finishing your work, oblivious to the monster that had just stepped foot inside your childhood home. It was three minutes after when the screaming started and you ran out to find your momma and papa laying in pools of their own blood with that man standing over them.
His beady eyes locked on to you and you’d tried to run but oh, do those things love a chase. You’d been shoved to the ground so hard your chin busted and you’d punched and kicked with all your might, but it wasn’t enough against a creature with snapping teeth and claws digging into your shoulders. In an act of desperate frenzy, you felt those fangs sink in and rip your life right from your neck.
You don’t understand why you were the only one who woke up again.
When you came to on the kitchen floor, you found you were alone and covered in your blood. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes based on the warmth of it, but the man was nowhere to be seen and your back door was left swinging open. It made you sick how alien your body felt, like you’d been picked up out of your original one and plopped right into a new one. There was something unusual that crawled under your skin, your limbs felt foreign, and every sense was heightened to an inhuman level. You could hear the critters far off in the woods, could smell the iron of your parent’s blood, could see perfectly in the darkness of the house.
You didn’t know what to do. You wanted to scream, to cry, to puke, to chase down that vile man and kill him—with the claws that protruded from your fingers now, you probably could. But you didn’t do any of that. You merely stood on unsteady feet and walked out the door, something within you telling you that you couldn’t stick around any longer.
From there you continued to wander in a state of shock, unable to muster a single thought, your gleaming eyes wide and lips parted in disbelief. You kept going until the moon began to fall, until some secondary, old voice inside of you hissed that you needed to seek shelter. You’d gone deeper into the woods, managing to find an old hut that was falling apart inside and out. It was completely abandoned, meaning you got to just walk inside and curl up in the furthest corner from the door, making yourself as small as possible on the wooden floor that gave you splinters.
You laid there for hours as the world seemed to pass you by, only noticing when the room lightened with the sun, rays breaking in through a hole in the roof or gaps between the boards. You were far enough from them that you didn’t burn but you still felt the kiss of their heat on your sweat soaked skin. You were more than content to just remain there, to listen to the sounds of the outside as your body rotted away in some unknown hut. Then the voices started.
Screams and terrified voices of those long dead, of people who suffered your same fate, creating a cacophony within your mind. You’d groaned like you were in pain, clutching your head as they continued to wail. It was your connection to the man that did this, the souls of those he’d damned come to torment his newest victim. You could feel him so faintly within you, his frayed emotions and frantic thoughts, and if you branched yourself out, you knew you’d be able to rifle through a couple of his loose memories. It was clear he had no care for anyone but himself, he was barely a century old, and he lived in a state of constant panic. It spread to you, anxiety kicking in your chest, making you feel as though you were being hunted by something unseen.
“Please… just stop…” You’d muttered, your first words since your parents were killed. Your voice was cracked and weak, a mere whisper to whatever cursed god reigned over damned things like yourself. The screams quieted, but they were still there in the back of your mind, a constant echo while you drifted through fitful bouts of sleep.
Those voices became your companion while you walked through the forest like a ghost. Your hunger reared its ugly head after two days, your vampiric mind running in circles around the idea of fresh blood. The human part of you that still remained refused, the thought of taking a human life all for your own needs making you ill. You’d tried to eat the normal food you were able to scrounge up, had tried to drink water from a stream, but it just ended with you throwing it back up in violent heaves until there was nothing left but bile. You’d cried then, sobs wracking your body in frustration and horror, your tears tinted red.
Your days and nights continued to drag on much the same. You pulled yourself back into your hut as the moon set, you withered away on the floor, and then you’d spend the night roaming in search of some kind of purpose while desperate pleas and screams bounced around your skull. There were some days where you’d simply stare at the sunlight coming in through your hut, the specks of dust dancing in the rays acting like a taunt. You wanted nothing more than to walk into them, the human part of you begging for freedom, rattling the bars of the cage you’d been forced into. However, just as you’d reach forward, just as the sun would make your skin bubble and blister, you’d yank yourself back. That twisted sense of self-preservation continued to keep you from ending it all, kept you trapped in your prison of flesh and bone.
Sometimes the voices even urged you to do it. Some of them went out the same way, they just walked straight out into the sun and burned with nobody to stop them. They murmured that you should join them in their torture of the man who turned you, their spirits locked to him in an act of defiance, restlessness, and anger. You could never escape them until the one night they just… went silent.
It was like a radio being abruptly shut off, pure silence following. It felt like you could breathe again, could think again, at last left with just your own thoughts and emotions. You knew what it meant—the man that did this had finally been killed. You weren’t surprised of course, based on his old memories it seemed he was a fucking idiot anyway. With quiet finally in your mind, that was the first day you were able to sleep properly.
The cycle continued, hunger eating away at you with each sunrise and sunset. It’s why you’re still walking the woods now, like you’re hoping some solution will present itself to you and relieve you of this problem. You haven’t even been able to catch an animal, your heavy limbs too clumsy and your mind too distracted to get your claws on a mere rabbit. It’s led you to wander farther than you ever have before, starvation leading you on an invisible leash to what’s undoubtedly your own demise. Your mouth hangs open, your fangs peeking out from behind your lips, desperate for something, anything, to ease the pain twisting your stomach.
Your shoulder bumps into a tree and you find yourself sticking there like a bug would get stuck to sap, leaning your weight against the trunk with panting breaths. Your knees threaten to buckle beneath you, unable to keep holding up your shrinking weight. You would’ve sunk to the ground right there and made that your resting place if something strange didn’t break you out of your stupor. The forest had gone quiet. It’s not the kind of quiet of night time when all the birds have laid to rest, it’s the kind that’s followed by something dangerous, every creature and insect too scared to utter a single peep.
Your ears perk, your abnormal eyes widening in an attempt to get a better view of your surroundings. You can feel it. The hairs along your arms raise with goosebumps, a shiver runs down your spine, your teeth ache in response, something new is hissing in your mind to be ready, like it knows something you don’t. You think you hear whispers in the branches above, passing things that you can’t make out but proceed something that has you shoving yourself off that tree with newfound strength, your claws extending even further.
“Thought I smelled somethin’ good.”
You whip around at that southern drawl of a voice, finding the source of it in a man leaning against a tree not even ten feet away. You can see the way his eyes gleam red in the darkness like rubies, lazily looking you over. His scent comes to you on the breeze—ancient earth, rusted metal, and old leather, with an undertone of something that doesn’t belong in this world. In other words, something like you. His posture is relaxed, hands in the pockets of his trousers, sleeves rolled up, but it does nothing to shut off the alarms blaring in your mind. It’s a constant loop of things like danger, threat, new vampire, too strong, run-
He shifts, taking slow steps towards you. “Ain’t never seen you ‘round here before.” He says curiously, hands falling from his pockets to reveal long claws stained with blood. His fangs show when he speaks, glinting under the moon and undoubtedly sharper than yours. His head tilts. “What’s yer name, sweet thing?”
You can’t find it in yourself to answer as you stumble away from him. You want nothing to do with another vampire, not after witnessing the one who turned you. Though this one seems vastly different, more experienced and sure of himself, like he’s been around long enough to figure it out. He hums. “No need to be scared, darlin’. Here, I’ll go first. Name’s Remmick.” The name itself sounds old and foreign, a piece from a time long ago, from lands far away. His eyes narrow when he looks at you, assessing. “Ya look like skin and bones. When’s the last time you ate?”
“Stay away from me.” You finally manage to bite out, the first thing you’ve spoken in days. The words burn your throat, thick and clunky on your tongue. Your fingers twitch, your muscles tense, and Remmick notices. He smiles knowingly.
“It’s okay, darlin’, I can help ya. Ya feel that hunger eatin’ you from the inside out, don’t ‘cha?” He says, seeing it plain as day on your face. He’s seen it plenty of times in other fledglings, even in himself. That original denial to feed, the unbearable wrongness of your desire, the desperation to cling to your humanity, even if it kills you. He forced himself to overcome it with defiance, to give in to the new monster raging within his body. He can tell there’s nothing like that in you though, instead filled with misery and depression and skittish instinct. Hell, if he had to guess you’re probably a day away from dropping dead.
Before you can even blink, he’s on you; your hunger-induced sluggishness is no match for his speed. Your breath whooshes out of you in a gasp when he grabs your face, those claws of his just lightly pressing into your skin like a reminder. His hold on you is tight as he tilts your head from side to side, his brows scrunching. “Yeah, ya ain’t one of mine. You get left all alone then, darlin’? Abandoned by yer maker?” His tuts in disdain. “Y’know, I killed one of them a few days back. Real young, spazzy fella, got too in my space.“
Your eyes widen with recognition. So he’s the one that did the other guy in. You’d honestly thank him for it if you weren’t terrified. With mere inches separating you, you’re able to more clearly see his strong features, the curls of black sitting on his forehead, the lines of a human life gone by just barely etching his face. There’s something eerily charming about him, something that makes you want to give in to his promises.
Still, there’s a part of you that refuses, that won’t fall prey to another one of these beasts, that has you raising your claws and slashing them across his arm. He yanks back with a hiss, red irises flashing dangerously like sparking embers. He holds his wound, four gashes along his forearm, the blood beginning to seep through his fingers. You nearly choke on the scent of it, staggering back a step as it wraps around you, thick and cloying. For the first time, you feel the drool pooling in your mouth, made from moisture you didn’t even know you had left in you. It seeps from the corners of your lips, it coats your fangs as if in preparation.
Remmick grins. “Ohhh yeah, that smells good, don’t it?” He lifts his hand, covered in his own blood, taunting. “Poor thing like you ain’t have anyone to show ya the way. All alone out here, no idea what to do… let me help ya, darlin’.”
“Leave me alone.” You practically beg, trying to distance yourself from that god damn smell, clenching your teeth so hard they could shatter. Hunger claws at your insides, begging to come out, to get a taste of the meal in front of you, tainted as it may be. His blood smells rich with history, full of stories and different lives lived, laced with earth older than you could imagine. There’s something in your mind howling for just a drop of it, begging to know what something that ancient would feel like on your tongue.
For every step you take back, Remmick takes another forward, never letting you get far enough from that scent. “Aw c’mon now, I can’t let a sweet thing like you go to waste. It’ll be okay, baby, I promise.” He coos at you like a frightened animal, getting closer still. “You don’t have to be all by yourself no more. Don’t have to keep bein’ in pain.” There’s something about you that draws him in, that makes him want to know more, to tame that frenzied panic within you. He’s already decided he won’t let you waste away for a second longer, no matter how much you fight him on it.
Oh, you sure do fight him on it. As soon as he gets too close for your liking, you’re growling again, lunging at him. Your claws want nothing more than to dig into him, especially as he laughs lightheartedly. He stumbles back as your weight slams into him, as your hands reach for his face and neck. He moves with an inhuman speed and strength that you lack, easily gripping your wrists and keeping you at a safe distance. “Easy now,” he says, almost teasing, “don’t wanna hurt ya.”
His tone serves to piss you off more, and you use that anger and your final pump of adrenaline to struggle, to try and kick and hit, to burn off the rage that’s been simmering within you for two weeks. Remmick sidesteps you with a lazy confidence, watching you wear yourself out. There’s a point when his own claws just barely nick your arm like an accident, a thin strip of blood beading at the surface. It makes him pull back, his nose scrunching. “Whew baby, yer blood is potent.” He whistles, nearly wincing at the scent that makes his mouth water. It smells so human, not yet flushed out by feeding on other’s blood, by the wrongness of being a vampire. His eyes gleam. “Still got all that mortality in ya.”
With the grace of a cat, Remmick sweeps your legs out from under you when you try going at it again, leaving you to fall to the forest floor with an oof. You groan, your head pounding, your limbs feeling unbearably heavy, chest heaving. You go limp against the cool grass, your remaining energy at last spent, more than content to lay there until the sun comes up and burns you away. You hear a click of the tongue above you, Remmick looking down at you. “You done, sweet thing?” You don’t respond, making him huff. “Alright, c’mon,” he says, scooping you up by under your arms and forcing you back on your feet, “don’t die on me just yet.”
He nods towards the trees beyond. “Let’s go. Got somethin’ for ya.”
He starts walking without even looking back, like he fully expects you to follow him, like he knows you will. He’s right of course, and you find yourself stumbling after him without a second thought; it’s not like you have much else better to do than follow this weird, ancient vampire.
His steps are steady and light, traversing the forest with the experience of someone who’s done it hundreds of times. He barely rustles the bushes he passes, as if he doesn’t exist to the world around him, or he doesn’t want to disturb it lest it turn the wrong eye on him. You, on the other hand, make enough noise for the both of you. You can barely stay upright, your legs shaking, every tree root feeling like a death sentence.
The further you go, the stronger a certain smell gets. At first you think perhaps it’s Remmick’s wounds from you bleeding again, but they closed up a while ago. No, this scent is fresh and full of life and human. Hunger slams into you tenfold, sent into a frenzy at the idea of a true meal. You begin to hear noises too, garbled cries and pleas and sobs.
The undergrowth parts around you, leading you into a small clearing where blood has smeared across the grass, eerily illuminated by the moon above. Lying amidst it all is a young man, his clothes dirty and bloodied, his face bruised, and tears running freely. He’s on his stomach like he’d attempted to crawl away, drawing attention to the fact that both his Achilles tendons have been brutally sliced. When he spots you both, he goes into a full blown panic, begging and pleading for mercy. “No, no, no- please- I don’t know what I did just spare me please-“
“Oh hush up.” Remmick says roughly to him, grabbing him by the collar and dropping him against a tree, then keeping him there with a boot pressed into his leg. Remmick looks to you, nodding towards the guy. “Now I left this poor feller waitin’ all cuz of ya so ya best be nice and put him outta his misery”
You stand there confused for a moment, in disbelief at the fact that you’re being offered someone else’s meal just like that. Drool coats your chin, your fangs fully extended and sharp as razors, the hunger inside you howls. You know better than to reject a gift when it’s given to you so Remmick watches you with both intensity and fascination as you stumble forward, your lips already dropped open. The scent of blood coats the roof of your mouth, your eyes gleaming while the man struggles and sobs.
You fall to your knees in front of him, clawed hands coming up to shove his head aside to bare his untouched neck to you. You can feel the way his blood pumps beneath the skin, his heartbeat so loud in your ears you could mistake it for your own if you had one. There’s still something human in you that struggles against this, that screams at the horror of it all, but it’s ultimately drowned out by the desire and temptation. You can’t find it in yourself to apologize before you’re leaning in, before your teeth are sinking deep, deep into his flesh.
The man’s scream gets cut off, his body going still beneath you. When those first drops of blood hit your tongue you moan, the sound coming from you without control. It feels like a puzzle piece has finally been snapped into place, everything suddenly feeling so unbelievably right, despite your actions being so wrong in every way under the eye of God. That burn in your throat at last goes away, strength already returning to your limbs, your mind clearing with each gulp. Remmick grins, satisfaction and pleasure blooming within him just from watching you. He crouches down, his hand coming to pet through your hair, brushing it back from your face. “That’s it, good, good. Drink it all, baby.” He says in whispered awe.
You do just that. You take and take and take, sucking every drop of blood from the man’s veins until there’s nothing left to be given, until the flavor starts to lose its vibrancy. When you finally feel satisfied, you pull back with a loud pop and a tear, your fangs leaving one last mark by ripping some of his skin. Your breath comes in heavy, iron-tainted pants, your eyes bright and you feeling like you can think for once. The blood has made a mess of your front, smeared across the lower half of your face and down your neck to your chest, ruining your shirt. Your hands haven’t been spared either, the red running from the tips of your claws to your knuckles.
You look up at Remmick, at the creature who finally fed you, who gave you just what you needed without hesitation, who saved you. Where there was once alarms ringing, there’s now just whispers of devotion. Whispers of Remmick being safety, a provider, a savior. He sees that shift in you clear as day, something he’s seen countless times before—it’s just that this time he didn’t have to turn you himself for it to happen. It makes his smile widen, his red gaze lidded.
He takes your face in one hand, and this time you don’t flinch away from his touch. “Gorgeous.” He murmurs before his tongue is on you, dragging across your chin, collecting the combination of blood and spit in rough licks. You whimper under his ministrations and he swallows down that sound with his lips on yours, his kiss starved and desperate. He groans at the taste of blood, taking every bit he can from you, the weight of his body pressing hot and heavy against your own. He licks across your neck, teeth grazing purposefully along your skin as a tease for you and him both. There’s small nips when he can’t control himself, when there’s a spot properly drenched with blood.
The combination of the man’s human blood mixed with the scent your own is intoxicating, and if Remmick didn’t force himself to pull back, to exercise some form of self restraint, he believes he would’ve found himself with his fangs in your neck.
He sighs, running his thumb along the corner of his lip to clean off the drool that began to form. “Now let’s find another one ‘fore I eat your sweet self whole.” He says, voice low and scratchy at the edges.
You’re eager to follow him, to have him show you the way of this new life. You both leave behind the mangled body of the man, his blood now flowing through your veins and giving you the energy you’d been so sorely lacking. You feel reborn, fresh and rejuvenated, excited to see what else may lay on the moonlit path with Remmick as your eternal guide, neither of you ever being alone again.
Imagine Aizawa dating a younger girl, whos a super model!!!
For an example, he’s on patrol right. And he visits her at a meet amd greet! Cameras are flashing as reader gives him a big smooch!!! How eould 1A, other teachers/pro heros and other students react😭
Randomly came to me after listening to turn heads by dem franchize boyz
Smeared Lipstick and Flashing Lights
FEATURING Shouta Aizawa x Reader
SUMMARY Aizawa's life erupts into chaos when you decide to kiss him in front of hundreds of cameras.
CONTENT WARNINGS pure fluff guys, class 1-A being children, pure chaos, descriptions of kissing, some good old teasing between friends
AUTHORS NOTE THIS IS AN EPIC IDEA MONTY!!! I love it so much and this was such a joy to write!
Tokyo Midtown Plaza shimmered with polished marble floors and the cool hum of upscale air conditioning. Velvet ropes stretched across the gleaming lobby, separating rows of cameras and screaming fans from the raised platform where you stood beneath a cascade of LED lights and branded banners.
You’d done a hundred of these meet-and-greets, but tonight—tonight you had a feeling. Something beneath your skin itched with electricity.
You signed a glossy photograph with a flourish, smiled into the flash of an iPhone, and handed it back to a starstruck girl who could barely form words. You whispered a quiet thank-you to her and turned slightly, posing with your signature look—chin tilted, eyes soft, a touch of a smirk.
Then you saw him.
Half-hidden behind a marble column near the back of the venue, head tilted low and posture slouched like he belonged in the shadows. To anyone else, he was just a tired man in black—another body in the chaos.
But to you? He was gravity.
Aizawa stood with his hands in his pockets, capture scarf bundled neatly at his hip, dust smudged along the sleeve of his hero coat. His half-up hair framed his face in messy strands, one brow raised slightly as he watched you work.
You beamed.
No hesitation. You ducked under the velvet rope, ignoring the flurry of movement from the security guards, and stalked toward him with long, graceful strides that only made the cameras turn faster.
“Miss—wait, please—” someone called after you.
He didn’t even flinch. Just blinked once. Slowly.
The moment you reached him, you grabbed his collar, leaned up on your toes, and kissed him.
Not a polite peck. Not something demure or for show. This was shameless, deliberate. The kind of kiss that says, I know exactly what I’m doing.
The crowd exploded behind you.
You smiled against his lips as the burst of camera flashes lit up the marble floor like fireworks. Someone in the press screamed. Another person cheered. The whole venue turned into a wall of voices, rising into a euphoric frenzy.
He didn’t kiss you back at first. He just stood there, stunned—probably calculating just how badly this would go over. But then, he exhaled through his nose, a sound like a sigh and a laugh, and his hand slid up to rest gently at your waist.
“You know,” he said, barely above the noise, voice gravel-thick, “I was just here to check in.”
“And now you’re here to be adored,” you replied with a wink.
His eyes softened for just a heartbeat before flattening back into their usual half-lidded look of apathy. But you knew better. You could feel the subtle tension in his hand where it gripped your waist a second longer than necessary.
“Cameras,” he said.
“Let them look.”
He groaned quietly, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward—barely. Only you would’ve noticed.
That was enough.
The dorm was quiet. Suspiciously so.
Most of Class 1-A had retreated to the common area for snacks and late-night studying—though the "studying" part had long since given way to Kaminari and Sero attempting to balance textbooks on Mineta's head while he napped.
Mina sat cross-legged on the couch, flipping through channels in boredom until she landed on a newscast with the caption in bold white font:
"BREAKING: ERASERHEAD CAUGHT KISSING FASHION ICON LIVE AT MIDTOWN PLAZA."
She blinked.
Paused.
Then screamed.
“KIRISHIMA!!! DENKI!!! TODOROKI!!! LITERALLY EVERYONE!!! GET IN HERE—NOW!”
The boys crashed into the room like a herd of startled cattle, Kirishima wiping crumbs off his chin and Denki tripping over a power cord.
“WHAT? WHAT IS IT? IS IT A VILLAIN ATTACK?” Kirishima shouted.
“No, it’s worse—it’s—LOOK!”
She jabbed a finger at the screen, rewinding the footage.
And there he was.
Eraserhead. Grumpy, broody, nap-loving homeroom teacher Aizawa Shouta—standing in full hero gear at a public venue, stiff as a board while a beautiful, radiant woman in a black satin dress yanked him down and kissed him senseless. And not just any woman.
“Wait—isn’t that—?”
“It is!”
“That’s the supermodel from the Sekai spread! The one that broke the internet—”
“The one who made that sheer mesh catsuit look good!”
“I HAVE THAT CATSUIT SAVED TO MY CAMERA ROLL!”
Kirishima collapsed to the floor with a groan. “Bro. BRO. He pulled a woman like that?! That’s so—so manly, I don’t even have words—”
Todoroki watched with a blank stare. “He said relationships were a ‘distraction.’ I guess he meant our relationships.”
Kaminari’s mouth was wide open. “Did you see the way she grabbed him? Like—like she owned him?! That was insane! I need someone to kiss me like that!”
“You need someone to tolerate you first,” Jirou muttered, deadpan.
Uraraka was red as a tomato. “I didn’t even know Mr. Aizawa smiled. Did you see the way he looked at her after?!”
On screen, the camera zoomed in. A faint curl of his lips. A glimmer of affection behind sleep-heavy eyes.
“Mr. Aizawa is hot,” Tsuyu said matter-of-factly, sipping her tea. “We all just didn’t want to admit it.”
Midoriya’s hands shook as he scribbled furiously in his notebook.
“Notable change in public persona… possibly quirk synergy in shared lifestyle? Domestic compatibility? Hero-student boundaries?? What does this mean—?!”
“Yo, we gotta show this to Bakugo,” Sero grinned.
As if summoned by sheer will, Bakugo stomped into the room seconds later, glaring. “The hell are you losers screaming about this time?!”
The TV lit up with the moment. The kiss. The crowd. The lipstick smudge on Aizawa’s stubble.
Bakugo stopped dead.
There was a long silence.
“…That old bastard is pulling?” he muttered.
The world tilted slightly.
“I’m done,” Bakugo said, turning on his heel.
The breakroom at U.A. smelled like burnt coffee grounds and the faint tang of disinfectant. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a sterile glow over the mismatched mugs, half-eaten rice balls, and teacher-grade exhaustion that clung to every surface.
Aizawa sat in the corner, hood up, eyes closed behind his capture scarf like he could will himself into a coma. His coffee sat untouched. He had already regretted waking up today—and he’d only been conscious for ten minutes.
He didn’t look up when Hizashi burst into the room like a man on a mission.
“SHOUTA. Shouta. SHOUTA. Dude.”
Aizawa cracked one eye open. Slowly. Like a tired cat contemplating murder.
“What,” he muttered.
Yamada slammed his phone down onto the breakroom table, screen up, the brightness blinding in the otherwise dull space. A still image of the kiss—Aizawa’s gloved hand on your waist, your lips pressed to his with the kind of audacity the internet had only dreamed of—burned across the display.
“YOU’RE A VIRAL SENSATION, BABY!” Hizashi howled, flinging his arms out. “How the hell did you not tell me you were dating her?!”
Aizawa closed his eye again. “It’s not a secret.”
“Not a secret?! Half of Japan’s on fire. You made national news during a patrol route!”
“Wasn’t my fault.”
“You kissed a supermodel—in front of cameras—during a public event.”
“She kissed me.”
Hizashi made a strangled noise. “Ohhhhhh my god you’re impossible.”
Across the room, Midnight—lounging against the countertop in leather pants and a smirk—sipped from her coffee like it was wine. “I always knew you had taste,” she purred. “Didn’t think you had game, though.”
“I don’t,” Aizawa said flatly.
“Sure,” she hummed. “That’s why you’re all over the entertainment blogs this morning. Scandalous mystery hero revealed as fashion queen’s secret boyfriend!” She tossed her phone on the table, showing the article. “They’re calling you ‘Japan’s Grumpy Zaddy.’”
“I’m going to burn the internet.”
“Too late,” came Cementoss’s low, amused voice as he entered, arms crossed and half a rice cracker hanging out of his mouth. “My daughter texted me asking if we serve caviar now that Aizawa’s dating royalty.”
“I don’t even know what caviar tastes like.”
“She said you’re her new favorite hero. She used to like Best Jeanist.”
Aizawa stared blankly at his coffee.
Then, with painful timing, All Might entered, beaming as if this was the most wholesome turn of events in modern history. “Aizawa! What a lovely surprise to see you trending for something positive!”
“I was trending?” Aizawa asked grimly.
“Oh yes!” Toshinori fumbled for his reading glasses, squinting at his phone. “There’s a fan account already! They’ve posted over twenty edits. The music choices are a little intense though. Very… sensual.”
“Please stop talking.”
“OH! OH! Is this the one where you’re like—grrr, and she’s all—mmwah?” Yamada mimed both parts dramatically, complete with flailing arms and kissy noises.
“I will end you.”
The breakroom door opened again.
This time it was Nezu, rolling in with an espresso in his paws and a suspicious twinkle in his beady little eyes.
“Well well well,” he said, voice chipper as ever. “Our dear Eraserhead. A viral sweetheart. A romantic lead. Dare I say… a public figure?”
“I’m not a public figure.”
“You are now.”
“I’ll quit.”
“No you won’t,” Nezu said, sipping serenely. “Because she makes you smile.”
A beat of silence.
Everyone turned.
Yamada’s mouth dropped open. “You SMILED?!”
“I did not smile.”
“You so smiled.”
“I was grimacing.”
“Your eyes were smiling,” Midnight said helpfully.
“God, just—stop talking. All of you.”
“You know, the students are in shambles,” said Cementoss. “Mina nearly passed out. Midoriya’s having a hero notebook crisis. I think Todoroki thinks love is a government conspiracy now.”
Aizawa groaned and finally buried his face in his arms on the table. His coffee sat cold. His life was ruined. And the worst part?
He could still feel the faint smudge of your lipstick against the corner of his mouth.
The two heroes step into a floral boutique, seeking blooming flowers for each other. Instead, they find you, the most precious rose of them all. In noticing just how much such a bright environment seems to take a heavy toll on you, they take it upon themselves to unearth the reasons why - and how to fix it, fix you.
WARNINGS: Dubcon, Coercion, Gaslighting, Recreational and Non Recreational Use of Alcohol and Drugs, Assault, Mutilation/Bone Breaking, Anxiety/Panic Attacks, Claustrophobia, Stalking, Kidnapping, Restraints, Mentions of Force-Feeding, Vomit, Stockholm Syndrome, Mind Break.
tangentwithtanner
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