Can I request headcanons for ZZZ Ben Bigger, Wise, and Von Lycaon reacting to his gn s/o hugging him in your sleep like he's your teddy bear please?
Pairings -> Ben Bigger x Reader, Wise x Reader, Von Lycaon x Reader
Warnings -> None
Note -> Reader loves to hug them in their sleep like they are your teddy bear
Genre -> Fluff
BEN BIGGER
Initially caught off guard at first, Ben freezes like a statue the first time you cling onto him while sleeping since he is label as looking like the 'tough guy'
His ear twitches and he simply remains still, he's scared that he will wake you up if he moves because he cares and wants you to get the good amount of sleep
Melts at your touch, Ben is a complete softie though despite his tough appearance, even though he's trying not to smile as much to the feel of your arms on him makes his heart speed a bit too much
An instinct of protection takes over him, he will instinctively put his arms over you as well like a huge barrier of protection once you begin doing it on the regular basis
He will make sure you get a good night's sleep, you can always count on him since he's very fluffy
If you are ashamed of this, then he would stop teasing you for a bit
WISE
The first time Wise was startled, it was unexpected to wake up with your arms around him, who doesn't usually doesn't cuddle much
He blinks a couple of times and simply and calmly takes it in instead of moving you
He tries to appear unconcerned deposit becoming flustered at the physical touch from his partner, he might scream in the inside of his mind while he mutters "I guess this position is comfy"
Gradually grows used to it, he now comes to like it more than he realises as he finds your grip comforting and your presence soothing to him
Now even at night he unconsciously moves towards you
Would never acknowledge his fondness for it but however he will clumsy push closer if you stop doing it one night, claiming that he needs some warmth
The routine of this becomes comforting for the both of you, curling up to him likes he's your safe haven is part of his nightly winding down routine with you
And It means a lot to him, even though he won't express it aloud to you as you tease him sometimes about it
VON LYCAON
The gesture is immediately returned, He is a romantic at heart and he will automatically pull you in more closer when you put your arms around him the first time and it comes naturally to him
Find it quite charming, he likes to brush your hair or sooth your back while softly whispering sweet thing like "Sleep well, my dear"
Being your 'Teddy bear' makes him feel a bit honored, he takes great satisfaction in protecting and comforting you even while you are asleep
He values this delicate duty now
May wake up early to take in the moment of admiring you even more, he occasionally finds comforts in your presences and smiles softly as he observes you from a few minutes
He leans into it if you mutter a bit in your sleep as he tries to get you back to sleep
But if you make fun of him of it, he will slightly lean into it saying "It seems that I am lucky to be your teddy bear, seeming that I am quite soft and fluffy to your liking"
And the tables have now turned
Guess who had a long day of walking, my feet are killing me
dating headcanons - zzzero men edition (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡
ft. gn!reader x anton ivanov, ben bigger, lighter, von lycaon, wise ; no applicable warnings! my first request (i tried to finish it before christmas in my timezone, but still, merry christmas to the anon who requested this :DD and to those reading!!) hehehhe i hope its good enough｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡
anton ivanov
you cannot look me in the eye and tell me this man isn’t the type to yell “this is for you!” or “if i hit this you give me a kiss” and completely miss whatever target he’s supposed to hit. he hits it. sometimes. he still gets a kiss anyways.
[“dude” “we’re literally dating and you’ve placed your lips on mine do NOT call me dude.” “…babe”]
big on gift giving and words of affirmation in terms of love languages. he makes sure to put a lot of thought into whatever he gives to you to properly convey his appreciation and show just how much you mean to him.
"strong, sincere, and straightforward." he's definitely the type to encourage you to try new things especially when you're the type to get easily nervous. if you're scared of looking stupid, don't worry; he'll do it with you hand-in-hand so you can be stupid together. becomes your no. 1 hype man and would give you his honest opinions whenever you need ‘em.
you see or hear him talking to his jackhammer bro for the most mundane or random things and you've become used to it at this point. its honestly endearing (you're hopeless)
["bro do you think they'd still love me if i was a worm?" "vroom vroom vroom" “you think so?” “vroom” "yeah, you're right."]
ben bigger
scary bear privileges meaning no one wants to mess with you knowing that you're dating someone who cuts such an intimidating presence but you know better than them because ben would much rather use his paws to tap away at a calculator or spreadsheet than willingly get into fights.
on that note, he's most likely to be the best companion for grocery shopping; he'll know how to get all the good discounts and haggle for the best prices for sure.
best cuddle partner to have during colder seasons no. 1. although he puts his fur care second, it's still soft and fuzzy to the touch and he likes that you appreciate the warmth it provides too.
since he struggles with some of his accounting responsibilities due to the size of his paws, sometimes you help him with sorting some of belobog industries' financial documents and eventually you end up finding the task quite relaxing after a while of doing it.
but, of course, he loves spending time with you outside of work. anything to take his mind off of the horrors of accounting. he'll mentally file away anything he learns about you when you're together for future purposes, may it be gift or date ideas.
he's the bear thiren between both of you, but in private he loves cuddling against you like you're some sort of plush toy. you don't mind. another win-win situation because you get to rest against him like a giant pillow as well.
lighter
he tries to be flirty with you and sometimes it works! but when you match his energy and it backfires on him he turns into a blushing mess who doesn’t know what to do with himself.
also the type to want to show off or act all suave. he has an image to keep as the undefeated champion! the red scarf! (he’s internally giggling and kicking his feet from one [1] cheek kiss you left in passing).
date nights with him sometimes consist of drives on his bike and stargazing at a nice little spot he found in blazewood. then halfway through, he’d get distracted from seeing the stars in your eyes and think that its a hundred times better than the real thing and fall in love all over again.
“gets as many challenges as love letters” but he makes sure that you and anyone who tries to make a move know that he only has eyes for you. could be in the form of having an arm around your waist or his jacket on you when you feel cold.
a physical touch and acts of service guy because. well. he did say he’d like to die for love one day. that’s a very romantic thing to say and do. also his heart still races whenever you hold his hand but he swears he’s getting used to it (he isn’t). probably melts when you gently run your fingers over his face or any of his scars
i honestly feel like he's one of those "me and my bae don't argue they just tell me to shut up and i do" types.
von lycaon
an ideal date for him would be a fancy dinner or picnic somewhere nice and discreet. complete with scented candles, your favorite flowers, and homecooked food (which probably tastes better than anything you've ever eaten at any restaurant). then at some point when both of you have finished eating and you're both in conversation, he brings your hand up to his lips and leaves a kiss on your knuckles.
["darling, your face is...concerningly red. are you feeling alright?" "i'm fine. i think."]
you WILL be receiving that prince/princess treatment (threat). breakfast in bed when he isn’t busy, spontaneous massages offered when you mention ONCE that you feel tired, and all that jazz. you probably will never have to open another door yourself with him around and he ALWAYS offers his arm for you to take when you're walking together.
best cuddle partner to have during colder seasons no. 2. just prepare yourself for horrendous shedding as summer begins… but you don’t mind helping him brush through his fur (*´ω`*) its therapeutic and you’re one of the very few people he trusts with the task so its a win for both of you.
since he's a wolf thiren, he sometimes unwillingly attracts the attention of stray cats and dogs; he usually pays them no mind but it is somewhat of an inconvenience for him. however, the sight of you playing with them while quietly cooing eases some of his discomfort. seems like you aren't the only one suffering from cuteness aggression.
his guilty pleasure is squishing your cheeks in his hands. no i will not elaborate
wise
this is one of the random play managers we’re talking about, so. movie date nights are mandatory. both of you alternate when picking movies but sometimes you bicker over options like an old married couple just for the fun of it.
a lot more chill when it comes to PDA but he can be flirty when he wants to be. if he knows you have a weak spot for it, he uses it to his advantage to get what he wants. scheming little minx. /pos
words of affirmation and quality time guy, i think. since he's always so busy with managing the store and completing commissions alongside belle as proxies, he makes the most out of the time you guys can spend together alone. even if it's just laying in his bed or on the couch doing nothing together sometimes.
everyone and their mothers and grandmothers on sixth street will probably know that you’re dating or figure something out at some point even when both of you don’t really do much together in public/are trying to keep it on the low. never underestimate these aunties man
unfortunately for wise, he will become the target of teasing or nagging from belle when it comes to your relationship. once you get close enough she'll also share embarrassing stories from when they were younger or before you and wise started dating much to her brother’s chagrin.
secretly likes clinging and cuddling up to you like a koala. both of you are in bed? oh okay, don’t mind him, he’ll just scooch a bit and wrap his arms and legs around you, claiming that having you in his bed helps fix his insomnia (it does, to some degree). [“wise i can’t move.” “you don’t need to.”]
on the days you help out with tasks in random play, you could quite literally just be standing while doing something and then you’ll feel a pair of arms sneak around your waist from behind as he leans his head on one of your shoulders with a quiet, satisfied sigh.
“Not enough! Repeat after me, Kei-kun! [ I apologize for my insolence ] !”
“I… I apologize for my insolence!”
How did things come to this– where he bows down in a dogeza to his girlfriend’s mother who slapped a broom to the ground as he apologized like that? Uomi Kei doesn’t feel like remembering it at first, but his mind keeps flashing back to the content of his memories.
So, Kikubatake Erisa-san, Chieri’s mother, visited. That would be fine on itself, he’s dating her daughter and he’s familiar with her, anyway. The thing is, she came without warning except for a text message for Chieri that she forgot to read as she was busy with her streaming work. This day happened to be a day where Silvi next door would have lunch with them, and the sight that welcomed Erisa-san was Uomi Kei surrounded by Silvia Goldberg and Kikubatake Chieri who fought over something silly as they clinged to Kei.
Which makes things worse, Silvi claimed that she’s Chieri and Kei’s girlfriend. Which led to a series of events that made Erisa-san mad as heck as if she misunderstood something, and now he’s bowing like crazy for his insolence even though he did nothing at all.
“....She really is Chieri’s mom!”
“W–what are you trying to imply by that, you thieving cat…. I am even scared of my mom when she’s mad like this…”
The girls were spared from her wrath for now, it seems. It’s kind of unfair, but if he spoke up, Kei knew it would make things worse for him.
Erisa-san sighed out loud for the others in the room to hear as she facepalms. She put aside the broom and crossed her arms.
“Alright, that’s enough teasing. Kei-kun, raise your face.” Erisa said, and as Kei raised himself as he got pulled by her hands to a direction that indicated Chieri’s room. ”Now, come with me. You two, don’t follow.”
“But Mom–”
Erisa sternly stops Chieri with a gesture, and Chieri backs off, biting her lips. Silvi seemingly wanted to follow regardless, but Chieri pulled her hand before she could, in fear of her own mother.
As Kei followed to Chieri’s room and the door was shut, Erisa sat down on Chieri’s work chair while she commanded Kei to sit down on Chieri’s bed. It seemed like Erisa’s anger was slightly subdued somehow, but there’s still an uncomfortable stare on her eyes at Kei.
“First of all, I should say I’m thankful it’s not Nagi– Chieri’s father that came here today. He was going to, but he had work to do. I feel like he would have a stroke if he saw that sight…”
Erisa rolled her eyes. Kei decided to speak up.
“Erisa-san. I can explain.”
“You better. That’s why I pulled you aside, I can imagine we could not have any proper conversation with Chieri and Miss Goldberg barging in.”
Erisa was indeed sharper than she looks, something she developed in the youth where she was an idol back in Indonesia. Not like Kei would’ve known the details, though.
“So. About Silvi. She’s a gaming world rival of mine from America, as you might have known. She moved next door on her own, and for some reason she kept insisting that she wanted to date both me and Chieri…”
“And you said yes to that poly relationship despite Chieri being uncomfortable with it?”
“No!” Kei answered as quickly as he could. “I only love Chieri, and I don’t want to be in a polyamourous relationship! But she’s still our neighbor and she doesn’t have that many people she knows in Japan, so she comes by often…. I swear it’s just that, and I only see her as a friendly rival! I’m not cheating on your daughter, I swear!”
Kei bowed down again spontaneously, but he could hear Erisa sighing loudly. As Kei raised his face once again, Erisa stared at him fiercely, causing him to shiver in surprise, but soon softened up.
“Your eyes don't look like a liar’s, and you answered quickly. I trust you.” Her answer caused Kei relief, at least until she continued. “But be careful if Nagi visits since he’s much more conservative about it. He’d get a stroke, as I said. I will inform you, but manage your own arrangement with any of your female friends if he does.”
“I— I got it!”
“Now that’s out of the way…” Erisa walked over the door, and opened it up to find Silvi and Chieri. “Girls, most of all, I’m thankful you didn’t interrupt us, regardless of whether you heard it or not.”
Silvi was quick to approach Kei.
“Kei! Are you okay! Don’t tell me you got to the HITOZUMA route?!”
“W–w–what are you saying, Silvi! Don’t make my mom misunderstood further!”
“Eeeh, but I heard in Japanese games it’s common… Saw it in your magazine!”
“D— Did you read that bishoujo game magazine in my room— Aaargh! No, Chieri! Not in front of mom!”
“As you can see, those two are like that, so,” Kei pointed at the two with his thumb as he sighed. “I can’t blame you for misunderstanding, but please trust my word on it.”
Erisa chuckled awkwardly. Kei couldn’t tell the exact meaning of that chuckle, and it inflicted slight fear on him.
----
Mom: I know you’re bisexual but having both of your lovers being the top earning pro gamer in two different countries is kind of… shocking.
Chieri: IT’S NOT LIKE THAT MOM??
Chieri: AND I HAVEN’T TOLD YOU I’M BISEXUAL YET???
Mom: I know, just joking around.
Mom: …Huh, you haven’t told me? It’s kinda obvious
Chieri was going to reply to her mother’s text message that night as she stepped across the corridor but suddenly, Kei hugged her from behind, tight enough to stop her movement. Huh, so he’s done with his ranked matches and practice today, Chieri thought to herself.
“Kei, what’s this about?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired…. too much was going on today.”
Kei’s sigh got into her neck with their position, and Chieri giggled out of ticklish sensation.
“Understandable. Feel free to recharge here.”
“It’s partially your fault for not checking your messages either, Chieri.”
“Ugh, yeah, you’re right. Anything I could do for your forgiveness?”
“Let’s see… How about cuddling ourselves to sleep tonight?”
Kei lets go of Chieri’s back a little, and now Chieri could see him smirk. Chieri raised her eyebrows.
“You sure? Weren’t you going to grind a little more on SLF tonight?”
“Don’t feel like it today. I need to recharge.”
“I’ll have a tough dance lesson tomorrow, so please do nothing sexual…”
“Nah, don’t worry. I just wanna cuddle.”
“You said that last time too…” Chieri sighed as she rolled her eyes, remembering a few days ago. “Fine. Your bed or mine?”
“Mine. Let’s go to my room.”
Kei pulled Chieri’s hands to the direction of his room, and somehow Chieri, who didn’t feel like sleeping earlier– now felt like cuddling to sleep, too.
Do you have any thoughts about Air Shakur x fem!reader? (trainer or uma is not so important, at your discretion)
I urgently need to talk about how much of a lesbian I see her as, I literally can't imagine her in love with a man. But it seems to me that she would be jealous of reader, even if a man just breathed next to her, and even if Shaka knew that reader definitely doesn't like men, Air Shakur just wouldn't like the very possibility that some guy would stick to her gf🥀
OH YESSS i like your headcanon of Shakur being a possessive lover! I'll go with fem!T because I have my personal fave amongst umaxuma ship with Shakur already and I'm afraid if my bias might be shown....
I feel like Shakur's love interest fem!Trainer would be a very feminine beauty compared to her, and that really does attract some unwanted gaze from her peers. I like the idea of Shakur being kind of a protective guard dog around her!
I feel like Shakur's definitely one of those who, had you worn your pretty little personal swimsuit to training camp to blend in with the trainees, would throw her sports jacket at you and say that you shouldn't show that to anyone else rather possessively. I like the idea that fem!Trainer is oblivious to this too, and was just confused 'did I look that strange in a swimsuit?'
Also, not quite related to the thing above, but I like the idea of them warming up to each others by looking at data together while sitting close. I feel like it'll take time until Shakur feels comfortable with that especially if she harbors crush on you for a while, but once she does it's your own little moment.
any Katsuragi Ace thoughts…? Any crumbs? Pretty please (•́₃•̀)
First, Katsuragi Ace is a very good boyfriend-coded girlfriend. I always joked she's a main love interest in shojo manga coded because she felt that way (doesn't help a lot of yume comics I saw of her have this kind of shojo feel to them LMAO). So uh, I end up imagining a lot of shojo manga like scenarios with her.....
She's the kind to take care of others and the cooking scenario confirms that she's used to cooking, so I feel like if her girlfriend was kind of lacking time to take care of herself (happens often with trainersona self insert), she would make her some packed lunch no question asked.
Continuation from above, for some reason, there's a lot of your favorite stuffs in the lunch she made for you, making you wonder how much she observed you and your likes and dislikes. It would make you swoon all over her again.
I like to imagine that Ace would be princess carrying you with no embarrassment involved if you ever got sick and fainted in front of her. To her, your wellbeing is the most important of them all in that situation, but you'd be embarrassed realizing how you end up in infirmary and she finds it cute.
Hey hey!! (I love ur stuff sm) Do you have any more headcanons of stay gold?? What about stay gold crushing on reader?? (Female)
Stay Gold with a crush is a force to beckon, that's for sure! I feel like she's the kind to be very subtle about it, but her gestures are enough to declare her affection.
Though I feel like reader would be dense about it-- I prefer it that way, imagining Stay Gold being lowkey frustrated at reader not noticing her feelings is fun.
I feel like one day, reader would be questioning why her souvenirs from Stay Gold's trips are quite different and more elaborate than for others-- some even matches her stuffs, even more than Stego's close friends such as Golshi and Journey, that Stego is finally able to express her feelings with actual straightforward words.
It seems like she also made it a little game with herself to make you notice (she's definitely getting this idea from Nakayama), but with that kind of question being asked, she can't deny her feelings anymore.
Hello! I was reading your Boyfriend Jungle Pocket Fic, then I noticed the (If it was Tachyon it'd be different.) I WANNA KNOW-
WELL DON'T WORRY I DO LOVE POKETAKI A LOT! It's just; in my HC, she's a lot more embarrassed about admitting to be in a relationship with someone like Tachyon because well, Tachyon is being Tachyon and it's kinda embarrassing for her to introduce someone who seemingly is a weird nerd with knack for chemistry to her freestyle racing friends.
Mostly this is because I'd think Tachyon is kinda not her type she often talked about to her friends but she fell anyway, so she's feeling quite complicated about it. Pokke had always been loud after what she likes the most, so it would be kinda contradictory and she's prideful about it. Especially considering that Tachyon is her rival
But it's all just her overthinking in her head. Tachyon would get along well with her freestyle friends especially knowing that this mad scientist does feel reliable to them, some even is intrigued by her researches and is willing to provide data, even with Pokke's protests that no good things will come from it.
do yoy have any thoughts on husband stay gold…………………………. my brainrot i have big brainrot
oh my god YES
she would take you to the best honeymoon travels.... she Knew her place around. and she is really accommodating to your wishes if you want to stay at one place so even when you didn't come with her she'd come back with a variety of souvenirs! though, quoting from her home line, she'd tease you about 'your best souvenir is me coming back home, huh'
also she'd be the one who's initiative about welcome back kisses. even at cheeks at the very least, she wouldn't let you go without having one, even tiptoeing to get any from you (she knew she's short)
also she would princess carry you on your wedding... I also think she'd be one to wear a suit during that. you two's house will be full of travelling photos during you two's travels all around the world.
when she's a little tired from jetlag or something, you'd cuddle with her. it became a little habit.
one thing i do find interesting about how canonically Umamusume's Stay Gold is seeing visions about her races in the 'other universe' (our universe) is that she must've to an extent had a feeling about Fenomeno, Golshi, Orfevre, Dream Journey and Nakayama Festa being all her son in another world somehow.
While the implication does feel fucked up (like hey I realized these kouhais probably still around my age is my sons in that other world), the way she acts around them being a fun traveling dad (female) who brought them souvenirs from trips while they're admiring her as a senpai is straight up wholesome. I like to think she tried to act more mature around them because of her other self's memories.
Could I request something nsfw with ben bigger? Maybe reader is a bit nervous because they aren’t too experienced and he’s just being the big sweetheart that he always is about it? (also your writing is so nice and im so happy i found out you write for ben too!)
Aw thank you! And while I know Lycaon is the first pick most would have for non furry people, I know many love Ben too! And he’s so sweet too! This man is the bear we all choose.
Warnings: smut, size difference
Okay first off this guy is definitely the type to have everything prepared, especially if you weren’t experienced.
I’m talking taking you to dinner to butter you up in the most genuine romantic way possible.
Though if you want it to be more casual (as in more so like a in the moment kind of way) he’s down for that.
He’s super reassuring and almost overbearing (pun not intended) with his questions on how you’re feeling and how comfortable you are.
He’ll at least take an hour or maybe even longer to prep you because he’ll somehow be even more nervous than you because of his huge stature, he’s a big bear thiren compared to the others. So if you’re a short monarch then you’re gonna have to work with him if you want him to be rougher.
Like this dude has big paws that can basically cover the average human’s face, I can understand his worry of hurting his partner.
But speaking of his paws, there is so much strength behind them. Like I can see him being able to lift certain people with only one arm. So it’s a no brainer when I say that he could practically carry you while in the act.
Honestly you’ll be thankful for that since I know Ben can go for multiple rounds, and with his possible length? Yeah you'll need him to keep you up.
Which leads me to my next thing, this guy would be very cuddly afterwards. Like don’t be surprised he doesn’t leave your side for a few days. Like he doesn’t do it on purpose, it’s mainly his instincts telling him to be close.
I got two so you can pick one that seems interesting or easier. What are your headcanons for dream journey? As a couple
What would Journey act of Ftrainer called her DJ?
In the canon character storyline, Journey would go beyond to preserve her trainer's goodwill and innocence about the world. So I always thought her Trainer would be one of those goodie-two-shoes woman with very naive 'everyone have a good side' view of the world, and Journey would go to an unbelievable length to preserve that in somewhat manipulative kind of way. To Journey, you (fem!Trainer) are one of the few little good things this world had to offer, and she finds it beautiful.
Journey is a part of the travel club, and thus she would be the one arranging for your travels and even joined them with you (sometimes even last minute additions because she wanted to stay close).
Also, I expect Orfe to pop out to your dates time to time just so she could see what's up with her sister's girlfriend.
I also think Journey would probably prefer you to call her by just 'Journey' though.
Is there any rules for requesting? I’m pretty vanilla but on the off chance I don’t want to accidentally make you uncomfortable
i'm fine with anything uma as long as it's not m!T centric except it's with mejiro dober and grass wonder (who i do like to ship with a m!T oc of my friends' so i figured out it would be unfair if i do not write them with m!T)
i may not write it as proper paragraph if i don't have time, or that i don't know the character well and just drop tidbits of hcs instead. honestly hcs are much more easier for me to work on since i prefer writing on portable devices but i'm not logged in my tab yet with tumblr so it makes things a little harder if it's not phone / pc
also for obvious reasons i might not be taking suggestive-y / r18 requests with uma musume.
I saw you do Dream Journey x female trainer and I got extremely excited. Could the F!trainer already in a relationship with DJ brush her tail or touch her ears?
Have a great day or night ^^
If fem!T wanted to, Journey definitely would allow her to! I feel like fem!T would be kind of roundabout about it because she's afraid of making Journey uncomfortable, but Journey sees through it and just put her hand on her head and saying "It's fine if it's you." with a gentle smile.
Hi hi not a request but I saw how your post about how Pokke is so bf-coded and I raise you... Katsuragi Ace. She's like the bf who you can rely on and trust to take care of you. She's incredibly thoughtful of your needs. Makes sure you're fed well everyday. Homegrows!! Her own ingredients!! When she wakes up extra early to gently remove any bugs from her garden so that they won't freak out Trainer when they stop by later I just 💘💘
YES YES YES I AGREE
I really like other people's fem!Trainer/Ace where it really feels like it's cut right from a shoujo manga! Unfortunately I haven't read her stories much so I can't write on my own about her.... yet! I might make some time to read more stories out of my own faves when I do have time!
do you have any more ideas for stay gold x reader perhaps?? :'3
in my HC Stay Gold knew a lot of languages and slangs due to her travels. One day you were on a trip with her to another country and you got separated from her for some reason, and some punks tried to flirt with you because foreigner girls are easy they thought since they don't speak their languages, but then Stay Gold came back in time as she smiled, covered and protect you, said in that country languages' 'Oh sorry, she's MINE, you bunch of (bad local profanity)' until the punks get away running because they aren't risking it out with an Uma girl who is probably stronger than they are.
Since I have some androphobia myself despite being bisexual and still attracted to men and wanted to improve on it, I.... really like how some people does write Mejiro Dober with an M!Trainer where she could overcame her fears with someone who she can trust! I feel like it's one of the few m!T ships I actually prefer than the yuri ones.
So far I'm a little bit too scared to see more than my own circle (one of my friend have story of Dober with his yume OC and that's where I'm getting this ship out) but in case anyone know any interesting reads with Dober and m!T that ALSO do not make her goes OOC do hmu!
Hiiii 👋🏻, if you’re taking requests, can I request a fic about having your first time with Aventurine please (I don’t rlly know if that man is experienced or not but I’ll leave it up to you ^^)
The First Time It's Real (Aventurine x Reader oneshot)
A/N: Hi anon. :) Thank you so much for this request. I loved it. Sorry for making you wait. I wanted to make sure it fit both the scenario and his character. And then… it turned into this. (Maybe this is just my way of coping with how much I miss him. :D) I hope the length makes up for the wait. :)
I think Aventurine isn’t a virgin in the technical sense. He’s had physical encounters before, but this is his first time letting it be real. His first time being present, vulnerable, and genuinely connected to someone. In that sense, it’s as much a “first time” for him as it is for the reader. Just in a different way.
So yes, there’s emotional breakdown and crying, but there’s also seduction, flirting, sexual tension, and a playful morning-after. Aventurine gets to be a confident, seductive mess and a vulnerable emotional disaster. I love exploring those contrasts.
Enjoy! :)
MDNI (Minors Do Not Interact)
Tags: Smut. MDNI. Fluff and Angst. Virgin!Reader. First Time (yours, not his but his first real time). Seduction. Flirting. Teasing. Playful Banter. Soft Dom Aventurine (at times). Emotional Hurt/Comfort. Vulnerability. Emotional Sex. Intimacy. Fear of Abandonment. Use of Real Name (Kakavasha). Crying During Sex. Emotional Breakdown. Morning After.
Word count: 6840
The elevator ride to your floor is all glass and city glow, and Aventurine can’t keep his hands off you.
He’s been like this all night—since the moment you invited him back to your place, maybe even before. Dinner had been charged with something electric, every casual touch lingering too long, every smile holding too much heat. By the time dessert arrived, you could barely focus on the conversation, too aware of his leg pressed against yours under the table, his fingers playing with yours between courses.
Now, in the elevator’s privacy, he’s abandoned even the pretense of restraint. His hand finds your waist, pulling you back against him as the city lights blur past. You feel his breath against your ear, warm and deliberate.
“You know,” he murmurs, voice low enough to make you shiver, “I’ve been thinking about this all night.”
“About what?”
“Getting you alone.” His lips brush just below your ear—not quite a kiss, but close enough to make your breath catch. “Finally having you to myself without waiters interrupting or other patrons watching.” His hand slides lower on your hip, possessive. “Just you and me.”
You lean back into him, feeling the solid warmth of his chest, the way his heart is racing despite his controlled voice. “We’ve been alone before.”
“Not like this.” His other hand comes up to your neck. “You know we haven’t.”
He’s right. For all his flirting, for all the heated kisses and wandering hands over the past few months, he’s always pulled back before things went too far. Always found a reason to stop, to slow down, even when you could feel how much he wanted to continue. It’s been maddening—this man who seems so confident, so experienced, hesitating like he’s afraid of something he won’t name.
Tonight feels different. Tonight, when you’d finally asked him directly if he wanted to come up, something in his expression had cracked open. Relief, maybe. Or surrender.
The elevator dings, and he pulls back just enough to let you walk, but his hand stays at the small of your back. Warm, present, slightly possessive.
The hallway to your door feels impossibly long. You’re fumbling with your keys when he presses close behind you, hands bracketing you against the door.
“Need help?” His voice is all sin and suggestion.
“I’ve got it,” you manage, but your hands are shaking slightly.
“Are you nervous?” He asks it softly, genuine concern threading through the heat.
“A little.”
“We don’t have to—”
“I want to.” You turn to face him, back against the door now. “I’ve wanted to. For a while now.”
Something flashes in his eyes—surprise, maybe, or something more vulnerable. “Have you?”
“Yes.” You reach up to cup his face. “Haven’t you?”
He laughs, low and a little helpless. “You have no idea.” He leans in, kissing you slowly, deeply, until you’re dizzy with it. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark. “I’ve been going crazy trying to keep my hands off you. Trying to be patient. Trying to—” He stops, swallows. “You deserve better than rushed. Better than… than someone who doesn’t know how to do this right.”
“Aventurine.” You stroke his cheek. “You’ve been nothing but good to me.”
He’s quiet for a moment, studying your face like he’s looking for something. Then, he says, “Let’s go inside. Before I forget we’re in a public hallway and scandalize your neighbors.”
You finally get the door open, and he follows you in, but now there’s something different in the air. The heat is still there—simmering, barely contained—but there’s nervousness too. From both of you.
Your place is warm, gentle with lived-in things: a blanket thrown over a chair, a cup on the counter, a plant you’re somehow keeping alive. Aventurine shrugs out of his jacket with that casual elegance he wears like a second skin, but you notice his hands aren’t quite steady.
“Tea?” you ask, and you see him blink in surprise.
He almost laughs. “That’s your opening move?”
“It’s what I’m having,” you say, needing a moment to breathe, to settle your nerves. “You can join me. Or there’s a bottle in the cabinet. Right side.”
The invitation lands somewhere unexpected. You watch him consider it. The momentum you’d built in the elevator and hallway hanging in the air between you. Then something in his expression gentles.
“Tea sounds good,” he says, surprising both of you.
You move to the kitchen, setting water to boil, and he follows, crowding into your space again but differently now. Less urgent. More… present.
“You know,” he says, hands finding your hips from behind, “when you invited me up, I had a very specific vision of how this evening would go.”
“And tea wasn’t part of it?”
“Not even remotely.” But he sounds amused rather than frustrated. His chin rests on your shoulder. “But this is nice too.”
“We don’t have to rush,” you say softly.
His grip tightens slightly. “I know. I just—” He stops. Starts again. “I’ve wanted this. Wanted you. For many weeks now. But I also want to do this right. Not just… not just go through motions.”
You turn in his arms to face him. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”
“I’m not—” He stops at your look. “Maybe. A little.”
“Aventurine.” You cup his face. “I’m nervous too. It’s my first time. I don’t know what I’m doing either.”
Something flickers in his expression—surprise, then something softer. “Your first time.”
“Yes.”
“And you want it to be with me.” He says it like he’s testing the words, like he can’t quite believe them.
“Yes.” You lean up to kiss him. “I trust you. I feel safe with you. I’ve been going crazy too, you know. Every time you pull away when I know you want more. Every time you stop yourself.” You smile slightly. “You’ve been driving me insane.”
He laughs—genuine, a little breathless. “Have I?”
“Yes.” You pull him closer. “So if you’re worried about rushing or not doing this right, don’t be. I want this. I want you. We’ll figure it out together.”
The tension that’s been coiling tighter all night finally shifts into something that feels less like pressure and more like anticipation. When he kisses you this time, it’s slower. More certain. Less performance and more promise.
“Okay,” he murmurs against your lips. “Okay.”
The water boils. You pour tea, he finds the whiskey. The city hums outside. You don’t fill the silence with nervous chatter, and he—God—he realizes how unfamiliar it is to be with someone who doesn’t need him to perform even in the quiet moments.
“Tell me something true,” you say, not looking up as you stir honey into your tea.
He arches a brow, that familiar playfulness returning. “I make a habit of truth—when it suits me.”
You give him a look that would fold most men in half. “Try again.”
He takes a slow sip of the whiskey, feels it burn. Then, he sets the glass down. He wants to be sober for this. “Something true?” His smile softens. “I’m very good at exits.”
“Mm.” You turn to face him fully. “I noticed.”
“And you invited me up anyway.” There’s a real question hidden in the observation.
“I did,” you say. “Because you usually leave when the game is over. And I’m not playing one.”
Something in his chest clicks the way a lock clicks when it’s opened from the inside. He clears his throat, and pretends he isn’t steadying himself.
He’s the one who closes the space. Of course he is. He moves like the room belongs to him. Until he’s in front of you and suddenly it doesn’t. Suddenly you’re all he can see.
“Careful,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the corner of your lip. “You’re making me sentimental.”
“Maybe it’s time,” you say.
He kisses you then—starting as that practiced seduction he knows so well, but you don’t unravel the way he expects. You open. Your hands come up, one at the back of his neck, one over his heart, and his breath stutters.
When he pulls back, he’s searching your face. “You’re not nervous anymore.”
“I am,” you say honestly. “Just not about you leaving.”
That should be his cue to deflect, to make a joke. Instead, he lifts your wrist and presses his mouth to your pulse. It’s tender, and surprises him as much as it does you.
“You’re dangerous,” he says against your skin.
“Why?”
“Because you look at me like I’m something worth keeping.”
Your fingers curl in his shirt. “You are.”
He laughs once. Quiet, unsteady, unarmored. “Then don’t blink,” he says, softer than prayer. “I don’t want to disappear.”
“I won’t,” you promise.
He kisses you again, and this time when it deepens, when his hands find your waist and pull you closer, there’s still confidence in his touch but less calculation. More feeling.
“Couch or bedroom?” he asks against your mouth, and there’s still that playful edge to his voice. “I’m flexible, though I should warn you…I have opinions about furniture choices and their structural integrity.”
You laugh, and he feels it like a reward. “Couch first,” you decide.
“Good choice.” He guides you there with easy confidence, easing you down and following. “We’ll work our way up to the main event. I like to be thorough.” The smile he gives you is pure sin again, but there’s something softer beneath it now.
He kisses you slowly this time, deeply, and his hands are sure on your body—tracing, exploring, coaxing small sounds from you that make his breath catch. This he knows. This he’s good at. Here, at least, he can trust his instincts.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and it comes out more vulnerable than he intended. His mouth finds your jaw, your throat, and he feels your pulse jump under his lips. “Been wanting to do this all night.”
“Have you?”
“Mmm.” He nips lightly at your collarbone, soothing it with his tongue. “Among other things. I have an extensive list, actually. Very detailed. I’m nothing if not thorough in my planning.”
You laugh breathlessly, and he grins against your skin. This, at least, feels familiar, he thinks. Safe. He can seduce. He can charm. He can make you feel good without having to crack himself open.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, pulling back to look at you. His eyes are dark, intent. “I’m very accommodating.”
“You,” you say simply.
“You have me.” His smile is confident, easy. “Right here. Completely at your service.”
But when you touch his face—tender, searching—he goes still again. That look in your eyes. That softness that sees past the performance to something underneath.
“Come to bed?” you ask quietly.
The question shifts something in the air. He knows what it means. What you’re offering. And suddenly the confidence wavers.
“Are you sure?” He asks it smoothly enough, but there’s a real question underneath.
“About you?” You touch his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken. “Yes.”
He laughs—soft, a little helpless—and lets you lead him down the hall.
The bedroom is dark except for the city filtering through sheer curtains. He’s been in other rooms like this—different cities, different beds, same script. He knows his lines. He’s already reaching for you, hands finding your waist with practiced confidence.
“Light or dark?” he asks, voice low and smooth. “I have a preference, but I’m adaptable.”
You turn on a small lamp instead of answering. Soft light, nothing harsh, but enough to see by. Enough that you’ll see him clearly.
His hands pause at your waist.
“We can keep the lights off if you prefer,” you offer, reading something in his expression.
“No, I—” He stops. Recovers with a practiced smile. “I want to see you. Every expression. Every reaction.” It comes out smooth, confident. “I like to know exactly what I’m doing to you.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
The smile falters. Just slightly. His fingers flex against your sides, and you feel it—the tremor he can’t quite hide.
You step closer, hands settling on his chest. His heart is hammering. “Aventurine.”
“Right here, darling.” The endearment comes out smooth, automatic. But something in his eyes says otherwise.
You tilt your head. “Are you?”
He opens his mouth. Closes it. The mask is cracking now, fractures spreading across that confident facade. When he speaks again, the charm has drained away: “I don’t know what you want me to be.“
“I just want you.”
He nods slowly. Then, he continues.
He helps you with buttons, you help him with cuffs. He swears softly when your palms flatten against his stomach and you look up at him like discovery. The room tilts. He tells you you’re beautiful in a voice that would bankrupt him if someone could bottle it.
He’s good at this. You knew he would be. His hands know exactly where to touch, how to touch, reading your responses like tells at a card table. It should feel intimate. It does feel intimate. But something’s wrong.
You can feel it in the way his breath has gone controlled again, measured. In the way his eyes have gone distant even as his body presses close. He’s slipping away from you, retreating into technique, into performance, into the safe territory of making someone else feel good so he doesn’t have to feel anything at all.
“Wait,” you breathe, catching his wrist.
He stills immediately. Too immediately. Like he was expecting this.
“Too much? Not enough? I can—”
“Stop.” You sit up slightly, and he pulls back, and you can see it—the flash of something that looks like relief mixed with panic. “Come back to me.”
“I’m right here.” But his voice has that smooth emptiness again, that pleasant distance.
“No, you’re not.” You reach for his face, turning him to look at you. His eyes are bright, guarded. “Where did you go?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m just—I’m trying to make this good for you.”
“And what about you?”
The question seems to genuinely confuse him. “I’m fine. I’m always fine.”
“Aventurine.” You sit up fully now, keeping your hand on his cheek. He’s frozen, caught between moving closer and pulling away. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. We can keep going, I just need to—”
“I don’t want to ‘keep going’ if you’re not here.” Your thumb brushes his jaw. “I want this to be real. For both of us. Not just… not just you going through motions.”
His breath catches. For a moment you think he’s going to deflect again, make a joke, slip back into that untouchable charm. But then something in his face just—crumbles. Not dramatically. Quietly, like a wall collapsing in slow motion.
“I don’t know if I can do real.” His voice is barely audible. “I don’t—everyone I’ve ever—” He stops, swallows hard. “What if real isn’t enough? What if I’m not enough without all the… without the performance?”
“You think I’m here for a performance?”
“I think—” His jaw works. “I think that’s all I know how to give.”
You’re quiet for a moment, just looking at him. At the fear in his eyes, the trembling he’s trying so hard to hide. At this brilliant, broken man who’s been betting his life for so long he’s forgotten life can be more than a wager.
“Then let me tell you what I want,” you say softly. “I want you to stop trying to read my mind. I want you to stop calculating the right move. I want—” You take his hand, press it over your heart. “I want you to feel what you’re feeling and trust that it’s okay. That you’re okay.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” Firm. Gentle. “You’re enough, Aventurine. Just you. No performance. No masks. Just you.”
His breath shudders out of him. “Everyone I love dies,” he says, and it sounds ripped from somewhere deep. “Everyone I let close. They leave or they die or I—I can’t protect them. I can’t—” His voice breaks. “If I let you in. If I let this be real. When you leave—”
“If I leave,” you correct. “And that’s not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever as far as I'm concerned. You don’t get to make that choice for me.”
“But—”
“I know the odds,” you interrupt. “I know you’re afraid. I know you think you’re cursed or that your luck means everyone around you suffers. And I’m choosing you anyway.” You lean forward, forehead to his. “I’m choosing you, Aventurine. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to perform. You just have to be here.”
For a long moment he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. Just trembles against you like something held together by willpower alone.
Then, he whispers, “I don’t want to lose you.”
“Then stay with me. Right here. Right now.”
His eyes close. A shudder runs through him. When he opens them again, they’re wet. “I’m terrified,” he whispers.
“I know.”
“I don’t know how to do this without the mask.”
“I know that too.”
“What if—”
You kiss him. Soft, careful, nothing demanding. Just connection. Just presence. Just the two of you in this room with the city glowing outside and no script to follow.
When you pull back, his breath is ragged. His hands have finally stopped trying to orchestrate and are just holding you—clutching, really, like you’re the only solid thing in a spinning room.
“Stay with me,” you whisper. “Please.”
He nods. Once. Twice. Like he’s convincing himself.
“Okay,” he says, voice small and real and undefended. “Okay.”
You kiss him again, slow and gentle, and feel the moment something shifts. His hands, which had been clutching desperately, ease into something more purposeful. When you pull back, there’s something different in his eyes. Still vulnerable, still present, but steadier now.
Like he’s found his footing.
“Let me—” He stops, takes a breath. “Let me take care of you. Please.”
It’s not performance this time. It’s permission. Permission to touch you, to focus on you, to channel everything he’s feeling into making this good for you.
“Okay,” you whisper.
Something settles in his expression. Determination, maybe, or focus.
He kisses you again, and this time there’s confidence in it. Real confidence, not the practiced kind. The confidence of a man who’s decided to be present for something that matters.
“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel right,” he murmurs against your lips. “Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“Good.” Aventurine pulls back slightly, and there’s a ghost of that familiar smile. Softer now, but still there. “Because I intend to be very thorough.”
His hands find the hem of your shirt, and he pauses, eyes meeting yours in question. You nod, and he helps you out of it. When his fingers trail across newly exposed skin, you shiver.
“Cold?” His voice has dropped lower, intimate.
“No.”
“Good.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Because I’m just getting started.”
There’s a promise in those words. An invitation. He’s in his element now, but it’s different from before.
He takes his time undressing you fully, with each new inch of skin revealed. His touch is confident but gentle, reading your responses not like tells at a card table but like a language he’s learning to speak.
When you gasp at a particularly sensitive touch, he hums in satisfaction.
“There,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”
“Aventurine—”
“Shh.” His fingers trace patterns on your skin. “Let me learn you.”
And he does. His mouth follows his hands—kisses pressed to your collarbone, your ribs, the soft skin of your stomach. Each touch is deliberate, watching for your reactions, cataloging what makes you sigh, what makes you arch into him.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he says, and there’s wonder in his voice.
“Do you know that? How beautiful you are?”
You try to respond, but his mouth finds a particularly sensitive spot and your words dissolve into a sound that makes him smile against your skin.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
There’s playfulness creeping back in now. Genuine playfulness, not performance. He’s present, focused, but there’s lightness too. Like he’s remembering that this can be good, that pleasure doesn’t have to be a transaction.
When he finally settles between your thighs, he looks up at you, and there’s heat in his eyes but also tenderness. “Still okay?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me if that changes.” His hands are steady on your hips. “I mean it.”
“I will.”
“Good.” He leans in, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh that makes you tremble. “Because I’m going to make you feel so good you forget your own name.”
It’s confident, almost cocky, but there’s no artifice in it. Just genuine desire to make this good for you. To give you something worth remembering.
And he delivers on that promise. His touch is sure, his attention complete. He reads every response, adjusts to every reaction, learns you like he’s studying scripture. When you gasp his name, he makes a satisfied sound that vibrates through you.
“That’s it,” he encourages, voice rough. “Let me hear you.”
He’s in control, but it’s not the distant control from before. It’s the control of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing and is determined to do it well. The control of someone who’s finally, impossibly, allowing himself to care about the outcome beyond just going through motions.
When he moves up your body again, pressing you into the mattress, there’s confidence in every line of him. His smile is soft but heated, eyes dark with want but also something gentler.
“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs, kissing you slowly. You can taste yourself on his lips. “So perfect.”
“Aventurine—”
“I know.” He positions himself carefully, one hand coming up to cup your face. “I know. Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me if it hurts. If it’s too much. If you need me to stop.”
“I will.”
“Promise.”
“I promise.”
He kisses you as he presses forward. Slow, careful, giving you time to adjust. There’s a sharp intake of breath from both of you at the sensation. He stills, forehead dropping to yours.
“Okay?” His voice is strained.
“Okay,” you breathe. “Keep going.”
He does, inch by careful inch, watching your face the entire time. When he’s fully seated, you both exhale shakily.
“God,” Aventurine breathes. “You feel—” He can’t finish the sentence. Just holds you, trembling with the effort of staying still.
“You can move,” you whisper.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He does, slow and steady, setting a rhythm that’s gentle but thorough. His eyes never leave your face, savoring every expression, every reaction. One hand is braced beside your head, the other traces patterns on your skin. Your hip, your ribs, your face.
“You’re perfect,” he murmurs. “So perfect.”
It feels good. Better than good. Not just physically—though that’s building, heat coiling low in your belly—but emotionally. The connection. The presence. The way he’s here, really here, with you.
“Aventurine,” you gasp, nails dragging down his back.
He shudders, pace faltering for just a moment. “Say my name.”
“Aventurine.”
“No.” His voice has gone rough, almost desperate. “Say—” He stops, swallows hard. Looks at you with something raw and terrified in his eyes. “Say my name. My real name.”
You understand immediately. “Kakavasha.”
A sound escapes him—half laugh, half sob. His hands are gripping you so tightly it almost hurts. Like every wall he’s built, every defense he’s maintained, every performance he’s perfected, all of it just dissolves. His face crumples. His breath comes out in a shuddering gasp. Tears spill over and he doesn’t try to hide them.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry, I’m—”
“Shh. You don’t have to apologize.”
“I’m ruining this. I’m—”
“You’re not ruining anything.” You kiss his forehead. His closed eyelids. The tears on his cheeks. “You’re just here. Finally.”
He makes a sound that might be agreement or surrender or both. His arms wrap around you, pulling you close, holding on like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His face presses into your neck. You can feel him shaking. Can feel the hot tears against your skin.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, muffled against you. “I don’t know how to be this vulnerable and survive it.”
“You don’t have to know.” Your fingers card through his hair. “You just have to let me stay.”
“Don’t leave.” It sounds ripped from somewhere deep. “Please don’t leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Kakavasha.”
He shudders at the name. Holds you tighter. And slowly—so slowly—the trembling eases. The breathing steadies. The desperate grip gentles into something that feels less like drowning and more like anchoring.
When he finally pulls back enough to look at you, his eyes are red but clear. Present. Undefended.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I didn’t mean to—we were supposed to be focused on you, and I—”
“Stop.” You cup his face. “This is about both of us. You’re allowed to feel things too.”
He laughs. Wet, a little broken. “I’m not used to that.”
“I know.” You kiss him gently. “But we’re here together. Both of us. That’s what makes it real.”
He nods, takes a shaky breath. “Can we—” He hesitates. “Can we keep going? I want to—I want to finish this. With you. If that’s okay.”
“Yes.”
What follows isn’t neat. He’s not smooth anymore. Not practiced. His hands shake when they touch you. His breath stutters when you touch him back. He starts to say something charming and it comes out broken and honest instead.
“I don’t—I’m not good at this. At being… just me.”
“You’re doing perfectly.”
“I’m falling apart.”
“I know.” You kiss him softly. “It’s okay.”
And maybe that’s what gives him permission. Because slowly—tentatively—he stops trying to control every response. Stops calculating every move. Just lets himself feel.
When you kiss his jaw, he sighs. Unguarded and wondering. When your hands trace patterns on his skin, he shivers. When you whisper his name—his real name—against his ear, he gasps and holds you tighter and makes a sound he can’t take back.
“Is this okay?” you ask, checking in once more.
He nods. “Yes. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“I’ve got you,” you promise, and watch something in his face crack open at the words.
“I believe you.” Like it costs him something to admit.
“Tell me what you want,” you murmur against his skin.
Aventurine laughs, shaky and breathless. “I don’t know. I usually just—I usually figure out what the other person wants and—”
“I’m asking what you want.”
The question seems to paralyze him. His eyes are wide, uncertain.
“I… I want…” He stops. Tries again. “I want you close. I want—” His voice drops to barely a whisper. “I want this to matter. I want to not be alone.”
Your chest aches. “You’re not alone.”
“I feel like I’ve been alone for so long that I don’t remember—” He stops when you kiss him. Kisses back desperately. When you pull apart, his eyes are wet again. “I’m sorry. I’m supposed to be better at this.”
“You’re perfect at this.”
“I’m crying.” He sounds almost offended by his own tears.
“I don’t mind.”
“I’m supposed to be—people don’t—this isn’t—”
“Kakavasha.” You frame his face, make him look at you. “It’s okay to fall apart. I’m not going anywhere.”
He stares at you like you’ve said something impossible. Then, slowly, something in him just… releases. The last of his resistance, his control, his desperate need to perform. It just drains away, leaving him vulnerable and present and entirely undefended.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay.”
What happens next is messy in the best way. There are fumbled moments where neither of you knows quite what comes next. There are adjustments and soft laughter and whispered “is this okay?” and “yes, just like that.” There are moments where he closes his eyes and you ask him to open them and he does and the look in them is so raw it almost hurts to witness.
“I’m scared,” he admits at one point, breathless and honest.
“Me too,” you admit back.
And you are. Not just about the physical unknown—though that’s there too, a nervous flutter every time you shift and feel the newness of having him inside you—but about the emotional weight of this. Of watching him come undone. Of being trusted with something this raw.
That seems to help. Knowing you’re both frightened and doing this anyway. That courage isn’t the absence of fear but the presence of it alongside trust.
“Stay with me,” you remind him when you feel him starting to drift into old patterns.
“I’m trying.” He sounds younger and uncertain and nothing like the smooth gambler from earlier.
“You’re doing so well.”
“I don’t feel like—”
“You are.” You kiss him, and the angle makes you gasp slightly—still adjusting, still learning your own responses. “You’re here. You’re present. You’re letting me see you. That’s everything.”
His eyes search yours, and you wonder what he sees. Can he tell how overwhelmed you are? Not just by the physical sensations—though those are intense, a fullness that borders on too much but isn’t quite—but by the intimacy of it.
The way he’s looking at you like you’re the only solid thing in his world. The way his vulnerability makes you feel simultaneously powerful and gentle.
When things finally crest—when breath and touch and closeness build to something overwhelming—you feel it approaching like a wave. Your hands tighten on his shoulders, nails digging in without meaning to, and the small sound you make is half surprise, half surrender.
He doesn’t perform through it. He just feels it. His forehead pressed to yours, his hands gripping like you’re the only real thing in the world, his breath ragged and his eyes wide and unguarded and full of wonder.
“I’ve got you,” you promise as he trembles. “I’ve got you.”
And you do. You’re anchoring him even as you’re falling apart yourself, pleasure cresting through you in ways you didn’t expect—sharper, deeper, more emotional than purely physical.
You’re crying, you realize distantly. Not from pain but from the sheer intensity of feeling this much all at once.
When Aventurine finally lets go, he moans your name so loudly that it vibrates in your whole body. You follow him over that edge moments later, his name breaking from your lips, and the world narrows to just this: his weight, his warmth, the feeling of being utterly connected to another person in a way you’ve never experienced before.
In the aftermath, he doesn’t retreat. Doesn’t crack a joke or check an imaginary watch or create distance. He just stays. Pressed close, breathing hard, trembling with emotion more than exertion.
You’re shaking too, you realize. Your whole body feels like it’s been taken apart and put back together slightly different. There’s a pleasant ache. A reminder of what just happened. Of what you just shared.
“That was…” He trails off. Tries again. “I’ve never…”
“I know.” Your voice comes out softer than intended, still breathless.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes are bright with unshed tears and something that might be happiness. Fragile, tentative happiness.
Then his expression shifts—concern flooding in. “Are you okay? Did I—was I too—”
“I’m perfect.” You cup his face, and your own tears are still wet on your cheeks. “That was perfect.”
“You’re crying.” He sounds almost panicked, thumbs coming up to brush at your tears. “I hurt you. I—”
“No.” You catch his hands, bring them to your lips. “No, you didn’t hurt me. I’m just—” How do you explain this? “I’m overwhelmed. In a good way. That was so much more than I expected. Not physically—I mean, yes, physically too—but emotionally. I didn’t know it could feel like that.”
Something in his expression softens. “Like what?”
“Like connection. Like being seen. Like—” You laugh, a little helpless. “Like I finally understand what all the fuss is about.”
“Yeah.” You pull him back down, needing him close again. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being here. Really here. For letting me see you fall apart. For—” Your voice catches. “For making my first time with someone who actually cares about me. Someone I care about. For making it real.”
His breath shudders out against your neck. “Thank you for letting me.” His voice is rough with emotion. “And thank you for…for not running when I broke. For staying even when I was a mess.”
You stroke his hair, feeling the tension slowly drain from his body. “You weren’t a mess. You were real. There’s a difference.”
“I cried during sex.” He sounds almost offended by the fact.
“So did I.”
“That’s different. It was your first time. You’re allowed to be emotional.”
“And you’re not?” You pull back to look at him. “Kakavasha, this was your first real time too. You’re allowed to feel things. You’re allowed to cry. You’re allowed to be a little bit of a mess.”
He stares at you for a long moment, and you watch something settle in his expression. Acceptance, maybe. Or the beginning of it.
“I didn’t think I could,” he admits quietly. “I didn’t think I was… that I could be vulnerable like that and survive it.”
“But you did.”
“But I did.” He sounds amazed. Touches your face like he’s memorizing it. “And you’re still here.”
“I’m still here.” You smile, and it feels easier now. Lighter. “Sore, definitely. Probably going to feel this tomorrow. But here.”
He winces. “I should have been more careful—”
“You were perfect.” You kiss him softly. “A little soreness is normal. Expected, even. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” You shift slightly, testing, and yes—there’s definitely an ache. But it’s not unpleasant. Just… new. A reminder. “Besides, I want to do it again.”
His eyes widen, and he grins. “Again?”
“Later.” You laugh at his expression. “Not right now. Give me a minute. Or several hours. But yes. Again.”
Something like wonder crosses his face. “You’d want to—with me—even after I completely fell apart?”
“Especially after you fell apart.” You touch his chest, feeling his heartbeat. “That’s when I knew it was real. For both of us.”
He closes his eyes, breathing out slowly. When he opens them again, there’s something different there. Something lighter. Like a weight he’s carried for years has shifted just enough to let him breathe.
“Best bet I ever made,” he murmurs.
“What bet?”
“Trusting you.” He brushes his thumb across your cheekbone. “Staying. Letting myself feel this. You.”
Your chest aches with affection. “Best choice I ever made too.”
“What choice?”
“You,” you say simply. “Choosing you.”
Morning comes soft and golden. You wake to sunlight filtering through the curtains and the warm weight of Aventurine—Kakavasha—still wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
His face is pressed into your neck, breathing even and peaceful in a way you’ve never seen on him before. You shift slightly, and his arms tighten automatically.
“Don’t even think about it,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.
“Think about what?”
“Leaving. Moving. Existing anywhere that isn’t right here.”
You laugh softly, turning in his arms to face him. His hair is a mess, his eyes still half-closed, and there’s a crease on his cheek from the pillow. He’s never looked more beautiful.
“Good morning,” you murmur, leaning in to kiss him.
He makes a satisfied sound, kissing back slowly, thoroughly, like he has all the time in the world. When you pull back, his eyes are open. Bright and clear and genuinely happy.
“Good morning.” His smile is soft, unguarded. “Sleep well?”
“Very.” You kiss him again, just because you can. “You?”
“Best sleep I’ve had in…” He pauses, considering. “Possibly ever.”
You kiss his jaw, his neck, feeling him shiver under your attention. His hands slide up your back, pulling you closer.
“Careful,” he murmurs, voice dropping lower. “Start something like that and I’ll have to finish it.”
You grin at him. “Maybe I want you to.”
His eyes darken, that familiar heat sparking to life. But this time there’s no fear underneath it. No distance. Just want, genuine and unashamed.
“Greedy,” Aventurine says, but he’s grinning. “I like it.”
He rolls you onto your back with easy confidence, settling over you with a look that makes your breath catch. This is the Aventurine from last night—charming, seductive, entirely in control—but there’s no mask now. Just him, playful and real and clearly delighted with the situation.
“You know,” he says, trailing fingers down your side in a way that makes you shiver, “I had plans for this morning. Coffee. Breakfast. A nice conversation. Maybe a long walk later.”
“And now?”
“Now?” He leans down, mouth brushing your ear. “Now I’m thinking we stay right here. Maybe I show you what I’m capable of when I’m not having an existential crisis.”
You laugh breathlessly. “Confident this morning, aren’t we?”
“Always.” He nips at your jaw. “But this time it’s different.” His hand slides up your thigh, and you gasp. “See? I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Aventurine—”
“Nuh-uh.” He says it playfully, almost sing-song, that familiar teasing lilt in his voice. “Try again.” His smile is smug.
“Kakavasha.”
“Much better.” He kisses you deeply, and you can feel him smiling against your lips. “Say it again.”
“Kakavasha,” you breathe, and he makes a pleased sound.
“I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that.” His touch becomes more purposeful, and you arch into him with a sound that makes his grin turn absolutely sinful. “There it is. I was hoping for that reaction.”
“You’re—” You can barely think. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Oh, absolutely.” He looks entirely unrepentant. “After last night’s emotional devastation, I’m owed some fun. And you—” he punctuates the word with a particularly daring touch, “—are very fun.”
You want to respond with something clever, but he’s stolen all your words along with your breath. He notices, because of course he does, and his smile turns softer, more tender even as his touch remains confident.
“Still with me?” he asks, genuine concern beneath the playfulness.
“Yes,” you manage.
“Good.” He kisses you again, slow and deep. “Because I’m just getting started.”
And he is. The confidence from last night returns, but it’s different now. Just genuine pleasure in making you fall apart, in learning every sound you make, in being present for all of it.
“God, you’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, and there’s wonder in his voice. “How did I get this lucky?”
“Not luck,” you gasp. “Choice.”
He goes still for just a moment, something raw and grateful flashing across his face. Then he smiles. Bright and real and entirely his.
“Alright. I'll try again." He kisses you again. "Best choice I ever made,” he says. “Now let me show you exactly how grateful I am.”
And he does.
Later—much later—when you’re both boneless and sated and tangled together in sheets that definitely need washing, he presses a kiss to your temple and laughs quietly.
“What?” you ask.
“Nothing. Just…” He pulls back to look at you, and his expression is so open it makes your chest ache. “I’m happy. Really happy. I can‘t remember the last time I’ve… I don’t think I’ve ever felt like this.”
You cup his face, thumb brushing his cheek. “Me too.”
“Yeah?” He sounds almost shy.
“Yeah.”
He grins then. Wide and unguarded and beautiful. “Well. In that case…” He rolls you over again, ignoring your laughing protest. “I think we should celebrate properly.”
“Again?”
“Again.” His smile is pure mischief. “I have a lot of lost time to make up for. And you—” he leans down, kissing you until you’re dizzy, “—are helping me make up for it.”
You could point out that you should probably eat. That the outside world exists.
But when he looks at you like that, you find you don’t care about any of it.
“Okay,” you say, pulling him closer. “But only because you’re very persuasive.”
“I am, aren’t I?” He sounds entirely too pleased with himself. “It’s the eyes. And the smile. My voice. My body. My skills. And—”
You kiss him to shut him up, and he laughs against your mouth, warm and genuine and free.
___
A/N: I'm always a little nervous when I post something for Aventurine. I love him so much and want to do him justice. He means so much to me—more than I can easily put into words—and every time I write him, I want to capture that somehow.
My mind is brimming with ideas for him at the moment. I think I need to write some of them.
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :) Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated.
MASTERLIST.
