#wits and wagers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

riricatria · 2 months ago

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Hi, hi~

I got some comments on the last post about if I'm going to write a profile for Phainon. You better believe that I will, I'm just as big of a hoe for the blond-blue-eyes six-feet-tall-and-super-strong fuckery he has got going on as the next person, but his stupid ass isn't oUT YET RAAAHHHH. Judging from the leaks, the patch in which he's released will drop a considerable lore bomb, so we'll have to wait and suffer together until then ( ;´ n `;)

In the meantime, though, I'm going to write other profiles. Stay tuned for *drum roll*... ☀️☀️☀️ (◕‿↼)

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

CONTENT WARNINGS INCLUDE: Dark content (dead dove), cisfem!Reader, drugging (and needles along with that), the general stuff that comes with yandere content (obsessiveness, possessiveness, imprisonment, stalking...), one slap on the face, a gun is involved, gambling, threats of violence (both towards reader and their family), forced non-schmexual touching, vomit mention, NONCON, coercion, rope, fingering, oral in both directions, booty stuff, toys, overstim, brief edging, the boss form, some exhibitionism, this is 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓀𝓎 𝒶𝓈 𝒻𝓊��𝓀.

Disclaimers can be found in my pinned post. The template is heavily inspired by @/cinnamonest!

S-FW

˗ˏˋ ★ 1. General look: How are they like? How do they behave around the darling? Are there any warning signs?

The Gambler. Stay away from the gambler, they all say.

Aventurine of the Ten Stonehearts is a figure you have only heard and read about. He's something akin to a manager, you've conceived. You know of his existence and have a vague understanding of what he does, yes, but that’s where it ends. There's not that much information about him online aside from a few rumours and some fans' musings. Judging from the pictures of him on the news and whatnot, he seems like a flashy yet charming person.

However, all of the people around you, literally every single one of them, are telling you not to pursue any further information about him if your own mental well-being holds any value to you. He’s a dangerous individual — the amount of power his people hold over the entire cosmos is copious.

And, more importantly, he’s an insufferable guy — or so you've been told. One of your friends has seen him face-to-face. They scoff and tell you that the man is just like everybody that has actually been in the same room as him says he is: cocky, cunning and downright malicious. He never lets his smile fall, he never shows anything but the particularly irksome kind of confidence that people who have never been humbled tend to have. Although, to his credit, nobody seems to have been able to knock him down a peg. He's an anomaly that spends his free days travelling and indulging in the art of wagering. He has taken a particular liking to the planet you're currently on, Penacony, for that very reason.

Well, everyone but one single person has told you to stay away from him. Everyone except one of your friends who happens to have caught a tiny little crush on the guy. They're showing you pictures of him, articles, gushing about how mysterious and suave he is. The opinion is contradicting everything you have heard about him so far. Of course, your friend holds no chance of actually getting with him, they know it very well themselves, but it's harmless fun to just imagine, right? You entertain their thoughts, and in the end, the chat does manage to pique your interest a bit.

You shouldn't pry further. Even your own gut is screaming at you not to. Oh, but you just have to see him for yourself. You need to witness him with your own eyes, you need to understand what all the fuss is about. Under the watchful eye of the Family, what’s the worst thing that could happen? And besides, you’re not planning on making a scene anyway — just taking a glimpse at him is enough for you. It would be a miracle if his eyes even managed to land on you out of all the people surrounding him. You’re not worried.

It doesn’t matter if you’re a citizen or just a passing tourist; you could be a member of the Astral Express, an employee at the Reverie Hotel, it’s all the same. There’s a single reason why anybody would decide to visit a planet like Penacony, and that reason is the Dreamscape. It’s all about having fun, it’s witnessing sights beyond anyone’s imagination and experiencing things that you normally couldn’t in the waking world. Surely you have enough things to keep yourself busy with without deliberately engaging yourself with difficult people. But after having heard that the man is around, an opportunity to conduct some research has presented itself. It would be a shame to miss it.

And so, you dip your feet into the pleasantly warm bubbles of the seashell-shaped bath. The liquid is faintly fragrant, a dreamy shade of lavender in colour, and the moment it touches your skin, you feel how all of the accumulated strain is released from your muscles. The room is locked, there’s nobody but you around, and you feel safe enough to settle into the Dreampool and close your eyes.

You’ve been told that there is one single location in all of Penacony where the guy is sure to be found. Taking his infamous nickname into account, it should come as no surprise that that place is a certain casino in the Dreamscape’s Golden Hour, and it’s exactly where you’re headed.

You wander through the bustling streets, crossing the oblique intersections, making your way towards the building with hearts and clubs painted on its high windows. The atmosphere is as lively as ever, the crowds are thick, there are people all around you enjoying what the realm has to offer.

Your heart is strumming in excitement; it feels like you're doing something forbidden — which you kind of are, in a way. Nobody knows where you're at, you didn't dare tell anybody about the adventure you were about to go on. It's supposed to be a surprise for your friend, you're maybe going to snap a few pictures to show them later. That, and the rest of your social circle's opinion on the matter would most likely not be very enthusiastic. Nevertheless, you're your own person: You can do what you want, and if that is wanting to go take a glance at some weird celebrity, that's what you're going to do.

The casino is packed as full as it could possibly be. There are people everywhere, drinking, revelling, and most noticeably, gambling. There’s poker, there’s slot machines, bets, roulette, two men are even playing chess with money on the table, and they have gathered a small audience around them. The atmosphere is surreal, almost: People are yelling, chanting, egging each other on. It’s nearly intoxicating. You have never experienced anything like this before.

However, the reason you’re here is, without a doubt, hidden behind the largest wall of spectators near the back wall. It’s clearly the main attraction of the place.

The multicoloured lights dye the vast room in all the shades of the rainbow. Bass-heavy, upbeat music plays on a volume that's just on the edge of being too loud, and there are men and women alike jumping and dancing all around you. You need to push through rows and rows of people, shoving them aside until you reach the front line of the crowd. There, you’re faced with the sight of a blond, sharply dressed man sitting at a blackjack table, leisurely leaning back in his chair, legs crossed. On his side of the board, there’s a tall tower of chips that’s nearly falling over due to its height.

It's him. Aventurine. You recognize him from all the clips your friend has shown you. The fair hair, the fedora, the extravagant choice in clothing — he's hard to miss. The guy looks nothing but relaxed and sure of himself as he finishes his turn.

His opponent, on the other hand, is sweating bullets. He has a single piece on his side, and as Aventurine proceeds to turn the played cards around, it becomes apparent that even the final chip is about to switch owners. The audience erupts, both in cheers and in anger. You remain quiet, eyes fixated on the man's form.

He carries a strange energy. You’re almost mesmerized. The way he presents himself is so… exaggerated. No, that’s not quite the word. It’s ostentatious. From the hat to the numerous rings adorning his gloved fingers, he practically radiates the aura of someone who could ruin just about anyone’s life within a heartbeat. You don't recall ever being in the presence of somebody with so much sheer charisma that you can feel it seeping into your skin. It fills the entire space. It's intimidating.

He’s looking at you. He’s looking at you.

Your gaze locks with his. As he pulls away from the table, his face pauses mid-expression, leaving behind a strange mix of a smirk and what looks like bewilderment. His eyes, despite being shielded by a pair of tinted sunglasses, pierce into you like daggers. Even through the lenses, you’re able to make out the distinct, peculiar pattern of his irises.

In a split second, he composes himself. The man on the other side of the board is in actual, genuine tears. You only get to witness his outburst for a moment, though, because the casino’s personnel drag him away from his seat, just barely dodging his frantic kicks and punches. His foot hits the table leg as he protests, and the pile of chips on Aventurine’s side topples over and scatters over the cards. The man is spitting out insults, trying to claw at the numerous arms holding him down. You would fear for your own safety if the staff didn't seem to be used to this kind of behaviour.

It's the nature of places like this. People come here and either lose everything they have or leave so rich that they could as well paint a red dot on their forehead. And, the worst part is that it's all agreed upon. You don't belong in a place like this, but you realize the truth of the matter a tiny bit too late.

Aventurine is a showman, through and through. It comes very apparent to you when he turns his attention to the people surrounding him, this time with a courteous smile. You can hardly believe your ears when he opens his mouth.

”Come play with me”, he suggests, pointing a single gloved finger at your chest. He taps the nail against the tabletop, beckoning you closer.

There's a horrible, instinctual feeling boiling up in your stomach. Every single thing about him, every last inch of him, is like a blaring warning sign plastered right in front of your eyes. For perhaps the first time in your life, you experience the true weight of what people mean when they talk about the gut feeling. There is, quite literally, a cold, thick sense of imminent doom deep in your guts. Adrenaline floods into your bloodstream. You're suddenly extremely aware of what's happening in your body.

All the eyes are on you, boring holes through your back, scrutinizing the way your hands twitch, how your jaw clenches. Your vocal cords fail you, and the words that are meant to come out as resolute are reduced to a mere mumble. You try to explain to him that you can’t, that you don’t have any money with you, you don’t understand the least bit about gambling. However, he simply shakes his head and makes a come-hither motion with two of his fingers, saying that ”it’s alright, he’ll pay for you”.

You value your life enough to take the offer without further objections. You pick up the chair that has fallen over amidst all the commotion and set it back on its legs. You take a seat on the other side of the table, sitting across from him. In contrast to your ruler-straight back and clenched fists, the way he picks up one of his chips and fiddles around with it is almost humorous. He spins it between his fingers with an impressive amount of dexterity. Then, after a moment of flaunting his tricks, he slides the item over to your side.

He asks you if you know the rules to blackjack. That you do, at least to the degree of being able to play, and you give him a meek nod. He gives you an acknowledging hum in response. He gathers the cards from under the fallen mount chips and begins shuffling the deck. He doesn’t save his skills in this act either: He twiddles with the cards, twirling them around with little effort, all while wearing a somewhat complacent smirk.

He sets the deck in front of you before asking you to cut it. You do, cautiously picking up a portion of the cards and laying it beside the other half. Judging from the way the corners of his mouth tug up, he’s pleased with your performance. Then, he trails the tip of his finger along the wooden top of the table, all the way to where your singular piece lies. He asks you to place your bet. You comply, pushing the thing forth. You don’t even know how much it’s worth, not saying anything to accompany the action, but despite the bad etiquette, he gives you a pleasant smile.

”All in”, he then states. Mortified, you can only watch silently as he pushes the entire pile of his chips towards you. Some of them fall off the table, rolling onto the floor and in different directions. A few people in the audience discreetly pick them up and slip them into their pockets. You look up at him with a questioning look on your face. However, judging from his expression, it appears that he could not care less about whatever ridiculous amount of money is tied to his haul. He begins dealing the cards.

You should’ve listened to everyone. You should never have even thought about stepping foot into this hellhole, but there's very little you can do about that now. He tells you to play. After a brief moment of contemplation, you open your mouth, speaking the word ”hit” in a quiet, dry tone. He places a card on your side of the table. You ask for another one, and then one more after that.

You need to get as close to 21 without going over the number, right? So, the total of 18 you have currently is a bit of a risky number. You end your round there. You don’t even know why you’re stressing so much; it’s not like you’re actually even playing with your own money — you’re not playing for anything, really. The singular chip can't be worth more than a few hundred credits. Besides, this is basically his other profession; a side hustle. You don't stand even the tiniest chance at winning.

You watch as he lays his cards on the table on his side, expression serene and calculated. He doesn’t look the least bit bothered, obviously, as his fingers glide over the black and gold backs of the cards in accustomed motions. Soon enough, his hand moves to hover above the upside-down one on his side. He taps the tip of his nail on it, prolonging the suspense. Then, with a smirk, he turns it over.

You can’t believe your eyes. He has gone over the limit of 21.

7, 2, 4, 10, it’s 23. You count once, twice, thrice, making sure you're not miscalculating. It's easy addition. You must be seeing things. There's no way. You’re sure that if there is a possibility of dreaming inside the Dreamscape, then this has to be it.

Aventurine spreads his arms and shakes his head in an expression of disappointment, but the gesture couldn’t be further from genuine. His smug face gives it all away; he’s not the least bit dismayed about the result. ”Oh, looks like I’ve lost”, he states in a completely unbothered tone, shrugging before he goes to push the pile of chips towards you. The pieces fall into your lap, in his lap, at your feet, under the table, everywhere. The audience erupts into yells that are just loud enough to drown out the sound of your own hammering heartbeat in your ears.

You leave the casino with heavy bewilderment and an absurd amount of credits that night. You can’t truly fathom a single thing that has happened in the past twenty minutes or so, nor do you really want to. The entire experience is comparable to an acid trip, almost — loud, intense, and completely and utterly incomprehensible.

Every single thing people said about him was true. You had planned out how you were going to tell your friend that you saw him, you had envisioned how excited they were going to be when you showed them the pictures you had taken, but all of a sudden, you don’t feel like ever speaking a word about him in a conversation ever again. Right now, you acknowledge that the correct course of action would be to refrain from visiting the entire Dreamscape for at least a month, if ever again. Your face is going to be recognized. Maybe you're already in the news somewhere. The notion fills you with horror. You can only hope that the insistent feeling of trepidation has left you alone when the morning comes.

But that’s not what is coursing through Aventurine’s mind. The sight of you is burned into his eyes like an afterimage of a bright flash. To say that he’s intrigued would be the understatement of the century. He’s amazed, he’s mesmerized, he’s completely and utterly enthralled by the maiden that happened to wander into the depths of the casino. It’s just his luck, he thinks.

He let you win the round on purpose, of course. There’s no way he could actually lose to some amateur like that. The fortune that has blessed him wouldn’t allow such a thing. It was a split second decision. Losing in front of an audience like that does sting a tiny bit, of course, but this, this is a result far better than any expectations he ever had. His wealth is practically limitless, so a few dozen million credits off his bank account is nothing compared to what he got to witness. He feels euphoric long after, even when he exits the Dreamscape and rises from the pale purple pool. Oh Aeons, he has to find you.

Aventurine doesn’t consider himself to be a person that’s easily affected by emotions and whims. Despite the amiable way he presents himself, he’s very guarded, very mindful about what he shares with others. He seems nonchalant, but inside, all of his alarms are going off at the sheer thought of you. He isn’t used to being bombarded with these kinds of sensations at all. He feels extremely vulnerable all of a sudden, and the feeling isn’t helped by the fact that you’re basically just some passer-by, a meaningless face amongst the crowd. Compared to someone like him, there's nothing that remarkable about you. However, it seems that the universe has decided otherwise.

He has experienced his fair share of fleeting crushes in his life, and he knows how those are: They’re brief, mushy, imaginary scenarios of people that you don’t truly even know, and they dissipate just as quickly as they form. This time around, however, it doesn’t feel like one of those. Whereas he daydreamt about that one person for a couple days a year or so ago, you won’t leave his mind even for a second. The quality of his work is deteriorating. He becomes more aloof, more absorbed in his thoughts. He has trouble concentrating in his own job, and for someone of his rank, anything less than perfection is unsatisfactory. His colleagues are a bit too frightened to comment on it, most likely, but he notices the effects you have on him. You’re indirectly hindering his life.

Truthfully, he’s terrified at the feelings that are growing inside of him. With all he has gone through in his life, personal relationships have always been sort of a taboo to him. His family died, he had to abandon his home, he went to hell and back just to get to where he is now. That, and he’s an especially volatile kind of a person in general. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that what started as brief fascination quickly turns into a full-blown obsession — ”quickly” meaning in a span of a couple of weeks. There’s a part of him that’s telling him to hit the brakes, to stop whatever he’s building up to doing. However, he ends up deciding that, if these emotions truly are a crime against humanity, he will gladly fall even further into depravity; further than he already has, anyway.

When it comes to you and Aventurine crossing paths, you’re under the impression that the casino was the first and last time you ever interacted with each other. That much is actually true, in a way. You see, his story, however, is just a tiny bit different to yours. The IPC has eyes all over the planet, the galaxy, the entire universe. He himself doesn’t need to be the one keeping track of where you are.

He doesn’t stalk you in the classic sense. What he does, however, is find your room number, your phone number, your social media accounts, the names of your family members, your home planet, your friends’ contacts… Nothing is too far out of his reach. Aside from the trivialities (stuff like your social security number), he starts fishing for any and all pieces of information about you that he could possibly want. Your favourite food, what you like to spend your free time doing, your pet’s name, your pet’s favourite food, your shoe size, your pet’s shoe size — nothing is off-limits for him.

There starts to be weird activity in your bank account. Money begins appearing out of nowhere, and the senders are untraceable. The amounts are not that huge, it’s only a few thousand credits at a time, but it’s still very strange. An anonymous account starts following yours. A free meal is delivered to your hotel room. It’s all alarming, and there’s a tiny suspicion in your mind about who the culprit might be. However, even the mere idea is so horrifying that goosebumps rise on your skin. You deliberately turn your back to it.

When it comes to courting, there’s one (1) proper attempt Aventurine makes at trying to woo you, and it’s in the most diabolical way imaginable. It’s a few weeks after the casino incident, and you’re making your way down the streets of Golden Hour yet again. You have managed to get over what happened in your prior visit, promising yourself that you’ll never catch yourself in a spot like that again. After a good few days of feverishly scrolling the news only to find that your face is nowhere in sight, the panic has finally worn off. Instead of engaging in the thrill of gossip, you’re going to spend your stay enjoying the Scape’s delicacies and seeing the wonders of the theme park.

Just as you're about to turn a corner, a couple of hands come up behind you and cover your eyes. ”Guess who”, a male voice whispers in your ear. Huh, you don’t remember any of your friends mentioning that they would be around today, strange. You respond to the person with a sarcastic remark and turn around on your heels, fully expecting it to be an old acquaintance.

Whatever is in your hand drops to the ground. You stare at his lilac and turquoise eyes through the pink shades, your feet frozen on the ground, completely paralysed. It’s a miracle that your stomach doesn’t empty itself on the sidewalk on the spot. Right in front of you, with an uncomfortably slim distance in between, stands none other than Aventurine.

He’s holding two bottles of SoulGlad in his hand. He’s about to open his mouth, but before he can get a single word out, you bolt in the opposite direction as fast as your feet can carry you. It’s easily the most surreal and terrifying experience of your entire life — making the previous scene drop to the second place — and you make the decision, right then and there, that you’re never going to step foot into the Dreamscape ever again. At least not while he’s on the planet, and maybe not even then. Unlike him, Lady Luck must have abandoned you completely. With how your head is spinning and the world is turning, it’s a miracle the encounter didn’t scare you right out of the slumber you're in.

Aventurine, on the other hand, is left standing in the middle of the street with one of his hands still half-extended. Despite what has just occurred, his pleasant expression hasn’t cracked the least bit. This just means that he's forced to take a detour to get what he wants; it’s no big deal, really. He has many aces up his sleeve, after all, and more than half of those are completely out of your control. It's a wicked game you've entangled yourself in.

All in all, there’s not much you can do to change the course of events that is about to follow. You didn’t respond well to his ”advances”, and you clearly won’t let him even approach you, so you leave his hands tied. You have a time frame of a couple of days to leave the whole planet if you’d like to avoid your rapidly approaching fate, but if you don’t manage to do that, it’s game over.

˗ˏˋ ★ 2. Securing: How will they abduct their darling? When, where and how?

He’s nothing if not resourceful. Aventurine, when it comes to just about everything, is used to having his way in, well, one way or another. It’s a selfish way to go about things, he knows, but considering his past, he would say that he deserves as much.

His method of choice in kidnapping you is a bit unconventional, but it works nonetheless. It's his day off, and you haven’t left the hotel yet, he sees, to his delight. It’s a bit foolish of you to assume that the only way he can reach you is via the dream world. There are so many ways he could go about abducting you, there are so many open opportunities, but ultimately, it ends up being a single meal that seals your fate.

You’re having dinner at the hotel restaurant. You have made the decision to leave Penacony — maybe it’s via the Express, maybe it’s on a random spaceship — but you only have a few hours more to spend on the planet. You have decided to indulge yourself a bit, having a nice supper all by yourself while watching people pass by, going on about their day, excited to visit the Dreamscape. You wish you still had that same enthusiasm, but in light of all that has gone down, seeing what the rest of the galaxy has to offer is for the better. You're relieved, actually.

However, not long after you’ve finished your plate, your stomach starts feeling weird. Soon enough, the sensation grows into full-on, unbearable nausea. The meal must have had something wrong with it, is your first thought. Maybe it’s food poisoning, you’re not really sure, but you do start panicking the slightest bit when your vision starts shifting not long after. Your insides are twisting and turning, your head is spinning, you’re losing feeling in your limbs. It’s like you’ve just drank an entire bottle of whiskey. You're not sure if a single sound comes out when you attempt to call for help.

Everything is hazy. You don’t understand what’s happening around you. A person appears in your field of view, at least you think that it’s a person, and they ask something. Simultaneously, you feel a weight around your shoulders. Another voice speaks. You can’t make out a word. You’re barely clinging to your awareness. Then, as the two voices continue chatting, you feel your form being lifted.

Your vision starts going in and out. You can't feel your legs or your hands. You don't know which way is up and which way is down. There's a ringing in your ears, two different tones that you suppose are words, but you can't tell anymore. It’s mere seconds after that you fall into unconsciousness.

Oh, goodness, Aventurine thinks. He knows his luck rarely turns its back on him, but this must be a new record. Not a single person questions why he’s dragging a barely breathing woman on his shoulders. Or, maybe they do question it, in their minds, but none are brave enough to intervene. It’s kind of funny, actually, how easy it would be to kidnap any of these people, and the most prominent reaction from the witnesses would be a brief eye contact. Maybe they're trying to convince themselves that you're just a black-out drunk acquaintance of his, that there's an entirely normal explanation to this. Perceived status is a wonderfully rotten thing, he thinks. Plus, he’s in the core of his element: lying, deceiving, bluffing. He would’ve made a good delinquent, no doubt.

Heaving you through the never-ending hallways and sky-high elevators, he takes you to one of Penacony’s countless suites. It’s one of the many under his name, costing millions of credits, but money like that is nothing to him. He likes his place of stay a bit extra, and besides, he would hate to hear that you’re unsatisfied with what he has to offer. You, unlike all of the luxuries, can’t exactly be bought, so he better leave a great impression in this respect, at least. Bribery in the classic sense could only get him so far, and the thing he wants is you, not the idea of you that’s been achieved by throwing some expensive stuff your way.

He sets your limp body on his bed. You have been completely out of it for the better part of the walk to his room. The drug's effects are a bit too potent, it seems, but it will wear off in a good few hours, and he has that much time to get everything ready for you. He did his fair share of preparations, needless to say, but now that he actually has you, living and breathing, in his clutches, he starts considering things that didn’t seem that important before. What will you think about the colour of the sheets? He can replace those in a heartbeat if you’re not a fan, of course. What about the suite itself? It’s really large, there are more rooms than you can count for you to roam in, but if it’s still not vast enough for you, he can just buy a few more. It’s no big deal, really.

Oh, but he can’t let his mind wander for too long. Your sleeping face is so cute. Your expression is all relaxed, unlike when you laid your eyes on him back in the Dreamscape. Oh, how miserable the past few days of waiting have been for him, but it all has become worth it. There’s a bit of drool at the corner of your ajar mouth. He hopes the food didn’t mess with your stomach too much: As much as he adores you, cleaning puke off the carpet really isn’t his thing.

The few hours it takes for you to wake up are perhaps among the longest in his entire lifetime. He lies down next to you, slipping an arm under your head in a loving manner, making sure that your neck is not straining. He scrolls around on his phone, maybe going through your social media, watching some reels, shopping for some clothes for you to wear. He knows your clothing size, obviously, and your preferred style. Oh, that one’s nice, he’s going to get it for you. That one, too, and that one. He’s just idly killing time by spending insane amounts of credits in the span of mere minutes.

And then, you start stirring. He perks up, immediately putting his phone down on the bed and turning to your form. Your eyes flutter open, glossy and exhausted, wearily staring straight ahead. It’s clear that you’re still at least a bit disoriented. He reaches for your face, softly tucking a piece of stray hair behind your ear. Your half-lidded gaze fixates on his features.

Thank god the hotel walls are thick, he thinks. It’s a miracle that the sheer volume of your scream doesn’t shatter the pink lenses of his shades that now rest on his forehead. You attempt to scramble away from him, but the drug still hasn’t completely left your system, so you only manage to twitch around a bit. Your eyes, wide with terror, are flitting around the room, anywhere but his form, unable to truly focus on anything.

He watches you with something akin to intrigue as you continue your weak flailing and screeching. It’s a survival instinct, he guesses, the way your first response is to alert as much attention as possible, even though there's nobody else around. So, unfortunately, the only attention there is to get here is from him. He's sure you'll grow to welcome it eventually.

˗ˏˋ ★ 3. Life: What is it like to live with them? How do they treat the darling?

The first few days after the initial shock are basically just getting to know Aventurine in general. While he knows just about everything there is to know about you, you can’t say the same when it comes to him. He’s just some strange man from the IPC, and on top of that, his public image is basically limited to how wealthy and flamboyant he is. Aventurine isn’t even his real name, but that’s what you learn to call him by.

You grasp the basics very quickly. The suite will be your home from now on, at least for the time being. You can wander around as much as you want, but it must happen inside the walls of his living quarters. You can do whatever you’d like — flip the entire place over if you’re feeling like it, he can afford that. Your phone? Oh yeah, he got rid of that thing, you won't be needing it. Here, have a new one! The only person you can contact through it is him, of course, but it’s better than having nothing, right? Go on, say thank you.

Furthermore, he lets you know that the two of you are in a relationship now. Alright, alright, it can only be dating for now if it really bothers you that much. He doesn’t understand why you’re so very hesitant, really, he has an entire queue of people lining up to be his partner. If anything, you should be honoured and relieved, even! He could be some ugly 55-year-old fuck that collects girls half his age to be his sex slaves. He’s not like that, and as a cherry on top, he can make your life way better than it was before this. It just comes at the cost of... a lot of things. But no matter.

The money aspect becomes very clear to you very early into your captivity. He throws credits around like they’re receipts he found at the bottom of his bag. You could do as little as mention something you like; it doesn’t even have to be a specific thing, you could say that ”wow, that flower is pretty”, and bam, a bouquet of them is in your hands in less than half an hour. You have nice clothes, as much food as you could ever want, you have electronics, TVs, basically any streaming services that exist, (he probably downloads some popular gacha on your new phone and buys you a billion of whatever the pulling currency is), and you have his attention basically whenever and wherever you want.

And, he sure likes spending time with you. Whether it’s sleeping together, cuddling, just lazing around or being on work business, he has you with him nearly at all times. It really doesn't matter what he's doing, you're most likely going to accompany him.

His one favorite thing to do is just chat with you about mundane things, life, people, whatever. Or, the correct wording would be chatting to you, because you rarely feel like entertaining him with your words. That doesn't matter, though, because he could blabber away at you for hours on end regardless of if you're answering if he didn't have responsibilities to take care of. It gets irritating pretty fast. You're not a big fan of his monologues in general: There’s always a tiny bit of condescension in the way he talks to you. He kind of treats you like you were stupid, in a way, or that’s what it feels like to you.

Aventurine's job, as inconvenient as it is at times, does require him to travel quite a bit. Leaving you behind would be bothersome for a myriad of reasons, so more often than not, you're coming with him on these trips. He can’t have you be alone for too long, you know? He trusts his security measures, don't get him wrong, and taking risks is sort of his thing, but you’re the one thing he would prefer not to mess around with when it comes to that. So, oftentimes, you’ll end up accompanying him to whatever higher-up business is to be dealt with that day or night. It’s scary, you find, to see all the people that get to pull on the strings that control the entire universe's economy, ogling at the unfamiliar person that accompanies Aventurine everywhere he goes.

Oh, and prepare to be obnoxiously dolled up to the max for all of his gigs. Even if you somehow managed to bump into someone you know, you doubt they would recognize you under all of the bling-bling and makeup. If you didn't already, you'll soon come to understand that Aventurine is very particular about appearances.

˗ˏˋ ★ 4. Rules: What kind of rules do they enforce? How lenient are they? How do they keep their darling in check?

You directly ask Aventurine about the rules one time. You’re sitting at the table, having whatever he guessed you were craving for breakfast. He’s been yapping your ear off for the past twenty minutes, but as you air the question, he goes quiet for a while.

Pondering his answer, he tilts his head to the side, and his smile grows. Just by his reaction, you know that whatever is about to come out of his mouth is going to, if not ruin your entire day, then make you want to punch his stupid face in. He taps the tip of his chin with his finger as if considering his response long and hard, making little clicking sounds with his tongue, resting back in his chair with a thoughtful expression.

"Don’t try to escape", is the first thing he says. Okay, yeah, that’s given with whatever fucked-up logic he’s going by. ”Do what I tell you”, is the second rule he comes up with. Sure, you have kind of been forced to obey that one, too. He goes quiet after reciting the first two, and for a moment, you think that perhaps he's actually being serious about this.

Then, then, after remaining silent for a good while, he speaks out a third rule. And it’s not even a fucking rule. ”Your left heel can’t touch the floor when you walk”, or something equally as outrageous. It’s incredibly stupid, so infuriatingly specific, such obvious bait that you wonder if you should stab the fork in your hand into his eye right then and there. Your jaw clenches with the rage you’re holding back, and judging from how his grin deepens, he got the exact reaction he wanted out of you. He’s deliberately riling you up, making you mad on purpose, pushing your buttons until your circuits overload. It's terrible.

No, but seriously, all he actually requires of you is you staying where he wants you to: by his side and preferably with at least a neutral expression on your face. Ah, and don’t talk to anybody. As much as he doesn’t think that anyone would care enough about the ramblings of some random woman, he can’t take the risk of his reputation taking a hit because of it. On the side of all his hustle, he does serious business and represents the IPC, and if you don’t respect that, he’ll have to come up with a more creative solution to keeping you quiet.

When it comes to keeping you docile, Aventurine uses the classic method of locking the door. Since he is a powerful figure, the places he stays in aren’t exactly easy to break into, or in this case, out of. The windows are bulletproof, the locks would require a jackhammer level drill to break, and bursting through the walls is an idea you wouldn’t even entertain, he trusts. All in all, he doesn't really have to take any drastic measures to make sure that you don't escape.

There’s one exception to that, though, and it is if you’re seriously being a threat to yourself or him. Like he said, you can wreck the entire place if you’re feeling like it, but don’t hurt yourself while at it. If it looks like you’re doing less demolishing and more indirectly beating yourself, he might drug you much like he did when he abducted you. He keeps a syringe ready in the locked drawer of his nightstand in case you refuse to calm down. If you're refusing to listen to his warnings, he’ll just come up to you and stick the needle into whatever body part is available. Soon after, you’ll be nice and peaceful again. Don’t worry, it’ll wear off in an hour or two — you can take a nap with him in the meantime.

Oh, and he definitely uses threats to keep you in check. With all the power he holds, he has the ability to seriously affect the lives of those you hold dear. Wouldn’t it be a shame if one of your family members were to lose their job? It would, he bets. So, behave.

˗ˏˋ ★ 5. Consequences: What kind of punishments will the darling face? How do they punish different offences?

He’s… a bit stumped when it comes to punishing you. There’s locking you up, there’s tying you down on the bed, there’s drugging you, but beyond those, he hasn’t really thought about you being disagreeable to the point of him having to step up with actually disciplining you. He’s kind of lenient in this way; you can get away with a lot of stuff without any real consequences.

A big thing about him is that he refuses to make you suffer through things that he had to do back when he was a slave. Regardless of what you do, you’ll always have food on your plate and a bed to sleep in, that kind of thing. He doesn’t know what it is about it exactly, but even thinking of exposing you to those horrors makes his stomach sink. They’re completely out of the question.

What he will do, however, is firmly remind you about who holds the authority here. If you’ve done something really bad like managing to get into his phone or trying to talk to some poor IPC employee while he was away for a minute, you can be sure that you won't get off with a mere warning. He’ll grab you by your jaw or your neck, dig his nails into your skin, squeezing your cheeks together while looking down at you, directly in your eyes. It’s one of the rare times you’ll see him show anything else but self-assurance, and for once, the smile disappears from his face. He hisses right into your ear, telling you to never do whatever you did ever again if you’d like to keep all your fingers and the ability to speak. The point gets across.

The one thing that gets the worst reaction out of him, like with most yanderes, is managing to escape. It’s not only the action itself but also the fact that it takes a considerable amount of wit to be able to pull it off. He’s pretty damn meticulous about his ways of keeping you captive, and if you somehow succeed in slipping past those, he will be livid, both at you and himself.

If you do escape, it’s while on a business trip. As much as he would like to, he can’t always get a maximum security room to stay in, so your best opportunities to flee are when you're staying in a less guarded place. They are few and far between, but they exist.

With both physical and intellectual efforts, you may be able to make it out of the room you're residing in. Maybe it's via an unlocked door, maybe through a window, it doesn't really matter. What matters is that there is an entire nine minutes in between the moment of your breakout and when an extremely nervous assistant interrupts his business meeting to bring some urgent news to Sir Aventurine. She lets him know that ”something that belongs to him has been captured in the VIP lounge”. Digesting the information, he does his absolute best to keep a straight face in front of his expectant business partner, but he can’t help the way his eye twitches. He shortly excuses himself.

The moment you have to face him after his men have caught up to you in the lobby and carried you back to his room is… terrifying. The situation itself is awkward, certainly, at least to the two agents who are holding you up by both of your arms all the while you’re flailing your limbs around and screeching like a cornered animal. The description isn't that far off from the truth, either. It doesn't matter how hard you fight, or how much noise you make, Aventurine only dismisses the two men with a wave of his hand and a blank stare, saying that he’ll take care of it. And oh, he will take care of you, alright.

The second the door locks behind the two of you, you know it’s not going to be pretty. However, whatever it is that you expected him to do, it is not for him to pull out a revolver and point it directly at your head. Your eyes fly wide open, the profanities you’ve been yelling suddenly run out, and your body freezes in place.

He tells you to get on the bed. You don’t comply. He steps over to you, grabs you by the cheeks, presses the gun’s barrel right against your temple and repeats: ”Get on the bed”. You don’t even get a chance to do as you're told before he takes you by the neck and shoves you down on the mattress. Still holding the weapon to your head, he straddles you and reaches over to the nightstand to dig through the drawer.

Knowing what is to come, you flail and make an attempt to snatch the gun from his hand. He slaps you across your face. The action stuns you for long enough for him to pull out the syringe from the drawer and jab the needle right into your neck. You convulse and whine for a moment before going completely slack under him. He closes his eyes and exhales.

Although you don’t get to see it due to being under whatever he has injected you with, his reaction to the ordeal is rough. He sits next to you on the bed, back turned to you, his face hidden in his hands. He’s sweating all over, his cheeks have gone pale, his legs are trembling. He can’t believe you almost got away with it. How many people saw you, he doesn’t know. He can only hope that your little stunt won’t bring irreversible stains to his image.

˗ˏˋ ★ 6. Emotions I: How do they show love? How do they attempt to make the darling love them?

As mentioned before, you come to find out pretty early on that Aventurine is a ridiculously materialistic person. Initially, you think his only way of showing love is through buying you stuff, which is admittedly a fair conclusion to come to. Oh, and he does compliment you pretty often, but the praises mostly sound more like barely disguised insults. He may tell you that you look pretty while looking down at you on the bed where one of your hands is tied to the frame, for example. It’s more belittling than anything.

After a couple of weeks pass, however, you will see that his love language ends up being more about touch than it is about gifts. It will start in very subtle ways like leading you through a hall with a hand slotted against the small of your back or discreetly fixing your hair for you, but it quickly evolves into activities that are borderline inappropriate to do in public. He’ll start kissing you out of nowhere, sneaking touches at your inner thighs, stuff like that. In addition, he will start cuddling you to sleep whenever the two of you share a bed (which is basically always except for the times he’s out all night). And clearly, at least a part of the reason for the aforementioned things is that they get a nice reaction out of you. You’ll become all bothered, all flustered. What, "he’s doing it on purpose"? No, no, he would never. You’re imagining it.

Being able to feel you is a big thing for him. It reassures him that you’re, in fact, a living and breathing person. He has some abandonment issues that stem from unnamed reasons (cough, his entire family dying, cough), so naturally, he wants nothing more than to make sure you’re healthy, well-fed and, most importantly, there. He can’t bear the idea of losing another person. That’s why, whenever he can, he’ll hug you, hold you, caress you, give you physical affection in amounts beyond anything you’ve ever wanted. He might become a bit whiny if you refuse his touches, telling you that come on, just for a bit and come here, let him smooch you. He doesn’t want to admit it, but you hold much more power over him in this sense than you could ever understand. Inside, he’s still an extremely sensitive soul.

If the chance presents itself, he also loves to do fun activities with you. If there’s a free slot in his packed schedule, he might take you to see sights, to eat at expensive restaurants, that kind of thing. It is, admittedly, a nice change from being caved up in a hotel room for the entire day. He won’t say it out loud, but he’s a bit desperate for you to be happy, so if you’ve been grumpy for a long period of time, the likelihood of him taking you out increases tremendously. Time to start sulking for no reason.

He often takes you to the Dreamscape, too, when he has the chance and the two of you are on the correct planet. It’s much more safe to do things there than it is to take you to places in real life since you can’t physically escape from him. Obviously, though, the same rules apply there as in the waking world: Don’t talk to people, do what he says, and so on.

Lastly, Aventurine does, in his mind, show you love by keeping you safe, even though it doesn’t appear that way to you. All the effort he puts into making sure that you’re not in harm’s way is immense, you know? This stuff costs a lot, making sure that nobody gets to hurt you. The word is out, there’s a rumour circulating about Aventurine of the Ten Stonehearts having a lover behind closed doors. Gossip like that places quite the target on your back, so he’s actually doing you a favour at this point. Though, it’s not hard to imagine how all of it looks from your point of view. You win some, you lose some, he thinks.

˗ˏˋ ★ 7. Emotions II: How do they deal with the darling’s emotions? How are outbursts handled? How do they attempt to comfort the darling?

You don’t think that Aventurine is capable of showing genuine emotion, at least anything close to sympathy. He can be happy, he can be angry, sure, but when it comes to you, you have never caught him sparing a single moment to wondering how you feel.

In reality, he has, though, more than you could imagine. His guard is just so high that he never ends up baring any more than tiny glimpses of his true self to you. It's much less risky that way, but it translates to him being pretty horrible at dealing with your sadness and comforting you.

If he catches you crying, sobbing on the bathroom floor (which is not very often since your usual reaction is lashing out in anger), he’s at a loss of what to do. At first, he genuinely thinks that you’re just trying to pull his strings, that all the tears are just some pathetic attempt at manipulating him, and because of that, he ends up just teasing you. He tells you that if you wanted something from him, if you wished to go outside, you could just tell him straight up; no need for all these theatrics. He will ruffle your hair, poke your forehead, treat the entire thing like it's a joke.

However, when you start blubbering about how you miss your old life, your friends, your family, your home, he comes to understand that perhaps this isn’t about manipulation anymore. That’s when he reaches an emotional block he didn’t even know he had. He has never really had to comfort anyone, at least not in a very long time. Suddenly, all of the chaff leaves him, the words he had so carefully planned disappear into thin air, and he’s left with the realization that you, his darling, are having a breakdown right in front of him and he doesn’t have a clue what to do.

You think he’s mocking you. There’s no other explanation for his behaviour, he must be poking fun at your distress. You're not even surprised at this point. So, through your sniffles, you scream at him to leave you the fuck alone.

He’s a bit taken aback by your sudden outburst. He's still in the middle of calculating his options, but now that you’re clearly starting to show a negative response, he knows he has to act quickly. Truthfully, he can’t bear it. He can’t bear it, seeing you in such a state feels like his heart is being torn in half. It’s a visceral sensation. Deep down, he realizes that it’s him that’s hurting you, that it’s all his fault that you are this way. His skull is about to split open from how two completely opposite sides of his psyche are contradicting each other, yanking him in different directions: One wants to keep you locked up and safe, and the other wants nothing more than for your tears to stop. It’s an impossible equation.

Ultimately, the only thing he’s able to muster is cautiously setting his hand over the crown of your head. There, he lets it rest without moving, just silently acknowledging your feelings. It’s one of the only times that you’ll get a genuine, emotional response from him. He doesn’t speak a word, he simply can’t find any, and this is also the first time you can recall that he doesn’t try to fill the void in his soul by talking your ear off. It’s a truly bizarre situation to be in, in every single aspect. You regret ever stepping foot on the same planet as this man.

Afterwards, when you’ve calmed down enough, he’ll be very quiet for the rest of the day. There’s no teasing, no cheeky remarks, nothing. He might spend an abnormal amount of time on his phone, tapping away on his laptop, taking care of ”work business” (he’s looking at an empty screen), and so on. He doesn’t want to admit how affected he is by your sadness.

When the night comes rolling around, instead of spooning you like usual when you go to bed, he turns you around in his hold and tugs your face under his chin. You might ask about it, you may complain that it’s an uncomfortable position, that you can't sleep like that, but he won’t budge. He just tells you to go to sleep and slips a secure, warm hand to your bare upper back under your pyjamas.

He stays up long after you have fallen asleep. He’s afraid that if he closes his eyes, he’ll be haunted by nightmares so tangible that he would rather not rest at all.

Even in the future, comforting you is one of those things that he doesn’t seem to get any better at, no matter how many times he has to do so. It’s always clumsy, always leaves him embarrassed at how little he’s able to do about your emotional distress. You obviously let him know about it, tell him how evil he is, how much you hate him, and truthfully speaking, it does hurt him when you do that. He just doesn’t know how to show it, and even if he did, he doubts he ever would. You would just use it against him, he thinks (you absolutely would).

˗ˏˋ ★ 8. Thing to exploit: What are the darling’s best chances at escaping? Are there things the darling can use to their advantage? How can the darling make things easier for themselves?

So there are a couple of actually viable things here. Your biggest obstacles are his wealth and, well, his luck, and those are two very prominent things to be concerned about. Still, you do have a decent chance at escaping from him.

He’s very particular about the people he allows to see you, but not so much so that there aren't any opportunities there. One of the people you will come to recognize is Jade, but she’s one you should not confide in. She won’t give a flying fuck about your situation. It’s going to be quite a cruel experience for you if you were to talk to her: She might pretend to listen to your troubles, nodding along and offering something close to sympathy, but when you’re done, she will give you a polite smile and let someone know that ”Aventurine’s plaything is acting up again”. That, and no matter what it is that you told her, she will absolutely snitch on you to Aventurine. Not a good idea.

On the other hand, if you ever manage to get into contact with Topaz, she will help you to the best of her ability. It’s a rare chance if you do since Aventurine is very aware of how soft her heart is, and that’s why he has made an effort to keep the two of you from meeting each other. Topaz might, for example, bribe the employees under Aventurine’s command to ignore your escape if you manage to pull one off. There isn’t much she can do about you being locked up, but if the opportunity presents itself, you have a better shot at fleeing than without her help.

Whatever comes after making it out of his clutches, though, is a bit trickier. The IPC has eyes everywhere, all across the universe. You would have to change your identity, your looks, your name, everything to truly be able to avoid being recaptured. You would need to be extremely careful, very clever, and truly, truly lucky to escape from him for good. That, or you need to get another powerful organization on your side. If you somehow manage to contact the Family, for example, they might extend their services to you. Be careful, though, because there’s a chance that if you get someone like, say, Sunday involved, the only things that may change are your location and your abductor.

Aside from getting help from other people, there’s one thing to take advantage of that you might not consider at first. It’s that, although being a man and in a decent shape, you could, in certain circumstances, be able to overpower him physically. You come to see it one time when he’s trying to cuddle you in the bed. You’re not having any of it, you're telling him to stop, but he just won’t give it up. So, mustering up all your power, you turn around in his grasp and manage to get on top of him, briefly being able to pin him down. You’re not sure if you’re just imagining it, but you swear that for a second, there is a fracture in his expression, an ”oh shit”-moment of sorts. He quickly composes himself, of course, grabbing you by the arms and throwing you off of him. However, he is a tiny bit shaken up by the strength you had in you.

So, if you manage to catch him by surprise, there’s a chance that you could escape via the classic means of beating the shit out of him. Especially if you have muscle, this might be the most realistic option for you.

When it comes to making things easier for yourself, the simple answer is just to entertain his whims. Talk to him, spend time with him, tell him what you like, get to know him. He might even spill secrets from his past to you if he trusts you enough. Something like that is quite a strong psychological weapon against him, so it’s recommended to get as much information out of him as possible.

˗ˏˋ ★ 9. Further notes: Is there anything that sets them apart from the other yanderes? What unique qualities do they possess?

Gambling. There’s so much gambling. Anything can be made into gambling. Everything is gambling.

No, but in actual fact, Aventurine uses gambling as a method of getting under your skin just as much as he does it for the thrill. He gets very cruel with it: He might tell you to come to him at a random moment, leaning his elbow against the table while he plays with something in his hand. Look at the coin, he tells you. Heads or tails? Go on, choose. If you guess wrong, he will send a few of his men to your home planet to kill your entire family.

The colour washes away from your face in a matter of seconds. Despite the ruthlessly brutal thing he's suggesting, he has to stifle a laugh. You stammer out that ”no, you’re not going to choose”, trying to act all brave and unbothered, but he can see the way beads of sweat rise on your forehead, the way your eyes start darting around the room. You’re not fooling anyone. He knows exactly how to get you scared.

So, he tells you that if you don’t pick, he’s just going to give his men the command regardless. You look up at him with pleading eyes, wordlessly asking for him not to make you do this. He merely shakes his head in response. After silently staring at his fingers for a good ten seconds with tears threatening to spill past your waterline, you whimper out a strained ”tails”.

He flicks the coin into the air, playing around with it, rolling it over the backs of his fingers. You follow his every movement in horror, eyes going up and down, left and right along with the item. Then, he lands the thing on his forearm.

It’s tails. You don’t even attempt to silence the sigh of relief that slips past your lips as you see the result. He can barely keep himself from chuckling. Of course it’s tails, that’s what he intended for it to be. He would never (okay, almost never) put so much effort into getting rid of people you hold dear, that would simply break your heart, but it’s fun to keep you on your toes. Prick.

Aside from the obvious tricks, Aventurine has very very subtle ways of manipulating you. His methods are so cruel but so miniscule at the same time that you can’t even tell if it’s actually on purpose. The two of you might be resting in his room, you’re lying on the bed with your back turned to him while he’s on his phone. There’s music playing on the stereos. The current song is one of Robin’s; it’s a popular one right now. Soon, though, after the last few notes, the melody fades into silence before the next track starts. However, the very second you hear the first few beats of it, your head rises off the pillow to look at him.

It’s a song you know. Not just any song, though: It’s an obscure track from some band that has less than a thousand listeners on the app. Everybody has at least that one really small artist on their playlist that nobody else has ever heard about, and this is one of those for you. You’re pretty certain that you’re one of the few people in the entire universe who have ever played this song. And now it’s echoing through the room. The phone connected to the stereos is his.

He looks up from his device with a questioning look, gazing at you with the same, serene smile as always. He quirks his brow. You know he’s doing it on purpose. Or at least, you think you know. What if he actually just knows this band? But there’s no way, what are the odds? Well, the odds are in his favour, is what they are. It’s a bet on your part, to decide whether you’re going to confront him about it or not.

You want to be mad at him, want to scream at him, but simultaneously, that would be admitting that his antics have gotten under your skin. Besides, he’s definitely going to pretend that he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. The best course of action is to drop the entire thing. Despite the seething rage nearly spilling over inside of you, you let your head slump back down on the pillow. He’s horrible. (Like half of the stuff he plays through the stereos is also horrendously generic white-girl music. Whether that's a good or a bad thing is up to you to decide.)

On the nicer end, there are times with him that are actually tolerable. You wouldn't actually use the word "nice" for it since it's still against your will, but on the days when his schedule is completely empty, he may spend the time by playing cards with you.

It's one of the rare times that you don't want to bash his head in. He may call for you, beckoning you over to the table where he's shuffling a deck in his hands. He may teach you a new game, or you could play one that you already know the rules to, but the activity is surprisingly pleasant regardless. He guides you through with minimal teasing, calmly telling you when you're about to make a dumb move, sharing a few strategies with you. You listen and watch as his fingers play with the cards, spinning them around, showcasing his best tricks to you.

He might even let you win some rounds. He will place a meaningless bet on the games you win, telling you that you'll get to decide what you're going to eat for dinner today if you beat him, and when you do, the happiness and pride on your face is enough to make him swallow his remarks. The entire ordeal would actually be incredibly wholesome if it wasn't for the lock on the door and the key in his pocket.

On a completely different side of things, a very questionable encounter you will get to experience while residing in Penacony is when, by chance, you run into none other than a man called Dr. Ratio. It’s on some trip to the Dreamscape, when Aventurine has to take care of work business again, that you get to meet him. The two of them know each other, you come to find, because Aventurine immediately strikes up a conversation with him despite the guy looking less than pleased about the coincidence.

They chat for a while, but then, the Doctor lays his eyes on you. You can nearly see how the gears start turning in his mind. His expression doesn’t really change, but you still watch him go through confusion, apprehension and disbelief all in the span of, like, five seconds.

He doesn’t engage. Maybe it’s because the two are sort of like colleagues — or, rather, they both work under the same organization, but the man simply turns his gaze away from your form, continuing his discussion with Aventurine.

The situation leaves you feeling a bit agitated. You didn’t exactly think that the man would help you, of course, but he could have at least acknowledged you. He could have given you a nod, anything. He might very well have risked his position if he were to do that, you know that, but something tells you that the real reason is that he just can’t be bothered.

NS-FW

˗ˏˋ ★ 10. General look: How does their sexuality manifest? What does sex mean to them? How horny are they?

It’s… a bit multifaceted.

On one hand, Aventurine is undeniably somewhat of a sexual person. There’s a flirty undertone to his behaviour, he doesn’t shy away from showing a bit of skin (the chest window in his shirt is very deliberate), and when it comes to his history, he has had multiple encounters in his past, most likely with all kinds of people. He isn’t particularly reserved regarding sex. And he likes it that way, too. It keeps people guessing, makes it easier to catch deals with certain types of individuals. He’s a very flashy person in general, so it should come as no surprise that it extends to his sexuality.

Then, on another side, there’s a bit of a disconnect between romance and sex in his brain. He has noticed that, to him, sex isn’t necessarily something he uses to show another person that he loves them, at least not until you came into the picture. It’s more about the rush he gets from it, and it feels good, so of course he enjoys it. It’s just not something that he actively looks for or needs.

When you appear in his life, the previous statement loses credibility. He’s obviously still his normal self (at least to a degree), a bit provocative, that’s his style, but for possibly the first time in his life, he notices that he’s actually craving another person in that way. As in, he has an urge to touch you, to feel you under his fingers, to make you feel nice. Before he goes to sleep, while you rest in his arms, unaware of everything that’s going through his mind, he starts imagining what it would be like to have you under him, your hands tied to the headboard, his fingers inside of you. He hopes that you’re already in deep enough sleep not to feel his bulge pressing up against your butt.

He begins entertaining the idea of having sex with you for real pretty early into your captivity. You’re obviously not very willing towards the notion, he knows, but he’s sure that you’ll warm up to him eventually. He has certain tools at his disposal that might end up changing your mind.

˗ˏˋ ★ 11. Limit: How long does it take for them to have the darling? What is the first time like? Do they care about the darling’s willingness?

Physically, Aventurine is not a violent person. Don’t get him wrong, he can absolutely use force if need be, but when it comes to you, he would rather not. It hinders him from reaching his objective, which is ultimately getting you to like him. Forcing you to do something like having sex with him would be barbaric, even to his standards. However, when it comes to his own needs, there are compromises he’s willing to make to get you where he wants you to be.

So, he’s not going to take you by force, no. He’s going to offer you something in return that you simply can’t refuse. Say, how would you feel about getting to see what your friends are up to these days? You haven’t been able to contact them, of course, and he won’t let you do that even now, but what would you think of checking their accounts? Are you curious? He suggests all of this while pulling what you recognize to be your old phone from inside of his breast pocket.

You’re not stupid. You know there’s a catch, and it doesn’t take long for him to air it out to you. If you want to see how your friends are faring, you’ll have to give him a kiss or two. Actually, you need to make out with him and let him eat you out. All of those. It’s not that big of a deal, really, he says. Instead, he insists that he's actually doing you a favour: You’ve been awfully irritable for the past few days, so maybe this could even cheer you up a bit. But you don’t have to, of course. ”It’s your choice”, he says with a tilt of his head and a smirk so detestable that you want to slap it right off his stupid face.

You stare at him with your mouth ajar, all the while he stands in front of you, one hand on his hip while the other is dangling your old phone in your face. He’s being unfair, he’s being so infuriatingly obnoxious that throwing a fit and having to take the syringe would probably be preferable to whatever he has in mind.

But still, the proposal manages to plant the question in your mind: How are your friends faring nowadays? What about your family? You haven’t seen their faces in what feels like ages. You stare at your reflection in the black screen of your phone, looking into your own, desperate eyes. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and at this point, as you give in to your emotions, you have no choice but to fall for it. It’s deplorable, really; the way you suck in a determined breath before letting him know that ”okay, you’ll do it” in a tone that’s less than enthusiastic. Your lack of excitement isn't exactly ideal, but he will gladly accept the result nonetheless.

So, he takes you by your hand. However, you immediately whisk it away from him. You tell him that holding his hand is not something you agreed to while wearing a tiny, smug smile. Admittedly, he is a bit irritated by the remark: He raises his brows at you, letting out a contemplative hum, but continues his advances nonetheless. With delicate motions, he lays you on the bed on your back before climbing on top of you with a blush dancing on his features. He leans in for a kiss.

You keep your lips firmly shut. ”Touché”, he thinks, rolling his eyes before using his fingers to pinch your nose shut. It works wonders, and soon enough he gets the chance to slide his tongue down your throat. You don't dare bite him.

His hands are all over you, sliding along your sides, feeling your breasts through your top, all the while he humps his clothed dick against your thigh. Then, his lips start trailing lower, lathering your neck in open-mouthed kisses. It feels like he’s trying to eat you alive, and when he starts unbuttoning your top, you’re quick push your hands against his chest. You attempt to shove him away and point out that whatever he’s doing was not agreed upon.

You’re being difficult on purpose again, he thinks. You nearly celebrate your victory when he gets off of you for a brief moment, but then he lets out a deep huff before reaching for his belt. You don’t really get a chance to struggle before he wraps the thing around your wrists, making quick work of your hands and tying them to the bed frame.

It's when the true weight of the situation dawns upon you, and instead of trying to make the ordeal exasperating for him, you start doing your best to kick him off of you for real. As he tries to catch your legs, your heel manages to land a hit on his abdomen. He lets out a pained oof through clenched teeth, but you only get to enjoy the reaction for a second. There’s a brief change in his pleasant expression, and in the next moment, he grabs both of your ankles and forces your lower body against your chest with his entire weight. He softly tuts at you before pressing his index finger against your lips. He doesn’t even need to speak his mind out loud — a nudge of his head towards the nightstand and a suggestive smirk is enough to shut you up.

He tells you to settle down and relax. It's obviously not going to actually do anything to calm you down, but he feels the need to sort of pretend that this is something you want and need. Moreover, he twists it in his mind that what he’s about to do to you is actually a positive thing. It's for your own good, so get over it.

You’re trying to fiddle with the belt around your hands to free yourself. He watches your efforts with an amused expression. You can try to fight it all you want, he made sure that the thing holds. So, while you’re busy trying to resist him, he hooks his fingers under the waistline of your clothes and pulls your bottoms down. You hiss at his actions, badmouthing him, throwing insults at him. That’s cute, he thinks. Not much you can do about it now, so you should just try to enjoy it, no?

You only get a mere moment to prepare yourself before he starts devouring your cunt like his life depends on it. He just goes for it. And, you come to find that he’s unfortunately incredibly good at it. He starts slowly, giving some teasing licks to your clit, just above your entrance. He's biting down on your inner thighs, pinching around your most sensitive areas, riling you up like no tomorrow. You try your best to close your legs, attempting to shove him off your bits, but he just grabs you by the hips and pulls you flush against his face.

He’s awful. He somehow seems to know just where to prod to get your insides feeling all hot. When he truly gets down to it, after the gentle warm-up is over, you come to find that he's shockingly adept at trying to pleasure you. Still, with some effort, you’re able to distance yourself from the situation. You let your mind wander, thinking about anything else, how the room looks, what you ate today... You zone out and do your best to ignore whatever is happening in your lower half.

Oh no, you must have gotten the wrong idea, he thinks. He pauses his actions, getting up and on top of you from between your thighs before gently caressing your cheek. ”You do know that we’re not going to stop until you come, right?” he asks you.

You can nearly see the hearts in his eyes, the simultaneously pitying and mocking smile on his lips. Your insides flip. You try to bark back at him, telling him that he’s being unjust, that this is not what you agreed upon, but he just shakes his head and lets you know that no, you’re not the one who makes the rules. It’s him. So get comfortable.

Deep inside, he’s a bit offended that your go-to would be trying not to feel anything when he’s clearly putting his heart and soul into getting you off. Instead of disheartening him, though, it only makes him go harder. So, do what you want, nothing is going to stop him from plunging two fingers into your warm cunt. It comes with zero warning, and to his delight, you let out a whiny shriek in surprise. Good thing that the soundproofing is excellent here.

˗ˏˋ ★ 12. Preferences: What is sex with them like? What sort of stuff are they into? What kind of kinks do they have?

Oh, he’s… a freak. When it comes to his preferences, he truly is a force to be reckoned with. There’s mildly kinky stuff that he’s into, and then there are things that he would get a lot of looks for if he were to ever say them out loud. And, (un)fortunately for you, you’ll come to find out about the whole spectrum of his preferences.

There’s very little that he isn’t open to at least trying. He will lowkey go through your old phone's search history and find out all about what you’re secretly into. Nothing like that is off-limits to him. Besides, he will learn to know you even better that way! He doesn’t really understand why you’re so horribly self-conscious about something like this. It’s not like he’ll use that to his advantage or anything.

Bondage

He likes restricting your movements. The degree of it depends: Sometimes he might be satisfied with just tying your hands together, other times it’s your entire body. He’ll bind your calves against the back of your thighs, your whole arms behind your back — he’ll wrap you up like a nice little gift. Which you kind of are, actually; to him, anyway.

He tends to appreciate the aesthetic things in life, so he likes playing around with rope in the bedroom in that sense too. He’s quite skilled with it as well, he knows how to tie nice patterns around your chest, your legs, all of it. He might even install a hook in the ceiling so your entire body can hang in the air if he’s feeling extra freaky. It’s also easier to get through with the act those times, obviously, since you can’t do much struggling when you’re barely even able to wiggle your fingers.

He can basically do what he pleases with you when you’re bound. He can use you however he likes, he can finger you, eat you out, get his dick wet, stick a finger in your ass, whatever he’s feeling like. It oftentimes comes with blindfolding or gagging you, too. He’s a big fan of ball gags in particular: It makes you unable to spit vile words at him, and besides, you look super cute with it, he thinks. Covering your eyes makes you at least twice as receptive, he finds. You twitch more often, shiver, try to yank on the ropes, cry, even. He likes to see you struggle; it gives him an unexplainable, powerful feeling.

Toys, toys, even more toys, and overstimulation

Of course he likes using toys in the bedroom. What is there not to like? They spice things up, make certain things easier, and most importantly, they get you going faster than his hands or mouth ever could. And no, that’s not an insult to him, of course, he knows how to pick you apart with just what he was blessed with, but toys bring excitement. He can’t get the same effect with his hands as he can with a vibrator.

That being said, he really is a big fan of vibes, namely. Small, big, bullet, wand, gentle, industrial level, he’s all for them. He loves how your body reacts to them, especially if it’s particularly visceral.

One of his go-to foreplays is blindfolding you and tying you down like usual, but there's a bit of a twist. You’re expecting him to go down on you, stick his fingers in, whatever it is that he commonly does, but then a whirring sound fills the room. You barely get the chance to react before a vibrator is pressed right against your clit. You jerk back, naturally — the sensation is beyond intense, the thing is pressing directly on one of your most sensitive spots — but he just shushes you and follows your movements with the device. You can't get away. No matter how you struggle, the vibe is not coming off your cunt until you come on it, he lets you know, all in the infuriatingly mocking tone he uses on you when he knows you can’t clap back.

And he keeps his promise, too, and more. When you inevitably do cream on the thing, he doesn’t move it away or turn it off. You start flailing around, of course, you just came and you’re sensitive, but he doesn’t make an effort to stop. Go on, try to get him off of you — he won’t let you. He probably says something snarky like ”oops, my hand slipped”, all the while he continues tormenting you. His free hand slides next to the vibrator’s head, and he uses two fingers to spread your folds further apart. The action brings your clit out further, and he presses the vibrator even flusher against your cunt, aligning it so that it rests directly on your pearl. He notes that it gets an exquisite reaction out of you.

He keeps going, only stopping when you’ve been through a whole lot of orgasms back-to-back, and your entire lower half is almost completely numb. You lost your will to fight back somewhere in the middle, there’s drool on your cheek, your eyes are barely staying open, and most wonderfully, your cunt is fluttering and twitching around nothing. Delectable, he thinks. You really don’t understand what you do to him. It’s a good thing he snatched you away when he did because some other man would surely have taken advantage of you soon enough.

Aside from vibrators, he likes nipple clamps. You, however, tend to hate those the most because of how easy it is for him to tug on the chain that connects them, and you’re already whining. They’re a nice addition to your sessions. A little pinch never hurt anyone.

Butt plugs, dildos, anal beads, whatever it is, he probably has them for you in various sizes and colours. Aside from your cunt, he does like playing around with your ass a lot, so be prepared to get a vibrator shoved up there as well. He usually starts fiddling with the rear hole while you're already under a ton of stimulation from other areas, too, so when you're done, none of your places will have been left untouched. He has very little qualms when it comes to getting you off with different tools.

He will absolutely make you wear a plug to a meeting or an event the two of you attend, too. You’re obviously heavily against the idea, the last thing you want is for others to know what a freak you’re forced to be with, but there’s no changing his mind. Besides, it’s in private when the magic really happens. The idea of you having the toy inside you had him hot and bothered all evening, so when you finally return to his room, he will be insatiable. He will stuff both of your holes full of whatever things he happens to prefer that day, make you walk around the room on a leash with the clamps on your nipples, a vibrator against your cunt, all that stuff. And he won't stop until your slick is dripping down your thighs. It never gets any better.

Going on a tangent from the overstim, edging isn't really Aventurine's thing when it comes to you. Yeah, he might sometimes partake in it, getting you as close to coming as he possibly can without tipping you over the edge before pulling away, but he can never keep it up for long. He gets the kicks out of seeing you come, not almost come. Even if he tried to do it as a punishment, he doesn't think he could actually go through with it for that very reason. Ruined orgasms are another thing, those he might do, but only because of the overstim that follows right after.

Banging you in his boss form

Did you think he would not? No, did you seriously think he wouldn’t use the stone in the bedroom? Of course he would. Having this rare of a tool in his hands would go to waste if he were not to take advantage of it in the sheets at least once.

You don’t agree with the notion in the slightest, he comes to find. You’re straddling one of his thighs while he rests back on the couch, very clearly taking in the sight of you and enjoying the show. The monstrosity isn’t even that much bigger than his usual stature, but oh, he can see it in your eyes how wary you are of him in this form. Your brows are knitted together, and you visibly flinch when he raises his hand to move a strand of your hair off your forehead with one of his talons. The way the tips of his claws brush against your cheek, he shudders at the view.

Come on, then, hop on. Yeah, come on, it’s not even that much different to his actual one. Yeah, he knows, the dick is a strange colour now, and it has a few ribs, but the size is just about the same, and you have taken him before. What are you waiting for?

He bounces his thigh up and down a few times, encouraging you to properly climb into his lap and sink onto his cock. Your bare cunt rubs against his pant leg as he does, and you have to hold back a hiss. Aside from his appearance changing drastically, it seems that his strength has received a considerable boost as well. It wouldn't be wise to make him mad in this form, you admit, so best not to have him wait for too long.

You feel his nails caressing along your spine as you prop yourself on his hips. He’s letting you feel the subtle threat that comes with his touch, his fingers are tapping rhythmically against the bone under your skin, telling you to hurry up if you don’t want him to take the initiative.

You bite into your bottom lip as you feel his cock slide into you bit by bit. You feel every single bump, every single ridge as the thing breaches your walls. He throws his head back in satisfaction, exhaling deeply. He can feel the way your cunt constricts around him, obviously not pleased with the intrusion. Your breaths become ragged as you struggle to take him, your hips are subtly trying to nudge higher and off his junk. He brings his hand down on your thigh, gently pushing you back down. You curse at him in response, but he only shakes his head. You can’t tell what his expression looks like, the mask prevents you from seeing his face, but you would bet your entire life on it being a condescending smirk.

He starts heaving you up and down on his dick. You yelp, using more force to try and get yourself off of him, but there’s no budging him. Instead, he removes his hand from your thigh and slips it in between your legs. His fingers prod around for a little until they find your clit, and he begins rolling the pearl in between his nails. He’s being careful not to poke anything with the sharp edges, of course, and judging from how you go tense and your cheeks flush, he’s doing a good job. You should really be grateful that he isn’t sticking it in your other hole, you know. He’s showing you a lot of grace here, really.

… among other things

As stated before, he has very little restrictions when it comes to sexuality. There are very few things that he is completely opposed to doing, and similarly, there aren’t many things that he hasn’t already tried. In no particular order, more of his favourites include eating your ass, putting a collar on you, tickling you, dressing you up in horrendously humiliating outfits, even gunplay… The list goes on and on and on. However, all of the mentioned things have one thing in common: The reactions he gets out of you are entertaining beyond words.

That, and he’s a big fucking fan of talking to you throughout the activities. Whether he’s in between your legs or dick-deep inside of you, he can’t close his mouth for the love of him. Every chance he gets, he speaks out, praising you, teasing you, degrading you, yap-yap-yap-yap-yap. He says things like "come on, you're taking it so well", "you're so cute when you try to fight it", "it's not going anywhere, you're just gonna have to take it" and "stupid little thing, can't even take this much?". It’s like he constantly has a knife right against his throat that will slit his artery if he stops talking even for a second.

Oh, and he gets really descriptive about his musings. He might let you know what your cunt looks like to him in very precise detail. You wish the one wearing a gag was him and not you. As the cherry on top, he also likes to moan very loudly and right in your ear, even when he's not actually receiving any physical pleasure himself. He tends to mock the sounds that you let out, singing high-pitched whines against your cheek and chuckling right after. God, you wish the chandelier would drop on his ass.

And he gets so damn mean with it. He will belittle you to his heart's content, until your pretty face is adorned by tears, until you're begging for him to just stop. That's when he knows he has you exactly where he wants you: Nice and obedient, and most importantly, so fucked-out that you can barely get a coherent word out. He could bust right then and there with zero stimulation.

One of the most atrocious things he makes you go through is dressing you up in one of those bunny outfits. You know the one, a leather leotard and thigh-highs that barely covers your bits (plus a bullet vibe in your underwear, obviously). That alone would be terrible enough, but in addition, he takes you to some obscure casino while you're wearing the outfit. There’s girls dressed similar to you everywhere, entertaining the guests, but you stay firmly slotted in his lap while he plays roulette and empties the entire table. In his pocket, he holds the remote to the device in you, and obviously, he’s not going to let you catch a break the entire evening. (He will also totally place you as a bet on some gamble. He’s always going to win, of course, but the brief look of terror on your face is admittedly very funny to him.)

˗ˏˋ ★ 13. Punishment: What do their sexual punishments look like? What methods do they prefer?

Sexual punishments are actually a fairly common thing with Aventurine since it’s both exciting to him and effective in keeping you in line.

Out of all of the things he could do to you, he has one singular favourite when it comes to getting a point across, and it’s relentless, merciless overstimulation. You thought the regular sessions were bad? Be prepared to experience the torture at a degree that’s at least tenfold as bad.

If you’ve been misbehaving or being generally difficult, he might just load you up with toys and leave you like that for the entire night. See, it is handy that he has multiple beds available. He can’t have a good night’s sleep if there’s a struggling and moaning person right next to him in the sheets.

You know exactly when you’ve crossed the line between mild consequences and a night in agony. It’s that one distinct look that he gives you, his eyes are the slightest bit squinted, and he raises his brows, urging you to "go on". At that point, you stop whatever it is that you got in trouble for, shaking your head and trying to make up an excuse to get yourself out of the situation, but it’s way too late for that now. In a heartbeat, he has you down on the bed, thrashing around, but it does very little to stop him from chaining you down. ”You brought this upon yourself”, he tells you as he starts digging for the tools in the box under the bed.

He shoves beads in your ass, a generously sized dildo in your cunt, and he finishes the piece with a wand right against your clit. He turns the thing on at maximum setting. There’s no slow build-up like usual, he doesn’t warm you up in any way, it’s from zero to a hundred in a split second. You start screaming at him, telling him to turn it off, to get it off of you, but there’s only so many words that you can get out before he shoves a gag in your mouth.

You’re going to suffer through your punishment like a good girl, he lets you know. There’s no getting out of it, and you can be prepared for at least a good few hours of relentless stimulation. It might be for as long as he’s out on business, it might be overnight, you never know. Not being certain on how far he’s going to take it is a part of the fun, obviously. You’re under his mercy, and that if anything will get you behaving.

It’s also nice how obedient you are afterwards. When he finally gets the toys out of you and unties the bindings, you can barely move. He tells you to apologize to him for whatever you did, and in fear of him continuing the torment, you mumble out a barely coherent ”sorry”. It’s that easy.

Or, he might spank you. This is only when he actually has time to reprimand you, which isn’t that often, but when he does, you despise it. He seems to get even more out of it than the usual overstim hell. Spanking is his go-to if your offence isn’t one that he’s actually that mad about, like trying (and failing) to unlock his phone, for example.

Maybe he catches you red-handed, your fingers still tapping against the screen. Quickly, you set the thing down as if that would get you out of whatever is going to follow. It’s kind of adorable, really, how your eyes go wide like you were just caught digging through a cookie jar. He just tilts his head in curiosity, giving you a soft smirk before telling you to get on his lap.

It doesn’t matter if you put up a scuffle, you’re going to end up lying down on your stomach, chest pressed against his thighs. He uses one hand to keep your arms behind your back while the other one yanks your bottom down. Then he starts landing open-palm hits on your rear. The shrieks you let out are nothing short of exhilarating to him. It’s not even a minute into the act that his clothed dick starts pressing up against your side. It’s very likely that he’ll first switch to slapping your cunt before starting to finger you instead. Whether you like it or not, stimulation down there, no matter what kind, gets you aroused, and he’s pleased to find that you’re already wet for him. He makes sure to let you know that, too, of course.

˗ˏˋ ★ 14. Aftermath: What does their aftercare look like? Is there any?

Aventurine hasn’t done his job right if he can still make out your words after he’s done. Sex with him is obviously incredibly intense from your perspective, so your will to object to his advances afterwards is in the negatives. You undeniably require some attention in the aftermath since you’re barely able to lift a finger in your hazy, post-orgasm state. Plus, he knows the significance of taking care of one's partner after a rough time, even if the act itself is terribly twisted in this context.

He usually starts the aftercare by caressing your face, gently coaxing you out of your delirious state. It’s grossly similar to what a real lover would do: It’s soft and mindful, and most noticeably, it’s a complete contrast to what has gone down just mere moments ago. The next step, if needed, is to rid you of the implements he has utilized that time. He pulls the toys out of you, pinches the clamps off your nipples, unties your arms, slides the blindfold aside. He coos at you while at it, telling you how well you did, how good you were for him. You don’t have the spirit in you to let him know just what’s going on in your mind.

After the imperative part, he usually either takes you to the bath or just goes straight to snuggling your spent body. The latter is the more likely outcome since you tend to flake out quickly after he's done. It’s only the rarest of times that you actually muster up enough willpower to resist his embrace. He’ll be a bit displeased about it if you do, but more often than not, you can’t keep it up for long anyway, so it's not that big of a hassle.

Aftercare, for him, is the most intimate part of the whole act. It’s when he can truly, even if it’s only a glimpse, show you his true emotions. He can get awfully sentimental in these moments, too. He’s very responsive to anything you might ask or wonder about, his job, his colleagues, even his past if the stars have aligned. These are also moments when you can use his lowered guard to your advantage. Get that info.

˗ˏˋ ★ 15. Further notes: Is there anything that sets them apart from the other yanderes sex-wise? Are there any unique aspects to them?

The… The gambling continues in the bedroom. It’s no joke.

It’s, like, 30% of his entire personality, so why would he not include it in the sex? You think it’s beyond ridiculous, you let him know that he could perhaps consider using the brain cells that the Aeons have blessed him with, but no. You are going to gamble in the bedroom.

Think of it like this: Pure chance gets to settle what you’re going to do that time. Look, the coin will decide whether it’s going to be his fingers or mouth, and the number on the die determines the number of rounds. And no, you’re not going to get out of this one, either. Don’t you think it’s kind of fun, too? You’re throwing your bodies in the game, what could be more thrilling than that? Or, how about this one: The coin dictates if it will be the plug or the wand, and the dice will tell you the setting. Exciting, no? So, heads or tails? ”Fuck off”? Hey, that wasn’t one of the options.

Moreover, Aventurine, perhaps a bit unexpectedly, isn’t that big of a fan of receiving. It’s a bit of a complicated matter to put into words, but from the psychological viewpoint, being on the receiving end of sexual activities does very little for him. He doesn’t know why that is, exactly. He’s aware that his head is a bit fucked up in a couple of places, but that’s where it ends. It’s not like he won’t occasionally end up having you suck on his dick or similar, but he won’t actively seek it from you. He would much rather observe how each of your barriers collapse one by one under his prying touch. Dicking you down is also more about you than it is about him, and he doesn't necessarily have to come each time himself.

The exception to this is that if you, in the very implausible scenario that it occurs, voluntarily offer yourself to him. If you, out of your own volition, come up to him and inform him that you would like to give him head, he will unquestionably agree to it. He doesn’t even let himself consider if what you’re doing is just a manipulation tactic, simply because he’s so overjoyed by it. He won’t show it, of course — he’ll act all pompous, the usual routine, but inside, he can barely contain his elation. Of course, you’re only doing this to get something out of him, but oh well. He might as well enjoy it.

One more peculiar thing about him is that, no matter what you do, he will never actually hurt you during sex. It doesn’t matter if he’s punishing you, for a serious offence, even, he will (almost) never slap you around beyond your butt or draw blood or anything like that. He just can’t get himself to even think of doing those things to you. There will be threats, sure, those keep you pliant, but you can be certain that you’ll never be hurt physically aside from what’s strictly essential. Your nerve endings in a certain few places may very well be fried, but never anything more severe.

A/N

This was a bit of a tricky write in the sense that Aventurine’s character has an incredibly rough backstory. Don’t get me wrong, obviously the topics at hand in this writing are equally as heavy in the real world, but the difference is that it’s meant to be horny content here. Aventurine’s lore isn’t meant to be hornied at all, at least not in my eyes, so avoiding those tones brought some difficulty. I sometimes find it hard to walk the line between the two moods.

That being said, I decided not to touch on the topic of his past too much for this reason. Above all, these are fictional characters we’re dealing with, and technically I could write almost whatever the fuck I want, but this is where my ethics stand. I hope you had a good read regardless!

(Off-topic but I can't believe I had to do research on gambling out of all things to write this piece. What a ride.)

Extra Special A/N

I got an inquiry if I could tag people when dropping a new profile. So, I present to you, my one-person taglist ⋆｡°✩

@yourfavouritecitizen

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mcflymemes · 5 months ago

Text

AS SAID BY GALE DEKARIOS * assorted dialogue from baldur's gate 3

is that... is that truly you? i thought i might never see you again.

i love you, more than i've ever loved anyone. and you've proven your love for me in more ways than even the greatest mathematicians would dare to count.

you licked a dead spider. dead spider. you licked it. that is something that happened.

i think we need to get you some air and perhaps have a long talk about unresolved childhood issues.

stop licking the damn thing!

i see the art of eloquence is alive and well.

i'm awed, impressed, and a little bit scared of you right now.

nothing like a brisk stroll through the forest to invigorate the spirit.

i've never wanted to kiss you more than i do now.

right now, i need nothing more than a kiss.

tell me you feel the same way. tell me you want what i want. please.

i'll always have you.

you really would prefer me as i am?

do you doubt me?

you put the stars to shame.

let's sit here another while - i want to drink you in.

there you are.

you led me down this path.

i don't know myself anymore.

all this... it's not who i am. around you, i'm not who i want to be.

you really are absolutely heartless, aren't you?

i was hoping you'd spare me a moment.

this seems as good a time as any for me to stop babbling on.

i think you're rather wonderful. and that's not a word i waste on anyone unworthy of it.

go. enjoy your evening.

i like that about you. it's one of your rarer qualities.

i promise we'll make it work, if you'll have me.

what are you doing? stand back! now!

i thought i meant more to you than a sacrificial lamb. clearly i was mistaken.

you've brought me right where i need to be. i have no right to ask more of you.

you're plotting something, aren't you?

i go where you go.

i'm telling you, this is a mistake.

don't worry too much. a handful of powerful spells go a long way.

hold on! it's not too late to settle this without bloodshed.

mercy is not your strong suit, is it?

well... so much for my previous sentiment.

the choice is yours. there's really no good decision to be made here.

i'll be delighted to see you try... from a safe distance.

how generous of you.

there has to be a way to stop this thing!

i have no desire to end your life. you know that.

i see the glint in your eyes. you've a strategy in mind. the same one as me, i'd wager.

well, now that we know what it is, i suggest we leave it well alone.

better be careful around here.

i'll miss you, friend. your companionship has been quite the education.

i won't lie. i miss our group.

don't worry, i'll handle matters from here.

i'm ready. are you?

we must discuss it privately.

have you lost your wits? you must not do this!

we can't afford to let that happen.

they say madness and genius are separated by but a hair's breadth. perhaps the same is true of madness and stupidity.

you make me sound like some preening peacock.

i'm taking notes. making observations.

you're adorable even when you're teasing me.

you know what, i think i've clearly had far too much wine. and you've had nowhere near enough.

don't worry about me. i'm quite content to enjoy the party from here.

don't let me drag you away.

that, my friend, must remain a secret.

i do hope you know what you're doing.

might be the wine talking.

why am i doing this?

i'm sorry it had to come to this.

i'm going to bed. perhaps this was all a mistake.

careful. you don't know what i'm about to ask.

kill me, and i'll destroy the city anyway.

i want it to be perfect.

stay with me a while, will you?

i'm in love with you.

i'm many things, but coy's not one of them.

listen, i need to speak to you.

i might need you to be more specific.

i regret many things in life.

we all have our burdens, one way or the other.

i am as honored as i am enamored.

i am not the only one who longs for you... yet you chose me.

my time is yours. what do you need?

tell me, what can i do for you?

you need me?

you look... comfortable.

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ghostaholics · 2 years ago

Text

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄-𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn!reader (aside from a single idiom whose origin uses masculine language/pronouns - every man for himself) ➸ SUMMARY: Against all odds, the Lieutenant accidentally falls asleep on your shoulder. Unfortunately, there are witnesses to the precarious situation (just your luck that it would be Gaz and Soap). ➸ WORD COUNT: 2k

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐀𝐃𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐄: don't poke the bear.

Danger in your line of work typically consists of trying to walk away from a mission while still being left completely intact (i.e. the goal is to make it out alive, in one piece). You’ve survived a great number of ordeals: cornered into a shootout with a dwindling supply of ammo, tiptoed your way through a field of pressure-sensitive IEDs, dove towards probable death (with an awfully high probability of splattering onto hot, concrete hell like a bug on a windshield) because your helo was sent tail spinning courtesy of a perfectly-aimed RPG – and really, the list goes on.

It's been child’s play, in the grand scheme of things. An extensive catalogue of life-or-death scenarios accounts for your entire military career. And sure, this might be a bit of a stretch, but you'd wager that none of those instances thus far have been as high-stakes as the current predicament you’ve found yourself in.

Jesus-fucking-Christ. Why’d Ghost have to fall asleep on you?

𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: avoid sitting next to him on the plane ride home. You've had to learn it the hard way.

And the kicker is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided; it didn’t have to be your problem. You could’ve sentenced any one of the other soldiers to your seat. Every man for himself, right? Get off scot-free, have a normal trip back to base with plenty of legroom so that you’re not cramped. Theoretically, it would've been beautiful – a passenger's paradise, the closest you could get to a first-class ticket.

But no.

Instead, play the Good Samaritan; extend your hand out with an act of benevolence. What’s the harm, right? So, you'd spared the poor guy, said you wouldn't mind switching places with him because he'd looked as white as a damn sheet at the idea of being crammed beside this behemoth of a lieutenant who's infamously every FNG's living nightmare.

Yeah, well hindsight is 20/20. Had you known what was going to happen, you would've had no reservations about throwing him under the bus. Sayonara, mate.

Law of the jungle, plain and simple.

To make matters worse, he is, in fact, exhibiting terrible flight etiquette. His head (which is dead weight and feels about as pleasant as a fucking bowling ball, mind you) has taken up every inch of real estate on your shoulder and is practically tucked into the curve of your neck; you’ll need to take a trip to the chiropractor’s after this – several, probably. The edge of his skull mask is digging into you. And, the cherry on top: get this – he’s man-spreading, so his left leg's trespassing into your own territory and brushing against your thigh. Utter lack of regard for personal space.

Incredible.

You’d still rather die than wake him up, though. You're not sure what'll happen if you do, but that's a risk you're not willing to take.

All things considered, an achy shoulder is a much better alternative than incurring the wrath of one angry Lieutenant. He's more subdued in this kind of context. To be completely honest, if you weren't already well-acquainted with him, you'd find it endearing.

From here, it's easy to see the simple rise and fall of his chest, steady and even. Slow inhale in, slow exhale out. He's at peace, a rhythmic lull that matches your own breathing. You can't quite put your finger on the exact moment he fell asleep. (He's got a habit of shutting his eyes and folding his arms over his chest when he isn't in the mood to converse with the other soldiers onboard. But God willing, he would never voluntarily loll his head onto your shoulder.) For what it's worth, he deserves the rest – never been one to do it this soundly as countless missions have taught you that he's usually a light sleeper. You remember him roughly prodding the toe of his boot at Soap's arm once when the Scot was conked out and his snores were a bit loud for Ghost's taste.

Rather odd then, that the Lieutenant even managed to allow himself to doze off like this. It’s too loud, too unsteady – the droning of the plane engine doesn't exactly make for good white noise and the turbulence outside is jostling the cabin around. Moreover, this puts him in a position of vulnerability, and he’s not the type to let his guard down so easily.

But somehow he did it with you beside him.

You try not to think about the implications of that.

𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄, 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄.

Because, Soap's just woken up from his nap, the first among the entire company of soldiers in the cabin still sleeping, excluding yourself. His seat's parallel to yours, straight across the walkway within direct line of sight, so he’s got an unobstructed view of you and Ghost. Soap sends a questioning glance in your direction, eyebrow quirked. A look that says, The hell's going on?

The level of your voice is down; it's at a conservative decibel to avoid rousing the others. Yet you convey your distress with the same amount of passion as if you were stuck in the middle of a losing firefight. "MacTavish, help."

Soap works with bombs for a living. Surely, he's capable of defusing situations too.

Alright the man’s a demolitions expert, but that’s semantics.

He blinks like he's trying to make sense of the situation. Though, it's pretty obvious what the problem is here. You're not sure why he’s got to take a moment and contemplate it. You need a solution, now. And he's moving at a snail's pace.

For a second, you think he might sympathize with your plight.

But then his mouth morphs into a shit-eating grin and when he nudges Gaz awake, you know right then and there that you're absolutely fucked.

More witnesses.

Great.

Because that’s just what you need, isn’t it?

Gaz drags a hand down his face. He pans over to his right to figure out why he’s been jolted awake so suddenly, and sees Soap who’s inexplicably, nauseatingly jovial before his eyes land on you.

Much like Soap’s original reaction, Gaz can’t help but offer a quizzical expression. The confusion is evident. His brows are drawn together because he knows that the L.t. wouldn't fall asleep on your shoulder.

Soap's shifting, sliding his hand into his pocket before pulling out his phone. He messes with it – a few taps here, a few swipes there. And then before you're registering what's happening, he's aiming it straight at you, like one of those mums getting a snapshot of their kids in matching jumpers during the holidays.

"Say cheese."

An indignant gasp leaves your mouth. "If you so much as—

"Soap, no. Don't do that." Gaz says from beside him, plucking the phone out of his hands. He tsks him with a click of his tongue. Stern disapproval in spades. The meaning is clear: it’s a big thumbs down from the Brit. He’s not endorsing this type of behavior. “Gone mad now, have you?” he asks in admonishment.

You release a sigh of relief. Finally, some moral support. He's reliable. Your faith in him is unshakable. Always could count on Gaz to get you out of—

"Have to shoot with a wide angle, see? Or else it'll look wonky," he corrects, flipping the phone horizontally before handing it back to Soap.

"Aye, thanks mate.”

Gaz's smile isn't as excessive as Soap's but the smirk gracing his face tells you he's relishing in your misery all the same.

Fucking traitor.

"Knobheads—"

They’d risk their own hides to save you from certain death. You've seen it in Cairo, Valencia, and Seoul. Good men. Good hearts in the right place as well. However, they're also the type to embarrass you at every opportunity – public humiliation being somewhere on that roster as well. And for that, you want to strangle them.

"Rude,” Soap comments pointedly.

"Bite me, MacTavish."

"Just wake him up if it's bothering you," Gaz supplies unhelpfully.

"If you were in my shoes, would you do it?"

"'Course, not," he snorts. "I don’t have a death wish.”

“Well, I also prefer my head on my shoulders, thank you very much," you whisper furiously, nearly hissing at him.

And Soap is admiring his handiwork, when he coos, “Aw, the two o' you make quite the pair." He briefly twists the screen so that you can catch a glimpse of it, and even from this distance, you can confirm that he's captured the shot. Annoyingly well, to add insult to injury. Angle? Spot-on. Lighting? Brilliant. It's interesting, has character. Black and white photography. He's managed to make a stunning composition and your upper lip is curling up into a sneer of disgust at his artistic eye. How infuriating.

"I'll send this to the Cap. He’ll get a kick outta it."

"Sod off."

"He'll appreciate bein' included."

Gaz matches the energy with an equally gleeful smile, now delighted by the idea. “Hey, and the L.t. he looks—”

“—cute," Soap has the audacity to finish for him.

What.

There are many words that you’d use to describe Ghost.

Cutthroat, maybe. Imposing. Glacial. Taciturn. A stringent set of ideals that makes him the perfect soldier: disciplined, honed, fierce. Intimidating, if he's not fighting on your side – someone you'd much rather have on your team than against, unless you fancied death. He can be a stone-cold terror on occasion. The man’s been penned as a walking horror story by those in the military. Given his iron-hearted demeanor, you'd be hard-pressed to disagree with that statement; there's not much room to call his steel-encased resolve into question.

So, yeah. Above all else, he's certainly not cute.

Your eyes narrow at them. "Congratulations, the both of you have officially made the top of my shitlist."

Soap, indifferent to your crisis, asks, "Want a copy for your wallpaper?"

There's another heated remark waiting on the tip of your tongue, because there's no way in hell that you would and you're ready to tell him off, about to give him an earful.

But somebody else beats you to it.

“Wipe that picture, or I’ll wring your bloody necks.”

Ice surges through your veins. Goosebumps break out across your skin. Because that voice belongs to one person. Oh, Christ. Never in a million years would you want to be on the receiving end of it.

There's anxiety warping in your chest. You're scared stiff, paralyzed with fear in a way that implores you to remain stock-still. The coarse fabric of your trousers bunches underneath your palms as you try not to freak out. This isn't your fault. None of it is.

And here's the worst part: Ghost hasn't lifted his head from your shoulder yet.

But Soap's unfazed. He blinks a couple of times, seems like he's weighing his options – as if there's something else he could choose besides following his lieutenant's command – yeah, right. He wises up, settling for a simple answer in the end. "Alright, Ghost." His smile makes a reappearance, sweet and well-meaning. Troublemaker. "Any chance you'd like a copy before I do away with it?"

"What kind of fuckin' question is that, Johnny?" he grumbles. "Obviously."

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄:

"I take it you don't think I'm cute then. Have I got that right?"

"I'm sorry... mind repeating that again, sir?"

"You didn't have anything to say about Soap's comment."

"I have a feeling that whatever I answer will get my arse handed to me, L.t."

He's smiling in response – like sunshine trapped behind clouds. Despite it being obscured by the mask, you can see his eyes crinkling at the corners, which makes the black charcoal that's lining them begin to crease a bit. "Permission to speak freely, Sergeant. You have the floor."

Your mouth parts in surprise. Well, then. Maybe you stand corrected. And so, you appraise him momentarily, giving it some serious thought. There's more to Ghost than you give him credit for. He's terse and rough around the edges, but respected for a reason. Admirable. Someone you think highly of and has deserved your approval. The mask undeniably provides an air of intrigue. “I suppose you can be,” you start off, gradually warming up to him being more approachable. “When you’re not terrorizing the new recruits, that is.”

#i got lazy again #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you #cod fic #cod mw x reader #cod mw 2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley fluff

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stxneflxwers · 2 months ago

Text

heart of spades.

⋯⁂ summary. it's aventurine's birthday.

⋯⁂ a/n. this was fun to write, despite that it's rather short!! pls enjoy <3

⋯⁂ cw. tender angst. recollections of aventurine's past (re: avgin massacre). reader luvs aven lots. phone call / facetime call. sweet ending.

⋯⁂ obligatory tags. @tojiswhore-aventurinesslut ; @aventurineswife (hiiii 👋👋 im evil btw)

…it’s raining.

dreadful, he thinks.

he hates the rain.

like a storm cast over the bank of a river, his mind floods with memories of that fateful day so many years ago. it didn’t just rain, it poured – all while those haunting screams echo in his mind, even now. he can even still recall the dark of night consuming his vision.

he still wonders how he’s managed to stay alive until now.

he wagers that a decent portion of his will to live is nestled within you. only you. his sunshine. he isn’t as sunny as most would portray him to be – the sun doesn’t just survive, it lives. but you – you live, casting a bright glow on his darkness, allowing him to shine a little bit longer.

his train of thought is derailed the moment someone comes by to his hotel room, dropping off a package from you. how funny, he was just thinking of you moments ago— oh, he remembers now. it’s his birthday.

fuck.

sometimes he wishes you’d treat this day like any other, but then he remembers that you put him through a lot (of love). both sugar and spice. right now, it’s evidently sugar. maybe too much sugar.

after thanking the subordinate that left the package in his care, he carefully unwraps the brown paper and unties the silly bee-printed ribbon. regardless of how silly it is, he thinks he��ll keep it. just in case (of what? he doesn’t know either.)

he doesn’t notice, but his shoulders feel so much lighter while he sits on the hotel bed, rummaging through the small birthday gift. a smile cracks on his face when he discovers the ingredients for his favorite coffee order. medium roast, subtle hazelnut flavoring, steamed milk, and a single droplet of honey.

you’re sneaky, he thinks. but he knows someone has to get back at him once in a while. it may as well be you.

oh, there’s even butter cookies in the package… you spoil him too much. then again, he can never spend enough on you (you beg to differ.)

without another beat of hesitation, he begins to put the coffee together. as routine as it may be, he’s thankful for the brief period of respite from his tormented mind. at first, anyway. and then the thoughts return, unbidden and unrelenting. he would grimace if he wasn’t already used to all of this bullshit—

—he nearly drops the small glass jar of honey. he catches it just before it rolls off the countertop in the kitchenette. he sighs tersely, pinching the bridge of his nose as he feels an oncoming migraine – no surprise there. aside from the emotions that storms bring, the humidity and pressure changes never fail to give him a low-thrumming headache.

once the coffee is finished, steamed milk poured on top and honey stirred inside, he stands at the sliding patio door.

he simply…watches the storm. perhaps, in a way, he’s witnessing. but witnessing what? maybe witnessing the echoes of his past coming back to tear away at his flesh, his soul – if he dare believe in such a concept. all he can do is watch like a helpless, hopeless bystander.

ring-ring!

the sound of his phone buzzing nearly makes him throw his mug at the door. can’t he have a semblance of peace? just this once. please. please, gaiathra—

instead, he shakily sets the simple black mug back down in the kitchenette, and pulls out his phone. he leans back against the nearest counter as he answers the call – it's you.

you and your angelic voice.

“hey!” you chirp, “wanna facetime? i wanna see your handsome face, birthday boy!”

handsome face? sure, he’s handsome to most, but he looks like total trash right now – the dark circles under his drooping eyes more evident than ever. hell, he can hardly even keep a smile on his face.

he holds back a sigh, at the very least.

“...hey,” you say before he responds, “c’mon. i don’t care if you look ‘bad’ right now. i just need to see you. please?”

“alright, alright,” he relents too easily this time, but you do have so much sway over his heart, as usual. he turns on the front-facing camera, the tiniest of smiles curling his lips – still rather performative, if you had to say anything about it. “better?” he asks, too quietly.

“much better,” you have your own camera turned on, a sunny grin on your face. “i love seeing you regardless of how you look! you know that, right? if not, i’m happy to remind you.”

“...i know,” he mutters, “just…hard to believe you truly don’t care about my performance anymore—”

“i never did care about your performance, aventurine!” you pout, “i’m not here for the performance, i’m here for the actor underneath it all.”

he licks his lips nervously, tasting remnants of coffee and dryness.

“...sorry, i’m not angry, i promise,” you soothe, “hmm… let’s see… did you get the package? how’s the weather?” you pivot the topic – for his sake.

“i did, and thank you for the gift, as well. you must’ve known that i’d need a pick-me-up this time,” he chuckles breathlessly, hardly even audible. “and… the weather? seriously?” he teases a little, but really, he’s reluctant to answer. he knows it’ll worry you—

“aventurine.” you say, but it’s a tender kind of firm.

“...well, it’s raining pretty hard. headache included.” he finally answers, quieter this time, losing all of the performative gleam in his expression.

“i see,” you nod, “...would meds help? do you have any? more importantly: have you been drinking water?” ah, typical you, that’s where your mind jumps to.

…he’s definitely not been drinking enough water. not that he wants to admit that.

you know better, though.

“i see that guilt!” you accuse with worry, “please, drink some water. i will remind you every five minutes tonight until you tell me you did it.”

“and…you’d believe me? do you look up when someone tells you ‘gullible’ is written on the ceiling, too?” he sighs, his joke falling flatter than a board.

“i’d believe you without hesitation.”

“...”

he’s at a loss for words. he often is when he’s alone with you. maybe it’s for the best.

“...and…by the way, happy birthday, aventurine!” you chirp, your grin returning full force.

“i—” he sputters, “...thank you – for spending it with me. despite everything. despite…me—”

“i would do it a thousand times over.”

#aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #🌠— hurt/comfort #💕— aventurine #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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ailawritesfics · 3 months ago

Text

✎ cw: 18+(minors dni), oral (m receiving), exhibitionism (in a meeting), cum eating, dabi is a little mean & rough

✎ I haven't written in months so im trying to get back into writing again. Not proofread

What started as a joke between you and Dabi at 4 in the morning turned into a challenge of who can rile up the other more until it became a practical execution rather than back and forth play fighting.

The meeting is underway when he had ushered you beneath the table, uncaring of the curious eyes watching and internally criticizing whatever ploy you two had cooked up today. Dabi merely offers them a silent response, a smirk here and a flipped middle finger there, much to Shigaraki's vexation. No one bothers to even try to stop either of you by this point anyway.

He spares you a glance, slouching on the chair with his hands resting on his thigh and the other on the back of your head, lightly scratching your scalp. With hooded eyes he watches you fiddle with his belt, tugging off the buckle and unzipping his pants quite eagerly.

"We received intel from one of our men in..."

The voices of the other men in the room fade in the background, rendered static noise in comparison to the loud shuffling of his clothes being tugged and moved aside by manicured nails.

And finally, Dabi exhales as you tug down his boxers enough to free his cock from its confines. It nearly slapped your cheek had you not moved back in time.

The hand in your hair tightens, wordlessly tugging you closer to where he needs you and mouthing for you to hurry up. A soft giggle bubbles in your chest, teasing as you bat your lashes at him and he swears if you weren't in a meeting room right now, he would've had his way with you already. So he plays nice for now.

"We're not short on manpower. What we need is..."

You wrap your fingers around his cock, slowly stroking him while maintaining eye contact. Cerulean eyes meet yours in a silent challenge, a battle of wits and wagers, where pushing each other to their limits warrants the winner a satisfying reward. And Dabi would be damned if he lets you win this little bet.

You lick a path on the underside of his cock, swirling your tongue on the mushroom tip. You're rewarded with a muffled groan when you finally wrap your lips around him, taking him in inch by inch and working to slacken your jaw.

Dabi leans his head back, your warm mouth feeling too good to resist. A murmured fuck and a quick tug on your hair, he shoves you down against his pelvis, the tip of his cock meeting the back of your throat and making you gag.

Tears form in the corner of your eyes the longer Dabi holds you there, one hand supporting the back of your head and the other on your neck. He looks down at you and sucks in a breath at the sight.

You look so fucking hot like this.

Choking while being forced to deep throat his dick.

You tap on his thigh twice and he lets up, allowing you to pull away. A cough strains your throat, leaving it feeling sore and aching. The death glare you send his way doesn't even deter the man, in fact it only makes his cock twitch in his hold. The bastard enjoyed it, of course he did.

He grabs your face, fingers digging into your cheeks as he pulls you back in.

His voice is low, a hushed whisper amongst the arguing voices of the other men in the room. "You talked big game back there and you couldn't even handle that? I'm disappointed, doll."

Again, your glare does nothing, only succeeding on making him act more smug. He presses hard on your cheeks, making you wince, something he enjoys a little too much, evident in the way his smirk turns into a grin.

A thumb forces its way through your lips, pressing flat against your tongue. It's salty and tastes like ash. For a moment, you think he might grant you some mercy. But Dabi had never really been kind. Using this hold on you, he tugs your jaw open and before you can react, he replaces his thumb with his cock but this time he doesn't just shove it in. He lets it rest on your tongue, waiting to see what you'll do.

At least his gracious enough to grant you some control.

Starting with a slow pace, you bob your head up and down, hallowing your cheeks as you take in more of him with each trip down. You've given him head before but it never really feels like it gets easier after each time. It's a struggle to make him fit, a struggle you refuse to show him lest you want him to become even more smug and cocky.

A large hand trails up the nape of your neck, sliding into your hair, tugging lightly as he guides your movement.

He throws his head back against the head rest, the tips of his ears flushing bright red and fighting the urge to moan and groan at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth doing wonders on him. He couldn't care less of the obvious stares, much too focused on chasing the pleasure. He'll get scolded by Shigaraki later but fuck it, this is worth it.

You quicken your pace, swallowing around the tip, trying your best to deep throat him.

Dabi bucks his hips upward to meet your movements with what little freedom the chair allows him. He relishes the sound of you choking on his cock, sweat dripping down his temples as he chases his high.

Suddenly, he shoves your head down against him again, nose burying in his happy trail. Spurts of thick, hot cum slide down your throat and fills your mouth with the sheer amount he spills.

He breathes heavily, tugging you off him but covering your mouth with one hand before you can spit any of his precious cum.

"Swallow it." He commands in a hushed voice.

#bnha imagines #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha imagines #dabi smut #dabi x reader #dabi imagine #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #dabi imagines #touya x reader #touya todoroki smut #todoroki smut #dabi todoroki #cw suggestive #cw oral sex #cw exhibitionism

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meanbossart · 1 year ago

Note

What is your take on Astarion's relationship with his siblings?

I have put unreasonable amounts of time into thinking about what the dynamics were like during Cazador's reign in that house. I mean, imagine sharing the same tasks, bedrooms, and general experiences of abuse and duress with the same people FOR TWO HUNDRED YEARS. That's absolute madness. If any of you have had experiences with co-living with family under stress for any extensive amount of time, you know very well the levels of emotional 4D chess-ing that tend to take place as a result. You end up distributing so much frustration and anger around and often onto the very same people you will ultimately seek comfort from - this is that situation but blown up to impossible proportions.

So, "strained" doesn't really do justice as a descriptor here. I believe the family had a dynamic, ever-evolving hierarchy within itself, years-worthy of time where the spawn shifted alliances and made "cliques" within themselves - rebels would evolve into pushovers and trusted friends would turn into snitches. You had endless amounts of drama within the group and flies on the walls would witness them cut each other's heads off one day and sob into one another's laps the next.

Naturally I think all of them were resistant to the concept of being a "family" at first, but it's pretty much impossible to not develop family-like ties throughout that long of a period. Following Cazador's death, I believe there would be further splintering within as some want to maintain said ties and others are eager to cut them - seeing both their siblings and the relationships themselves as yet another painful reminder of what Cazador imposed upon them.

I think Astarion falls into the latter category. If he had his way, he would never see, speak, or think of his brothers and sisters again. And while the sibling nomenclature is a deeply-rooted habit, he doesn't think it holds any legitimacy whatsoever (whether or not that's the case in his heart is another matter).

Dalyria (the moon-elf physician, whom I have come up with a story, personality, background and motivations during several long showers that might not necessarily line up with yours, so, if anything of what I'm about to say seems pulled out of a hat, it's because it was) is the opposite. She has grown attached to the constant presence of her siblings and taken a mother-goose role upon herself. With the Exception of Leonard and Violet (more on that later) she has decided they are her responsibility and wishes the group would stick together.

I like to think that there's a lot of history between those two in particular. Obviously, the interactions between Astarion and his siblings are very brief, but It's enough to run with. Dalyria shows a lot of concern and understanding towards him and even pleads when he threatens Petras' life - again, I think she did a lot of trying to pragmatically keep the peace among them and genuinely grew attached to a few - Astarion being the main one of said few. You even get the smallest hint of a on-and-off intimate relationship with the way he derisively calls her by her nickname.

Also, Astarion very occasionally showcases enough emotional maturity that I could see him latching onto the one other person around who seems to have her wits about her, but he's still flawed enough that Dalyria can think of him as a younger sibling that needs her care. Not to mention that, to me, she demonstrates a penchant for moral superiority and a dash of a machiavellian outlook, based on her diary and her completely unapologetic initiative to kill a child on the small chance it would lead her to a cure - not any child either, but Leonard's child. I can totally see Astarion sympathizing and gravitating towards someone like that.

Which brings us to the rest of the siblings - I would wager that, at least by the end of it all, Leonard and Violet were the odd-ones out. As it tends to happen within any tight-knit group, when one succeeds by stepping over the others (even if the reasons for it are justifiable) that brews a lot of resentment and eventual exclusion. Leonard not only did that, but he apparently still held onto hope of future and family outside the Szarr house; wheter or not everybody wanted out, I think a us-versus-them mentality is unavoidable under those circumstances, and Leonard was looked down upon by the others in their respective ways for what he was trying to do.

Violet just seems like she had gone a little cuckoo to me. We get very little about her, but when I think of an adult woman playing childish pranks on her roomates while you are all stuck in what's essentially a human trafficking ring... I think of a person who's either just a very silly breed of evil or who has lost touch with reality, and the latter is more interesting, imo. I think no one liked her, not only because she was a nuisance but also because she became completely emotionally untouchable. I think both Violet and Leonard are spawn who did not survive long after they were all freed.

I'll stop here before I ramble on for another 8 paragraphs about Aurelia, Yousen and Petras (Oh Petras, my beloved), but, yes, suffice to say that I believe it was kind of complicated LOL

EDIT: Not me calling Leon "Leonard" this whole post. Sorry buddy, you look like a Leonard.

#ask #astarion #the spawn #dalyria #bg3 spoilers

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capricorn-writes2 · 4 months ago

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Dream Sans, Nightmare Sans and Reaper Sans Dating S/O who is a Goddess/God of Nature

➽───────────────❥➽───────────────❥

Hello, there @cloudyuphere.

I try my best to make the portrayal of their character based on their personality and I would like to apologize for replying the ask late because I had a horrible carpal tunnel syndrome on my right hand, depression, and I had to focus on finding jobs as well as theraphy. Thankfully, I graduated in July from my university and able to get a quick 6 months of Internship before leaving to find new job.

Gender: Neutral

Warning: Profanities and a little bit of violence

➽───────────────❥➽───────────────❥

Dream Sans

Dream feels naturally drawn to your calming and nurturing aura, like their energies are intertwined, as if your soul with him are intertwined. Being near you fills him with a warmth that feels like sunlight filtering through leaves.

The two of you often walk hand in hand through ancient forests or rest together in vibrant flower fields, where you tell stories of each plant's origins. Dream listens in awe, feeling like he’s witnessing nature's secrets through your words.

Dream weaves delicate dreamcatchers from fallen twigs and enchanted threads, gifting them to you. He tells you these charms will guard your dream just as you protect the natural world.

Together, you and him stand as protectors: Dream guarding the purity of dreams, and (Y/N) safeguarding the balance of nature. The two of you are an unstoppable team, shielding the world from corruption and pollution.

Dream loves when you weaves flower crowns for him, placing them gently on his head. He wears them with pride, even during his duties, believing they symbolize his connection to your love and the earth.

Dream is constantly amazed by how animals are drawn to you, as if they sense the pure magic radiating from (Y/N). Birds perch on (Y/N)'s shoulder, deer approach with calm eyes, and rabbits rest at your feet. Dream jokes by calling the animals “royal court of nature”

When (Y/N) emotions cause a small earthquake becoming bigger, Dream gently holds you, whispering words of comfort and love. He’ll stay by your side, calming the shaking ground until the earthquake stops.

He often tells you that your love is like nature—endless, patient, and deeply rooted. He promises that just as rivers carve stone and forests endure for centuries, his love for you will remain unshaken, timeless, and eternal.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

The golden afternoon sun filtered through the leaves of the great oak tree, casting dappled patterns of light onto the grass where Dream and (Y/N) sat together. The gentle breeze carried the sweet scent of wildflowers, their colors vibrant against the lush green earth. It was a perfect day for a garden date, peaceful and filled with the quiet comfort that always surrounded them.

Dream leaned back slightly, his golden eyelights shimmering as he glanced at (Y/N) with a playful curiosity.

"You know," you said with a mischievous glint in your eyes, "I bet I can make a better flower crown than you."

Dream’s head tilted slightly, intrigued by the challenge. "Oh?" His voice was light, laced with humor. "Is that a wager I hear?"

You nodded, your smile widening. "Whoever loses has to plan the next date."

"You're on," he said, reaching for a nearby cluster of roses

(Y/N) grinned, already reaching for delicate stems and blossoms, hands working with the grace of someone familiar with nature’s gentle touch. As the two of you worked, the only sounds were the rustling leaves and the occasional giggle when a petal brushed against your skin. The warmth in the air seemed to wrap around you, encouraging the quiet laughter that filled the space beneath the oak's towering shadow.

Dream worked carefully, stripping the thorns from the roses he chose—reds for love, whites for purity, and pinks for admiration. His hands were steady, thoughtful, ensuring not a single thorn remained to mar your skin. He wove the crown with patience, the colors blending in a simple yet elegant ring of soft beauty. You watched his concentration, charmed by the way he wanted every detail to be perfect for you.

While Dream worked with precision, you worked with intention. Baby's breath for everlasting love, white carnations for pure affection, and pink carnations for gratitude, your hands wove not just flowers, but a quiet message meant only for you to know. It is a hidden message for him.

When the final stems were tucked into place, you both sat back, admiring your creations. Dream’s gaze lingered on his crown, satisfied but curious as his eyes drifted to yours. You held up your masterpiece with a proud smile, and though Dream admired the elegance of it, there was no mistaking it, you had won whereas he had to cut the thorns after wards carefully so it would not prick your head once it is placed.

He let out a dramatic sigh, a playful pout forming on his skeletal face.

"And here I thought I stood a chance" he mutters to himself.

"Looks like you'll be planning our next date," you teased, leaning closer. A giggle escaped from your lips.

Dream chuckled, though there was no bitterness in his tone, only affection. "If losing means I get to plan something special for you… then maybe I don't mind losing after all."

His fingers brushed over the crown you made, lingering as if he could sense the meaning woven into every bloom. Then, with a tender smile, he reached out and placed his own crown gently upon your head, careful as always. The roses sat softly against your hair, warm and fragrant.

"But you wear victory beautifully," he whispered.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

Nightmare Sans

Nightmare is both fascinated and frustrated by how (Y/N)'s energy contrasts with his own. Your power is vibrant and life-giving, while his is dark and corruptive. Yet, he finds himself craving your warmth, like a shadow longing for sunlight.

There’s an almost forbidden allure to their relationship. Nightmare sometimes wonders if he's corrupting you by being close, but you reassures him that even the darkest soil can nurture new life. Your and his love is proof of balance.

(Y/N) is the only one who can calm Nightmare when his corruption surges. A simple touch, a soft word, or the scent of flowers is enough to keep his darkness from consuming him entirely.

Nightmare crafts dark, thorny roses for you, a symbol of his love—dangerous but beautiful. You accept them despite even getting pricked sometimes, knowing that even thorns hold meaning, and she/he/they plant the roses where they bloom in the darkness.

There are times when Nightmare worries his power will poison their bond. But (Y/N) proves him wrong by growing plants even in the darkest parts of his realm, showing him that beauty can bloom even from corruption.

When Nightmare is consumed by negative emotions, storms often gather. (Y/N) uses their/her/his powers to calm the winds and soothe the skies, reminding him that even his storms can be tamed.

Nightmare respects your strength. Nature may seem gentle, but it is ancient and unforgiving. Their ability to control life and death fascinates him—how one moment they are soft and nurturing, and the next, fierce as a storm.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

The garden behind Nightmare's castle was a place of shadows and silence, where the moonlight struggled to pierce through the dark haze lingering over the earth. Among the twisted, thorn-laden stems stood his black roses, their velvety petals rich with a darkness that shimmered beneath the pale glow of the sky. Each bloom was dangerous, their thorns sharper than any blade, but beautiful—like obsidian carved into delicate shapes by the hands of fate.

Nightmare stood there, still and thoughtful, his glowing eyes lingering on the flowers. He wondered if they were too cruel a gift, too dangerous to be given to one as radiant as you. But there was beauty in them, a dark kind of elegance that reminded him of the strange balance between his shadows and your light. With careful hands, he reached for the stems. The thorns were merciless, biting into his skeletal fingers as he worked, but Nightmare didn’t flinch. Pain was a small price to pay for perfection.

He stripped away the sharpest edges, weaving the stems into a small bouquet. Shadows coiled around his hands, holding the roses together as if the darkness itself wished to be a part of this offering. He tied them with a single, dark ribbon and looked down at his creation—dangerous, yet softened for you. It felt fitting, this fragile, fierce beauty. Something only you could truly understand.

Satisfied, Nightmare opened a portal with a simple twist of his wrist. The dark energy hummed, pulling open the veil between his realm and yours. Stepping through, he was greeted by the quiet calm of the night. The park was cloaked in silver moonlight, the air cool and still. And there you were—waiting for him. You sat beneath a tree, eyes turned toward the star-strewn sky, your silhouette glowing softly in the night.

There was a quiet grace in you, as though the universe itself paused to admire your beauty. For a moment, Nightmare stood still, observing you with an intensity that he rarely allowed himself. You, who greeted him without fear, who accepted him even when shadows clung to his very soul. His steps were silent as he approached, the darkness curling around him like a second skin. When he stood close enough, he let his presence be known, his voice low and smooth.

" Why hello there, darling," he said, a slow grin pulling at his skeletal features.

The bouquet of black roses appeared in his hand like magic, held out for you.

"I have a little gift for you before we go," his tone was playful, but beneath it.

There was a quiet vulnerability—an unspoken hope that you would accept this shadow-touched offering.

You turned, surprise lighting up your features before your expression softened. There was no fear in your eyes, only warmth. Your fingers reached out, brushing over the dark petals with care, as though you understood the sharp beauty within them.

"Thank you," you said gently, your smile delicate but real. Carefully, you took the bouquet, cradling it like it was something precious, not dangerous.

And in that moment, Nightmare knew the truth. You were the only one who could see past the darkness, who could hold something sharp and love it regardless. His heart, hidden beneath layers of shadow and corruption, ached in the softest way.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

Reaper Sans

Their love is a delicate balance, Reaper represents death, and (Y/N) represents life. Yet, neither sees the other as an enemy. Instead, they understand that life and death are two sides of the same coin, forever entwined.

Despite their divine responsibilities, they respect each other’s roles. Reaper gently reaps the souls of withering plants and animals, while his S/O nurtures new life from the remnants, creating a cycle that neither can break nor escape.

You often visits the graveyards Reaper tends to, planting flowers and vines over the resting places of souls. It’s (Y/N) and his way of honoring life even in death, and Reaper secretly cherishes the beauty you bring to his otherwise somber realm.

(Y/N) finds comfort in the rustling of leaves, saying it's the voice of those who have passed, whispering to them. Reaper listens too, finding peace in knowing that death isn't the end, just a change.

Whenever Reaper feels overwhelmed, (Y/N) gives him seeds to plant. "So you can remember that even after endings, beginnings are waiting," she/he/they say, reminding him that his role holds hope, not just finality.

The two of you often take slow walks through graveyards, Reaper sharing stories of souls long passed, while you ensures every grave is adorned with a bloom. Together, the two of you honor the dead in both your own quiet, respectful way.

You often leave him little flower arrangements, each with a secret meaning. Reaper learns their language, recognizing when a sprig of rosemary means remembrance, or lavender means peace.

Reaper built a small sanctuary in his realm, a garden where (Y/N) could visit, untouched by decay. It became both of your secret haven, a place where love and life could thrive in his world of endings.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

The sanctuary stood quiet, bathed in the soft golden light of the afternoon. Reaper paused at its entrance, his dark cloak brushing against the delicate grass beneath his feet. It was a small haven he had crafted, a place untouched by the weight of his duties. Yet, even in his absence, the space had changed. Flowers now bloomed along the edges, their vibrant colors breaking through the shadows. His gaze lingered on one in particular—honeysuckle.

The meaning was not lost on him. Bonds of love, it whispered, as though nature itself acknowledged the connection between them. A small, solemn smile tugged at his lips. Despite the divide between life and death, their love had rooted itself, blooming quietly like the flowers that surrounded him.

And there you were, seated at the simple wooden table beneath the outstretched branches of a tree he had planted. The sunlight caught in your hair, a soft glow surrounding you like a halo. In the center of the table sat a small box of teas and a pair of insulated bottles, steam curling lazily from the spouts. The scent of herbs drifted in the air, mingling with the sweetness of the nearby blossoms. You looked up, eyes lighting up as Reaper approached. There was no fear in your gaze, only warmth.

Reaper's steps were soundless as he crossed the threshold, dark robes trailing behind him like the whispers of forgotten souls. He lowered his hood, letting the sunlight touch the pale bone of his skull, and offered you a soft smile.

"Hello, sweetheart," he greeted, his voice low but warm.

"I brought something for you." His eyes, dark as obsidian, glimmered with a rare tenderness.

You tilted your head, curiosity brightening your features.

"What is it, Reaper?" you asked, your tone as light and sweet as the honeysuckle that framed the sanctuary.

Your hands were already reaching, ready to accept whatever gift he offered, no matter how strange or shadowed it might be.

From beneath his cloak, Reaper withdrew a small, delicate tree. Its leaves shimmered like silver in the soft light, and its branches cradled fruits unlike any other—apples split down the middle, one side black as night, the other pale as moonlight.

It was simple, yet ancient, holding a quiet power that hummed in the air. He placed it on the table between you, his fingers lingering for a moment on the fragile trunk.

"A Tree of Life," he said softly, as though speaking the words too loudly would break the moment.

"When I'm busy, when I cannot be here… let this remind you that I will never truly leave you." His eyes lifted to meet yours, and there was something raw in them—something soft, and painfully human.

You reached out, your fingers brushing the smooth bark with a reverent touch.

"It's beautiful," you whispered, voice laced with emotion.

Your gaze lingered on the black and white fruit, a symbol of balance, of life and death entwined in harmony.

"And so are you, Reaper," your words were simple, but they struck deeper than any blade.

And though Reaper had known centuries of silence, centuries of endings, it was this, your soundless-veil love.

Ⰶ║ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ ⵈ║Ⰶ

❀

#undertale au #undertale alternate universe #undertale multiverse #undertale imagines #undertale scenarios #undertale headcanons #dream sans #dream sans x reader #dreamtale au #dream sans headcanons #nightmare sans #nightmare sans x reader #nightmare x reader #reapertale #reaper sans #reaper x reader #reaper sans headcanons #nightmare sans headcanon

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gloomwitchwrites · 24 days ago

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wip wednesday

please enjoy a little snippet of chapter five of Second Act mdni

“We had a deal. I lost. You won. Promised you three days.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Your nail catches, and you drop your hand. “If It gets you out of my system,” you murmur. “If it gets me out of yours.”

Simon swirls the amber liquid. “Just me?” he questions, taking a sip. “Not the four of us?”

“I made the deal with you.”

Simon takes a step forward. Another. The glass clinks against the marble as Simon sets it down. “It was never just me. Only us. You forget that we were three more?”

Your voice is a ghost. “No. I haven’t forgotten.”

“Saw Kyle talking to you. At the bar.”

“And?”

“What did he say?”

You glance up at Simon, frowning. “Is that any of your business?” you snap.

The corner of Simon’s mouth twitches. “You’re mine for three days. You do as I say when I say it. Now, I asked you a question.”

You lick your lips, tapping your index finger against the countertop in agitation. “He said that making a deal with you means I made a deal with all of you.”

Simon places his hands on the edge of the countertop, staring at you intently across the kitchen island. “You believe that?”

You push off, giving Simon your back as you head for the safety of the living room. It’s further, but not far enough. Simon is far too close, and thought it’s been years, parts of you sing for me like you’ve never been apart. This knowledge is a vice around your heart that sinks down into your stomach.

“Given the past,” you murmur, “I believe him.”

As you glance over your shoulder, Simon is right there, lingering, head dipped toward you. You cannot discern the expression on his face. There isn’t any reason to care, to venture forth into once was, but you don’t care for the defeated—nearly warring hesitation in Simon’s eyes. Years apart, yet you’re looking into a mirror, witnesses the past as present.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” you observe, a small smile on your face.

“What’s funny?” rasps Simon, stepping closer, his broad chest brushing against your upper arm.

Your breath quickens, a warmth blooming low in your core. His fingers lightly dance over your lower back, finding your hip, stirring that warmth until it becomes heat.

“How we’ve come to find each other again.”

Simon hums. “You were always meant for us, love.”

But you don’t know, Simon. You don’t know why I fled.

You attempt to step away from him, to create some distance, but Simon refuses this momentum.

“Come here,” he growls, hooking his arm around you, dragging you against him.

Your breasts flatten against his chest, hips and thighs grinding together. Instinct takes over, seizing your muscles. It’s a tug. A grasp. Fingers threading behind Simon’s neck. Bodies sealed together. You gasp, and Simon’s hands palm your ass. Squeezing. Squeezing.

“You want to fuck,” he states as if there’s no arguing with him. “Don’t you?”

Your pussy flutters. Clenches. “No.”

“Liar,” he drawls, bringing his lips in close, teasing your skin with the promise of a kiss. “Wouldn’t accept my wager otherwise.”

His grip tightens, and Simon grinds himself against you. Hardness greets you, and there is no denying the erection beneath the denim. Not that what he’s packing is a mystery. For four months, you took his cock…and Johnny’s. Kyle’s. John’s. Sometimes one at a time. Sometimes all at once. The memory of being tangled between them, having every hole filled, your clit teased, mouth full, skin painted with cum, makes you whimper against Simon’s lips.

no pressure tags: @clancycatears @lay-z @ladykelsi @voltac @theorist-fox @frudoo

#my wips #wip wednesday #simon riley #simon ghost riley #second act

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aventurineswife · 5 months ago

Note

Hihi!!! Recently found your blog and I am in love with your writing!!! I'd like to request Aventurine (of course <3), Boothill, and Sunday with a scenario with non sexual nudity/intimacy? The softness and sensuality with nothing explicit... It's been on my brain and it keeps getting me all fuzzy and soft! Have a very nice week before Christmas! 💚

Unmasked in the Silence

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Boothill x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Vulnerability, Intimacy, Quiet Moments, Emotional Healing, Fluff, Tenderness, Light Angst, Lovers in Solitude.

Warnings: References to past trauma (implied but not detailed), Mentions of physical injuries/scars, Themes of emotional vulnerability and healing.

A/N: I'm a sucker for these types of love...🤧 (Man it sucks being an aroace but not at the same time lmaoo)

The rain pattered softly against the windowpane, the muted grey outside a rare contrast to Aventurine’s usually vibrant surroundings. Inside the lavish hotel suite, it was unusually quiet—no clink of glasses, no playful banter, no games of chance being set up. Just the faint hum of the city far below and the breaths of two people who knew how to fill silence with meaning.

Aventurine sat at the edge of the massive bed, his shirt unbuttoned and hanging loosely off his shoulders, a rare break in his carefully curated appearance. The fur-trimmed overcoat was draped over a nearby chair, roulette details peeking from where it folded. He absently traced his thumb along his choker as though it grounded him while his lover, you, carefully ran a warm cloth over his bare back.

“This is uncharacteristically quiet for you,” you murmured, dipping the cloth back into the bowl. “Are you feeling alright?”

Aventurine chuckled under his breath, the sound soft but familiar. “You wound me. Must I always play the jester?”

“No, but it suits you.”

You saw the way his shoulders relaxed under your touch as you pressed the cloth to a fading bruise on his side—a price for a “calculated” gamble that had gone a little south. Aventurine’s skin, though untouched by time’s cruelty, carried its share of scars. You wondered how many of them came from real battles and how many from metaphorical ones—lost gambits, betrayals, self-inflicted wounds.

He tilted his head just slightly, his earrings catching the soft lamplight, and his eyes—exotic, piercing—found yours in the reflection of the mirror ahead. That smile, the mask, was there. It always was. Yet tonight, under the softness of the room’s quiet intimacy, it didn’t look as though he was hiding something. Rather, it felt like a reassurance.

“Is this what it takes for me to earn your care?” he teased, voice quieter now. “A few scrapes and a bruised ego?”

You smirked. “I’d argue it’s the other way around. I finally caught you sitting still.”

He laughed again, the sound more genuine this time, shoulders shaking under your fingertips. As he stilled, Aventurine let the shirt slide down entirely, pooling around his wrists. You marveled at how even his bare presence—unadorned by gold, fur, and theatrics—still exuded the confidence of someone who’d wagered and won countless times over.

When you moved to put the cloth away, Aventurine caught your hand, pulling you gently toward him. It wasn’t forceful or calculated, but an instinctual gesture. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you stood between his knees, the damp cloth forgotten. His head fell lightly against your stomach, his breath warm.

“I don’t deserve this quiet,” he murmured, voice soft, almost too soft to catch.

You ran your fingers through his hair, feeling the tension seep from him bit by bit. “You deserve more than you think, Aventurine. And I’m not letting you gamble that away.”

For once, he didn’t respond with wit or a charming quip. Instead, his hands settled around your waist, holding you close as the rain outside continued its steady, unrelenting rhythm.

The gambler, the strategist, the man of masks—unadorned and at rest.

Boothill rarely allowed anyone to see him vulnerable—his mechanical body was, after all, a testament to his unyielding strength and need to survive. But tonight was different.

The rainstorm had caught you both outside the metal ruins of a settlement, now nothing but skeleton buildings and discarded memories. You found shelter under a corroded overhang, where Boothill leaned back against the wall, letting the rain run down the brim of his hat.

“Figures,” he muttered, pulling his tattered red scarf from around his neck. Droplets ran over the sharp lines of his jaw and the exposed seams of his mechanical torso, the metal gleaming faintly against the dark.

“You’ll rust,” you teased lightly, moving closer as you wrung out your coat.

He snorted, shark-like teeth flashing in a grin. “I’m tougher than that, darlin’.”

Still, as you reached for his hat, he let you remove it, his hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes—watched you intently, curious as to what you’d do next. You pressed your palm lightly to his exposed chest where metal met skin, feeling the faint hum of energy that powered him.

“You’re cold.”

“Cyborgs don’t feel much,” he replied, though the way he stilled under your touch said otherwise.

Without another word, you shrugged off the rest of your damp coat, pressing your body lightly against his. Boothill didn’t move at first, caught off-guard, but you felt the way his hand eventually slid up your back, holding you there as though you were an anchor in the storm.

“Guess I owe you one,” he muttered, his voice gruff but quieter now.

“You owe me nothing,” you replied, resting your head against his shoulder.

For a long while, you stayed like that, the rain a soft symphony around you as it blurred the edges of the world. Boothill’s mechanical parts may have made him something more than human, but tonight, against the storm, he felt grounded—real, warm, and alive.

The air aboard the Astral Express was calm tonight, the hum of the engine a soothing background lullaby. Sunday sat at the edge of the bed, his long coat and gloves neatly folded nearby. His silver wings stretched behind him, soft feathers catching the faint light spilling through the window.

You stood before him, hands carefully brushing along his shoulders as you coaxed his wings to relax. Sunday rarely let anyone close enough to touch them—symbols of his heritage, his burdens—but tonight was different.

“You don’t have to be so careful,” he whispered, his voice as soft as the twilight itself.

“I know,” you replied, though your movements remained gentle, reverent.

Sunday’s halo flickered faintly behind his head, golden light pulsing in time with his slow, measured breaths. He tilted his head downward, silver hair cascading around his face like a veil. His bare skin—smooth and unblemished, almost otherworldly—felt warm beneath your touch.

“You don’t often let yourself be seen like this,” you murmured, kneeling before him and resting your head against his chest.

Sunday’s wings shifted slightly, curving inward to encircle your head. “I’ve spent so long hiding,” he admitted quietly, his voice carrying a weight of centuries. “Hiding my doubts, my fears—myself.”

“You don’t have to hide with me,” you said.

For a moment, Sunday was silent. Then, slowly, he lifted a hand to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair with aching tenderness. His wings trembled faintly as they settled fully around you, the feathers brushing your skin like whispers.

“This… is terrifying,” he admitted softly. “To be seen like this, to feel this.”

“It’s just us,” you reminded him, your voice steady. “Nothing else matters.”

Sunday sighed, a sound of quiet surrender. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours, his golden halo flickering softly in response.

“You are relentless in your kindness,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “And I am endlessly grateful.”

The two of you remained like that—encircled by his wings, by warmth and silence—sharing a closeness that words could never fully capture. For once, Sunday allowed himself to exist in the moment, unburdened by the weight of the past or the uncertainty of the future.

In your arms, Sunday could simply be.

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 1 year ago

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Yandere Illumi Zoldyck Headcannon Pt. I

Illumi is the type to be so unfamiliar with a simple crush he thinks he’s bewitched when he keeps thinking of you

So when he diverts from his trip home after a successful job it's completely logical

He’s just trying to release himself from this hex

He might even recruit Hisoka

he’s so sure of it

Whether you’re hanging around Killua and Gon or just hanging out in a city where he was working he makes his way to you

With tons of plans up his sleeves, he goes in

Only to freeze on the spot when you look him in his eyes

“Uhm can I help you?”

“....”

Hisoka’s intervention is the only thing that will save him

Physically shaking the man’s gaze is the only way he starts functioning again

Hisoka will have a good laugh

But his family wouldn’t

Whether it's a worldwide disaster that brings the heads of the Zoldyck family together and you're a fighter

or just investigating on their own they’ll bear witness to it

The way you arrive on the scene and Illumi.exe just stops workin

Of course, you don’t notice that the assassin is just wigging out because you’re (inadvertently) talking to him

When they do realize you’re not putting him under some spell

And he’s just weird

They encourage him to just have you take you if necessary

Whether that’s abducting civilian-you or trying to defeat you on a wager to marry him

All that advice goes out the window because he can’t even talk to you

He doesn’t know the embarrassment

He doesn’t know butterflies in the stomach

Not until you

You suddenly become this onus that baffles him in every which way

Whether you’re strong enough and aware enough to confront him

Or have little to no use of nen and have no idea who he is

He won’t be able to do anything until he’s able to handle you

But why would he ever

He loves you

Even if you’re making him seem like some incompetent lobotomite

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere illumi #yandere illumi zoldyck #yandere illumi x reader #yandere illumi zoldyck x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hunterxhunter #yandere hxh #yandere hxh x reader #yandere hunter x hunter x reader

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housemdork · 1 month ago

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house md rewatch: 1x15, "mob rules"

gay mafia! and not much else to report!

i've remembered this one not because i find it super, super compelling, but because house's exchange with the patient's brother is so funny: "what can cause high estrogen levels?" "estrogen." also, i will be complaining about cameron and house in this one, so if that's not for you, that's just a heads-up!

the mapping of the mafia onto vogler and how he's blackmailing house into conforming is...fine. but it's more interesting - and more insane lol - if we speculate about what house's big secret, equivalent to the mobster being gay, could be. vicodin never comes up this episode, but i'd wager, if this is a subliminal parallel, then that would be it. that's kind of hilarious. queering vicodin (grad school brain activated).

we've also begun the domino-line of who will fall victim to house vs. vogler. foreman is up first as house tries to bump him off the case to give the impression that he's dealing with the supposed dissent in his department. this obviously doesn't go anywhere, but he notably takes it for granted that foreman would stand for such a thing.

cuddy, meanwhile, has her job repeatedly threatened by vogler if she continues to cover for house, which she does. very nobly. and she also makes the first of a very long line of damning statements about house: "he can change." for first-time viewers, house has given no inkling that he can or even wants to; long-time viewers know that this will persist as an endemic problem (cue me getting dragged off stage because i could bring up the series finale here if i tried hard enough).

much later, once the case of the week has been solved (and after wilson has tipped off house to how poorly cuddy is being treated on his behalf), he pays her a visit, where he is certain that "you fought for me, right?"

"to a point" is her response, before giving house 2 conditions (off screen, for added drama, ofc): add some extra clinic hours and fire one of the ducklings. cuddy's "point" has met vogler's profit-first mentality by force; it's nothing short of miraculous that she's talked vogler down from shutting down diagnostics entirely.

that "point" is an exciting thread, however, that will be tugged at till the season finale - i say facetiously because i know what wilson's end point is and it's Such A Good Part Of The Season.

and, guys, house/cameron is bringing me down. during my first watch, i was busy taking everything in, but now that i have some space in my head to digest more thoroughly, it's really distracting. cameron was so hung up last episode on making sure people respected her medical opinion in spite of them not liking her and/or just finding her pretty...only to indulge that exactly in this episode.

i don't care if that reversal/devolution is intentional! if that's the irony, then ick! house pokes fun at her, challenges her because that's becoming their thing, but it just falls flat for me. and i like foreman's teasing (ofc they are friends, contrary to what he claims in later season); "how's your tummy?" made me laugh. but overall, it's just disappointing. chase, please get in there.

but nope! chase is too busy prodigal son-ing it up! absolute dog water attempts at lying abound. and he was definitely giving kid who's trying to talk down their dad from being mad at them. i love this picture.

honestly, i think the only non A-plot moment that was exciting to me was when house and wilson actually permeated the hospital walls! the scenes were brief, but i'm very attached to their bonding via road trips and how vehicles become symbolic of freedom for them both, in different ways. plus, wilson looks absolutely and infuriatingly gorgeous:

and, finally, apart from the fact that the episode's medical plot revolves around a mobster entering the witness protection program so he can be his real self aware from his known life, and his brother coming to terms with that at the final hour, the only gay thing i could squeeze out of this one was about the estrogen diagnosis. house refers to it as the "male flare." flare makes me think of red.

if vogler is the hospital mafia, and the real mafia is gay, then i get to be crazy on tumblr dot com.

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noxturnalmoth · 7 months ago

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What Could Have Been

Summary: Silco, the Eye of Zaun, the Industrialist, was first and foremost a son of Zaun who wanted his motherland free. After an altercation in which his adopted daughter shot him in a fit of rage, he is left dying while the world goes on without him. His life's work and ideals soon trampled to nothing as his memory fades from the world. But what if he was saved?

Warnings: Canon violence

Word Count: 8,744

Masterlist: here

Chapter 3 - From Ruins

It was hard for Silco to not fidget and be uncomfortable at the prospect of letting his daughter and his old life go, it was understandable for the man who tried desperately to have it all to let go of all that he built. Of the one whom he loved. And he was cold, trying to find his way in the dark, walking way ahead of you so the light of your waning candle can't illuminate his way. In a way it was commendable, his determination in healing and rebuilding on his own, but it was also way too reminiscent of your own refusals at each and every proposals for help. You two were two sides of the same coins, one frigid and sharp, the other searing yet soft, and no matter how clipped his words could be the understanding you had of him only grew, and so did the care. At first it had been because he was a Zaunite, but as he shared your life it came to be because you genuinely wanted him to finally own something, build something, that would remain. Something that'd make him happy. Because underneath the wit, the short sentences, the cold shoulder, the narrowed eyes, the tense face and the semi permanent snarl, you could see a glimpse of the man he could be.

It was always for simple things like dinner ready for you after work, your appartment cleaned in your absence, a glass of alcohol and a cigarette set on the table on longer days, and when you woke up in the mornings your body was always covered in a blanket. You didn't know whether it was to appologize for his words and behavior, to show he did want to change or out of gratitude for you respecting his boundaries and saving him, but you'd wager it was a little bit of everything. So in kind, you'd take time to get his shimmer when it ran out, made him breakfast, always were patient when you saw him struggling with kindness, and always respected his need for a certain distance unless he approached you first. It was a song and dance you were used to in a way, most of the Undercity were hurt and fearful, and befriending any of them could prove complex, it was something you even did with yourself. Struggling to be kind, to rest, to respect and even appreciate yourself was a sad truth you had to live on the daily although you were more than happy to give that treatment to others, Silco struggled with both and so the dance was that much slower. More like careful steps approaching a small animal that a waltz.

But as the second month of his presence in your life passed, as his body was done healing, you found yourself not minding the pace. You didn't know whether you could earn his friendship or not, yet you knew that he was warming up to you from how he came downstairs to eat with you in the mornings and evenings instead of eating alone, because his voice echoed more often from within your quaint home. No matter if his tone was the same no nonsense drawl, he spoke more and it's all that mattered. But you could see that he was getting antsy, the books you had in your bookshelf almost all read, the appartment cleaned all too often and you found him switching from the armchairs to the couch, the kitchen, the bed and pace himself into the floor. So you decided that since he wished to stay you could introduce him to a more productive way to spend his days.

"Silco, I was thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself." His rumbling words make you scoff.

"Very funny mister One Eyed Wonder. Anyways, I've noticed you were going a bit stir crazy, so I was wondering if you'd like to come to work with me. An extra pair of hands would be more than welcome."

And it was true, having to prepare everything in advance all the time yet still have to move to get the necessary materials as you soldered, chiselled, hammered, smelted and more, was time consuming along with the deliveries and taking care of the counter. You knew about Silco being an ex miner from words on the streets as a child, describing the leaders of a new revolutionary movement as "diggers", yet one of them being as thin as a sheet of aluminum. As the movement grew and so did its influence, Silco was no longer seen as a "dirty little thing" but as a stubborn, determined, infinitely clever, agile, fast and deceptively strong man, using his body frame to overtake any enemy undermining him. You guessed that he should have retained a bit of his strength, if not from his past, to keep himself ready for a fight that could happen at any moment.

"And what would you have me do exactly?"

"Take orders, help me deliver them, look at the ledgers, it would help me to have all of my focus on smithing and i'd be able to make stuff quicker and better. At least consider it, it would do you good to get out of here and do something."

"You'd have me work with people? You do know that if anyone of my previous..." He pauses. " ...collegues..." The word is said with bitter disdain. "Discovers I'm here, they'll come to wreak havoc."

That was indeed a possibility, the Chem Barons sniffing his trail from a whisper in the street and coming to get him, for good this time. But if that happened you knew that their goons would have nothing against you, barely trained buffoons with an empty brain the lot of them, that much you knew from fighting them. And Zaunite pride, thank Janna for it, would prevent them from trying anything like mercenaries for someone like Silco. Because although he had lost his empire, he was still more astute and way more intelligent than them, and he was still strong, that much was guessed from his grabs on your throat and hands when he had first woken up, and that had been when he was at his weakest so you couldn't fathom your strength now. Plus your little hole in the wall community was loyal beyond expectation, you knew that they'd understand and welcome him if he pulled his weight.

"I know, but I also know that they'd still be too scared of you even after your fall from grace." You reach inside your pocket and pull an eyepatch, a leather triangle doubled with some soft fabric on the inside while one long string escaped its upper right side and the bottom angle to be tied around his head. "I'm no seamstress but I made you this at work during lunch"

He hums in surprise, this teal eye growing darker as his lid falls to cover half of it. He inspects it, hands brushing the leather and strings, caressing the inside of the eyepatch and bending the item to test its durability.

"Do you think me that unsightly?" His voice clips.

"No. I'm just scared the heat and fumes would make your eye hurt. I know you kept your eye out as a symbol and a method of intimidation but you have no need for it anymore, you can prioritise comfort over your façade Silco."

You sigh and lean yourself on your elbows and smile a little bit with a tilt of your head.

"Plus the eyepatch would make you look rugged in my opinion." You huff out a laugh. "Beware the tall blacksmith's assistant, they say if you take away the leather covering him, his gaze will steal your soul." You muse teasingly while wiggling your fingers, your first attempt at such a quip leaving you slightly nervous at how he would take it.

But instead of the scraping of the chair and his retreating form upstairs like you expected, you see silco put on the eyepatch, a scoff shaking his chest. And after properly tying the knot behind his face, he slides a hand through the crown of his head, placing strands that had fallen out of their usual slick back in their original place.

"Maybe so. But the grey flesh would still scare people away."

"I don't think so. Everyone's got scars here Silco, no matter how they look or if they're visible at all." You reassure softly, smile growing at seeing him don your contraption. "Plus makeup would melt in the heat, trust me I've tried. It would look patchy and horrible after a good half hour."

He nods, his hand brushing through his hair again. His good eye narrowing once more in thought. His old clothes had been discarded, the blood ruining them, he was wearing some clothes you that had been given by your landlord, his oldest son growing much taller than this before he moved out. They were simple and classic Zaunite fashion. High waisted black cargo pants with a thigh harness on his right leg, combat boots, a cropped maroon turtleneck sweater that missed its left sleeve and showed part of his stomach, a fingerless glove covering the rest of his arm up until half way through the bicep. The covered arm also harboring a fingerless glove yet only wrist high, his chest adorned with a harness that surrounded his ribs and upper stomach in two belts with a strap on each side stretched vertically to reach the lower belt behind him, passing through the upper one. He had a cropped leather jacket draped over the back of the chair he sat in, it closed with belts and the collar was a similar maroon to his shirt. All in all, he looked less like a Piltovan like before and more like a classic Zaunite, if anything the new clothes fit him even more, made him look younger. It was as if you had gotten a glimpse of Silco's younger self without needing to look into the past. Dark hair peppering with streaks of silver at the temples and a few on the crown of his head, the eyepatch hiding the fire and ash of his left eye, the few wrinkles, his eyebags and the marred side of his face in a discolored, fleshy gray were the only clue of his age being any different.

And they looked good on him if you said so yourself. And so you did.

"You don't look half bad for an old grump." At least in a way that wouldn't feel like pity or a slight to him.

"You're one to talk, you reek of sweat and look like a drowned Sump rat." You chuckle at that and tilt your head "touché" escaping your lips to agree with the man, but you feel your technique has worked. His shoulders were a little more relaxed, a little taller, as he crossed his legs, a cigarette now held between his lips as he slid the packet to you.

"So when would you have me come in?"

"When do you want to come?"

He hums pensively, lighter flicking to let the flame nip at the end of the cylinder held in his mouth, a deep inhale following as you take a cigarette of your own and light it aswell.

"Tomorrow?"

"It works for me." You exhale, a ring of smoke floating above you as you tilt your head back. "Thanks for the meal by the way."

He didn't seem like he ate much, but after two months together you realized that he probably didn't have much time for it aswell as sleep, and the meals and rest he got here were the best he had gotten in years. His natural coldness melting down to a simple façade and letting you think about the wonders of a stressless life. Now your own was not stress free at all, so many hurdles with orders, missing materials, broken equipment, plus the deliveries, rent, and people always asking for you to fix things at their homes and prices for materials always climbing. But you know that Silco had the weight of the entire city of Zaun on his back as the leader of the Chem Barons, but also of his own territory, and shimmer creation and export, aswell as god knows how many other schemes along with the constant target on his back and a child. He probably hadn't known a real meal or night of sleep since forever, and you're glad that the metaphorical new him indulged in those, enjoying larger meals and longer nights. And you don't know how or why, but he cooked pretty well for a cantankerous old man, but then again he did have a daughter. Which made you smile at the thought of him preparing meals for a small blue haired girl, the kid sitting near him and talking his ear off or humming as he cooked.

"What are you smiling about, pet?"

"Ew. Never call me that again." You make a face and snort out a laugh. "And nothing, just happy you're less of a grouchy fossil."

"I'll choke you in your sleep."

"That's underhanded." You lean forward on the table, eyes gleaming. "Coward."

"Pissant."

You act offended and look at his narrowed eye, shining in something you could almost call mirth. "I thought you were a gentleman!"

"We've both established that man is gone. Plus I'm just calling it how I see it." His lips stretch from their usual natural sneer, a small cocky smirk adorning his face. "You're a pissant, so I call you as such. What else should I refer you as?"

"Your hero, your knight in shining armor, the Sump queen..." You list jokingly and he rolls his eye, legs uncrossing as he stubs out his cigarette before he stands up, sauntering to the stairs as he always does when he goes to rest. "Night, Silco."

He hums back, a hand lifts in a lazy wave as he climbs up the stairs and you roll your shoulders, lazily smoking the remnant of your own tobacco, the taste and smell relaxing you. The rest of the night is a blur then, a shower, and throwing yourself on your couch, your back groaning aswell as the furniture, two months in a row of this sleeping arrangement was wrecking your back but the man did deserve rest. A revolutionary from his teens to his...how old even was he? "Maybe I'll ask him one day" you think to yourself, curling up on your side away from the window. You disliked sleep, you wished you didn't, but your nights were always filled with the smell, taste and sight of blood, the loud cheering, the monochrome colors cut by splatters of red. Your head was your own personal hell, custom made to welcome you in your sleep or whenever silence struck you, your mind slipping down the slippery slope. It was always an experience, falling asleep. Your apprehension kept you from sleeping, nerves thrumming with stress and fear yet your body sinking into whatever it was you were sleeping on because of exhaustion. Yet you needed to sleep, and you did, only a handful of hours, no more than five each night since as long as you could remember. You take a deep breath, sending the thoughts away, eyes now screwed shut to try to fall asleep as soon as you can.

Faces flashing with cockiness, then fear, then horror, then nothing if a face was left at all, hands raw and stained with blood, your own or theirs you didn't know anymore, everybody looked the same on the inside after all. But sometimes you wondered if you did, or if a void was left behind, maybe everything was rotten? It would explain why you were such a mess inside. A sigh racks through you as you try to empty your mind again. Tomorrow you would bring Silco to the shop and he would help, that was something to look forward to. It meant there would be less silence, and more clients if you two worked well enough. It also meant Silco would be back out in the world, and maybe in danger, although you want to hope it wouldn't happen but you never know in Zaun. Would he like the people there? Would the people like him, forgive him for his past actions? They had taken you in, bloodied and frenzied, and gave you a home, but would they extend the same kindness to someone as infamous as him? Would they see he's trying?

As your thoughts spiral once again, you don't hear deliberate footsteps walking towards you, then there was a small sigh and warmth that ripped apart every thought swarming your head. And as silly as it was, that simple feeling, no matter what it was, brought enough calm to your mind for you to fall asleep. Later waking up with a startle, a gasp slicing through the silence like a cleaver through meat, you realize a blanket is layered on top of you, the neon lights of Zaun illuminating your living room slightly through the window alcove showing how neatly you were tucked in. You wrap the blanket around you and waddle to the kitchen, preparing coffee and taking the full pot with you to the pillowy seat nestled in the window's arch, a sort of couch that you used every morning when nightmares shook you awake. That's all you do each morning before Silco wakes up, it's all you've always done since you escaped really, forced to bear the heavy silence spurring on your thoughts, jumpstarting your spiralling as you tried and failed to keep yourself from disassociating.

"You're up early." You startle and almost punch Silco

"I always am." You sigh, looking one last time to the neon lit city and its claustrophobic rocky walls and ceiling before staring at the man behind you, turning as you do. "Coffee?" You point to the pot sitting with you in the alcove and he nods, leaving for the kitchen and coming back with a mug in hand. The same one he's been using since you two got into your new rhythm of life, which was about to change again today.

"Do you get any sleep at all?" He asks, nodding in thanks at his now full cup, your legs curling under me so he can sit down, you shrug, your heavy eyes finding his teal one, still covered in the eyepatch.

"Slept with it?"

"Yes, it's quite comfortable and it gives me more peace of mind knowing I won't scratch my eye with the pillow or sheets in my sleep."

You sigh in understanding. "I should've made it a long time ago then. Sorry Silco."

He hums, hand softly flicking the air in a lazy "don't worry" wave. He looks outside, his eye softening just a moment before he takes a sip of lukewarm coffee, sitting up and walking to the kitchen to get started on breakfast. You look at him confused, breakfast was usually the meal you prepared but he seemed almost adamant to make it as you shuffle to the kitchen.

"Silco, just go sit, breakfast's my turn."

"Not anymore. Go get ready, you look nothing short of dreary."

"Ouch." You mumble, bringing the blanket closer you you and narrowing your eyes at him before shuffling upstairs, changing into your clothes for the day, discarding your pyjamas in the bathroom as you brush your hair and splash some cold water on your face. Breakfast was ready by the time you came back to the living room, folding the blanket to put it over one of your armchairs before walking to the kitchen. Breakfast went by quickly and soon you were walking to the shop with Silco in tow, the man observing the houses, shops and alleys you passed, the few rare people out at that time nodding their greetings at you two, eyes narrowing inquisitively at Silco. You explain that you waking up this early was almost a blessing in your job, it left you time to get the hearth to the right temperature and check your tools and material in peace before the clients arrived. He quickly followed your orders, making lists of everything you pointed towards, carrying boxes back and forth in the shop, forge and in the back.

When the clock struck 8 a.m you opened the metallic blinds outside and flipped the little "open" sign, getting immediately back to work and working with metal and flames to create strong tools and appliances, fixing broken parts and objects. With Silco at the front you had to yell over the top of your incessant tinkering to explain that he was your new assistant, the man introducing himself politely to everyone in flurries of progressively more annoyed words.

"Good day sir/ma'am, I'm Silco. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Everytime the question of who he was resounded again you couldn't help but giggle at the tensing of his body before he took a deep breath and introduced himself yet again, the man glaring at you before going back to taking orders. You left him in the shop to buy your lunch, letting him get some alone time after a busy morning.

"You're a madwoman. Genuinely. Silco? I thought you were more clever than that." These words were repeated to you in every way, shape and form as you walked to your favourite stall while surrounded by a group of people, and sighing you turn to Oleg, a miner working in the deepest recesses of the fissures.

"Listen, I know it seems like a bad idea but he was a dying man, I saved him and told him that since he lost everything he might as well do something better of his life. And he is doing just that, so I don't get why you're getting on my case when all of you have done the same to me." The little crowd of clients following you stopped as you glare in their direction. You know it was somewhat different for Silco, yet it was the same. The only thing separating you was the fame you harbored when you started your new life. "You saw a girl with blood and flesh clinging to her hands like seafoam to the shore and you took her in with open arms. I'm not asking you to trust him immediately, it would be hypocritical knowing how infamous he was, but by Janna give him a chance like you did for me! He was who he was but he lost it all, he is the Eye of Zaun no more, he's just Silco and he's a Zaunite like all of us."

Your hand rakes through your hair as you expell out a sigh, your words ringing through the now silent street. Your steps taking you away from the group as sound found its way back little by little, people nodding at you but what you saw wasn't a greeting, it was the subtle sign of respect accorded from one trencher to another when they did something right by the book. It was a symbol that had you preening as you went back to the shop with a warm bag in hand hanging from the crook of your elbow.

The bell rang as you entered, walking towards the back where Silco was, leaning his elbows on the table as he sat on a chair, one hand holding his hand up as his eyes looked over your ledger, his eyepatch discarded on the side.

"Food's here." His eyes drag lazily to you before closing the book, straightening up on his seat while you get to your own, placing the hot meal on the table. "How did the morning go, are you holding up alright?"

"It's more...social, than I'm used to." He sighs and thanks you for the meal, taking a couple of bites before his eyes drag back to you and his good eyebrow raises.

"Are you?" He must be referring to your thrumming body, shaken by your swiftly bouncing leg. "Sorry" is uttered softly and he shakes his head in dismissal.

"I'm f-" His eyes narrow and you huff, shovelling some food in your mouth to calm down, taking your time to chew. "Alright, alright don't get on my ass. Janna. Just a few people buzzing around me uncomfortably as I went to the market."

"It was about me wasn't it." His voice was softer, his eyes looking at you invitingly, coaxing an answer out of you as you nod. He looks to the side, his bites getting slower as he thinks. "If it's too much of a hass-"

"Shut it." His face snaps to you as if you'd slap him, face confused and nearly offended. "You're not a hassle Silco, I've made that clear. They've taken me in, of all people, so you shouldn't be that big of a deal either, infamous or not." Is mumbled before you knock back your drink, finishing the rest of your meal. "You're doing your best, that's all I'm asking. And if it ain't enough for them, then they'll have to wait. End of story."

He huffs, the closest thing you could get to a laugh from him as his eyes glimmer in the neon light, the teal ice melting and the orange flames flickering when he looked at you. A small smile grew on your face and your shoulders slumped after a deep breath, your eyes enough to tell Silco that it'd all be alright.

"We both knew people wouldn't necessarily accept you, I gave them a push towards the right way and now they're gonna have to see the truth for what it is. What use is there to dig a deeper grave for a dead man?" You add as you retrieve the containers, throwing them in the trash before washing your hands.

"And you'd let them think you a bad person just because you've taken me in? For as long as it takes for them to accept me if they even do?" His voice calls out from behind, getting closer as he leans on the small counter next to the sink, next to you.

You hum, nodding softly while you wipe your hands. "Who says I'm a good person Silco?" You pat him on the shoulder, the contact making his body stiff from tension as you walk back to the door, flipping the sign yet again to open for the afternoon.

The rest of the afternoon was spent similarly with Silco working up front with the customers and you slaving away in the forge, quipping in whenever you could. Silco didn't look quite as bothered to introduce himself as he was this morning, and although he was tense you could only guess it was from the amount of people he talked to. Your shop provided for anyone that needed it from miners to contractors, doctors, and even children and parents. Not only from your hole in the wall but from the surrounding neighborhoods aswell, people coming from near and afar for a good service at a reasonable price, your honesty and hard work earning you a loyal clientelle. And as days passed the tense looks and whispers exchanged at Silco's presence at the register, sat down pouring over orders and ledgers, finally starting to make space for longer greetings, a few "how are you"s and weather talks before getting to business. Your week being based off of the workers' schedules Sundays and Mondays were your days off, Tuesdays to Fridays were in the shop and Saturdays were delivery days. The first one Silco was a part of was barely spent explaining at all, the man knowing the Undercity's Entresol, Fringes and Sump levels quite well from his youth, albeit you did show him a few safe enough alleyways to cut through. When you had to deliver a couple of steel toe guards to the mines he did ask to be left out, and you complied, knowing better than to shove someone back in a place with so much meaning so early on in their healing process.

Silco's help in the shop reflected in the work you did, you could focus more on your craft and thus make and fix pieces faster and better than before, the man dealing with numbers and orders quite masterfully. Saturdays were spent split apart after the second week, delivering quicker and more efficiently so you could bow out earlier. The clients whether at the shop or in their own homes began warming up to him, striking up amicable conversations in the streets and at the shop; and he warmed up to them too his voice lacking the bite it had at first, the social situations no longer bothering him and even being welcomed by him. At home the rhythm was pretty much the same, you cooked in the mornings, he did at night, you'd share a smoke and a drink and then head to sleep after a shower. But it was comfortable, almost homely, and your talks now were more than a couple of exchanged sentences like they used to be but more like full fledged, hours long conversations. And so with the responsibilities shared between the both of you, you could finally plan your little sabotages again, taking infos as you passed in the streets with your ears focused on as many conversations as you could, same in the shop although the noise you made in the forge made it harder for you to listen in.

Shimmer production had been stopped, that much you knew, yet you heard Margot stormed the warehouses and started redistributing the liquid at the highest price, capitalizing on Silco's death. You would have bet on Smeegle doing that sort of thing, but he died. After the whole fiasco, the remaining four barons had fought over who would get which share of the pie; but Renni had die on a terrorist attempt at the newly made Councilor Memorial in Piltover and Smeech was apparently killed by Jinx, if what the rumors said was true. Which left only Margot and Chross from the old regime.

Margot had apparently suffered great losses due to the grey appearing back in her HQ, but dealt with those losses quite well by balancing them with heavy profits at her brothels. Chross himself had been rather silent, you saw his men sometimes during deliveries, listening as you passed by. The man was rounding up troops to take as much of Zaun as he could before new Chem Barons could rise to the top, although it seems like a few already were making their way there.

One in particular named Renata Glasc, one of the rare Zaunites to harbor a last name. While you couldn't do much to thwart Chross, especially since his men were one of your best sources of information, you definitely could for Margot and it would definitely help you for Silco's treatment.

An injection could only dampen the pain and stop the rotting for so long before the metabolism flushed it out, a day to be exact. So you would have to look into that, while you weren't a scientist, Samira could help and in exchange for new material and tools that you could provide. The shimmer shipments would come in the last part of your plan though, as you needed to set a few things up beforehand. Margot's manpower had been divided between the losses in the gang wars, the losses due to the grey, and the remainder of her people either working or moving said shipments.

But you were only one woman, so everyday after Silco turned in for the night, you'd nurse another drink, smoke escaping your lips as you took a drag from yet another cigarette as you mulled over plans, the map of Zaun stretched before you and your unoccupied hand scribbling on a notebook. And every night you'd get little sleep, as much as when Silco was not present in your life, but you still woke up with a blanket laid on top of you while wondering how the man even did it everytime like clockwork.

You disliked having to hide it from him, priding yourself in honesty will do that to you, but you decided to keep up the lie just a bit longer as he got used to living here as his new self, refusing to burden him with your own fights. The first night you left, you had rushed through the sewer systems to listen in to a meeting, a smoke bomb covering sights as you took out each member present, taking the plans that were laid on the table.

The second night was soon after, hurrying on the roofs to interrogate a handful of women that had been very cooperative once you had mentioned ruining their faces, the bread winner in women working in the environment they did. And slowly you made Margot panic, more members placed at what she thought were important outposts, until the shimmer warehouses were a reachable goal for a "one woman army" such as yourself, leading your revolution silently against those who didn't give a care about their fellow Zaunites.

"Where are you always going so late?" Makes you tense slightly, and as you turn towards Silco's voice you see him leaning against the table and you sigh.

"Don't sneak up on me, please." A hand is ran over your face tiredly.

"I wouldn't have to if you didn't keep things from me."

He almost growls, his voice dark and so were his eyes. You knew it was because he felt betrayed, and you felt bad for lying to him, you really did. But he was a man who worked towards a revolution in his life only to have it be taken from his hands violently each time, you didn't want to worry him or bring back memories he's rather forget. It felt silly, protecting this battle hardened, intelligent veteran of a man from things that could hurt him in any way, but you couldn't help it. Just like you couldn't help yourself in trying to help Zaun in every small way you can, or even Silco by getting enough shimmer to last him longer and maybe even begin to try and find him an antidote. It was just hard to hide or to reveal because you both prized loyalty and honesty, but you also knew he would feel like you're taking pity on him and get angry whether at you or himself.

"I don't have much time for myself anymore, so I just take a walk. I can't sleep usually, so I thought that instead of being restless at home I could just tire myself out." You sit next to him. "I'm as used to this as you are Silco, but I wasn't given the time to breathe until now. Which is partly thanks to you and your hard work, thank you for that."

He tilts his head to look at you and nods, seemingly letting go of the subject. "Do you have a dagger?"

Your head turns, gaze catching his and a small smile softens your face as you shake your head and he sighs, reaching to the band on his thigh and retrieving his own.

"If you're going out, at least don't be stupid." That would be the closest to "stay safe" but you'd take it, the words dripping with much more care than you'd expect from him. But then again, in this new life of his that he is building up from ruins of his past, you were his only constant aswell as the one who saved him. Now whether he acted like this simply out of gratefulness or out of a true need to connect, you didn't know, and it was more than okay.

Weighing the dagger in your hand for a moment you pocket it with a small "thanks" and nudge Silco with your shoulder teasingly.

"I'll stay safe and sound, don't you worry. Don't sleep too late, okay?" You utter softly, beginning to walk towards the door.

"Hypocrite." He scoffs.

"Fossil." You throw back, looking over your shoulder as he scoffs, walking away from the table with a nonchalant wave as his goodnight.

And with that you were out, heading towards the warehouse where all the shimmer had been transferred, your little stunt making sure that they put all the stock in one place, the cold air of Zaun nipping at your skin as the neon lights provided ample lighting and enough shadows to hide. As you arrive you know that your preparation hasn't been in vain, there are much less goons than there should be in such an important spot. So silently you make your way around, analyzing the rounds they made, the unsuspecting women going down one by one, quickly and silently with each of your punches. Once the outside was cleared you dragged the bodies out of sight and slipped in, the inside was much more protected and it could be a problem. So you retrieve a bolt from your pocket, throwing it away from you in a blind spot that would allow you to take out some of the lackeys. Once they bite at the bait you slip between cases filled with shimmer containers and rid yourself of the handful of them.

This warehouse was not a big one, enough to accomodate what was left of Silco's shimmer stocks after stopping production and destroying part of his supply, some of the rest having been pillaged in his absence. That meant that it was easier to take the goons down but also that there weren't many hiding spots or enough space to keep yourself safe in case you got ambushed or found out. You hide between cases as another group comes in to check on their comrades and make quick work of them too. Sliding behind a handful that was posted around an exit you catch one, dragging her back in the shadows as you constrict her throat, using the alert when her collegues couldn't find her to slip behind each of them and continue your silent takeover.

No more groups were left, all the bodies now piled and hidden away in the shadows as you place small handmade bombs made of old metal sheets, nuts and bolts, and some explosives given to you by miners, around each corner. Around nine of them were now placed, the radius of one explosion being enough to detonate the ones next to it who would detonate the rest.

But as you opened a crate, ready to pocket as much shimmer as you could before you ran you heard noises. Four last group of lackeys had remained, switching after a certain amount of time with one of those which you had beaten so they could rest. The calm contentment of a job well done replaced by panicked annoyance.

The one thing you wished would not happen, happened.

The ambushers were quick to recover from the shock of seeing you and rushed to you, possibilities of escape gone as you fight your way through a horde of very angry, leather clad women. Whips were flailing you, clawed fingers dug in your skin, but you fought back with punches and kicks strong enough to break bone and bites that had your jaw aching and their blood spilling.

Your brutality was more than they could handle, using their whips to drag them to you, their sharp nails digging into their own flesh after a well place attack. But no matter how strong you were, it was one woman against two dozen and the sheer number made up for their lack of battle intelligence. The last three pinning you to the ground by the legs and shoulders as one was straddling you, beating your face black and blue, letting the torture continue.

As your vision darkens, blood filling your mouth and nose at the relentless assault, you remember the metal object in your pocket. So you act as if you were putting up a fight, fidgetting as your hand inched closer to your pocket, spotty vision getting spottier, breathing getting harder. But then your hand grazes the dagger and with a flick all was over. The woman above you choking on her blood as she held her neck, the one at your legs kicked after she releases her hold a bit out of surprise, and the one holding your shoulders stabbed in the head.

Getting up you inch closer and drop to your knees, straddling the lackey left stunned, and run the dagger in the middle of her forehead, the poor girl twitching before everything goes silent. Ripping the weapon away from were the blade was currently stuck you fell backwards, wiping it on your jacket from all the blood before shoving it back in your pocket as you took deep gulps of air.

Your vision was coming back but you knew that you looked like a mess without even seeing it, expecting bruises, hand shaped marks, claw marks and whip burns aswell as a black eye. Your nose was definitely broken, but all your teeth seemed to be intact, even through your bloodied mouth, your tongue and cheeks were chewed and needed care though, just as the rest of your body did.

So with a groan you slowly got up, deciding not to overstay in case a new group of lackeys appeared out of nowhere. Pocketing as much shimmer as possible you shove some in your coat, in your pants, even in your shoes and shirt, before pulling the pin on the center bomb. After a good twenty seconds, you are close enough to hear the first explosion and all of those that followed but far enough to not get hit, the bright burning orange turning purple from the shimmer, ground rattling at the force. Your form retreating in the shadows of alleyways as voices shouted at the noise and burst of bright light, limping out of the area as fast as you can without hurting yourself more than necessary. Although it was hard when your whole body felt like it was drowning in a vat of acid and your spine was turned into powder, you still dragged yourself home, silently yet heavily climping up the stairs, walking drunk on pain as you fumble with your keys.

You close and lock the door as softly as possible and move to the table, taking out all the shimmer vials within your clothes, dropping your coat on the chair before you drag yourself to the bathroom for a very painful yet deserved shower. Barely standing up you look at your reflection on the condensation covered mirror. "I look like death" you think scoffing before putting on your underwear you reach for your kit, the same one that had helped you keep Silco alive four months ago. And coming out of the warm bathroom you begin to drag yourself to the alcove.

"I see your walk has gone well."

"Shit."

There he was on the couch to your left, arms draped over the back of the seat, his legs crossed, the orange eye glowing angrily in the dark just like the tip of the cigarette he took drags off ever so often. You sigh, continuing your walk there, tensing in pain at each step, each breath, a wheeze escaping you as you sit in the pillowy alcove, refusing to look at or talk to Silco out of shame. And just as you opened the heavy chest to begin treating your wounds, two frigid, porcelain like hands catch your wrists. Silco sat down next to you, back to the window and began perusing through your medical material, pulling out bandages, ointment, hydrogen peroxyde and a cloth.

"Don't move." He commands, calm yet louder than thunder, dark and gravelly. He moves to the kitchen where you see him prepare a basin, and boiling water, cutting it with cold water in the basin before taking it aswell as another cloth and walking back. The cloth was wrung and as you looked at him, tilting your head in confusion, he moved it to your face. You took the hint and closed your eyes, appreciating the very hot towel's feeling on your bloated and bruised face.

"It helps with bruising, stimulates blood flow." You nod, too ashamed to voice anything. Rustling is heard and your left forearm burns, he was caring for your wounds. "You lied."

"I did." You say finally, unable to appologize as you knew you probably broke what little trust he had towards you.

"Explain everything. Do not gloss over any detail." His voice is low, grip strong against your hurt body, but you nod. Explaining everything in great detail, from how you've started your acts of rebellion up until tonight. You wanted the old Silco dead, wanted the last of his empire to crumble so he could be free. You needed the shimmer to help soothe his pain, needed to thwart any Chem baron's plan to take over Zaun after his death. Your voice growing angry and frustrated as you get into a rant.

"They're self-righteous, narcissistic, power hungry freaks that just prove to the Pilties we are what they see us as. They steal from the mouths, hands and soils of their own people for Janna's sake! It's disgusting, and it is even more so because of how profitable it is to them. They do just like Piltovan nobles, councilors and scientists do to us, and because of them we're reduced to even less than we were before. So I fight, I fight against those who betrayed us, whether it is the city of progress or our own flesh and blood."

His grip got softer as you talked, the stinging of the hydrogen peroxide soothed by the slow gentleness of his touch.

"I want Zaun to belong to the Zaunites. The ones that die for simply existing here, the ones that work their ass off to provide for their families and themselves while the sycophantic, self-absorbed, self-important monstrous Barons and Piltovans profit off of their suffering. But I'm only one woman, so I plan and I plan to create small annoyances that could or could not be great setbacks in their plans. I do that because I believe in the dream you once had, but I don't believe in the violence and manipulation you used to get to the point you were at before. So I fight like a Zaunite, I think like a Zaunite, I follow the Zaunite code and I help my people day in and day out no matter in how, no matter what. And their gratefulness is why I still fight even if things seem impossible."

You take a deep breath, shaking as tears escape your eyes from beneath the hot towel.

"Janna, I just want to be free! You leave a prison to get in a bigger and crueller one, it's not fair! And no matter how much you crawl and grovel, no matter how much you climb and fight, you always end up at the same spot because of those disgusting...fucking monsters! And it's all a goddamn game of monopoly to them as if we weren't the ones paying the price of their foolishness." Your breath is heavy, chest moving up and down in anger before the cloth is ripped from your eyes, face held between long fingers by the chin.

"And yet you still fight?" You nod, your eyes finding his and not finding them angry, it was something deeper, sadder. He was looking both at you and through you, like a ghost of the past was breathing down your neck. "And do you think what you're doing is good?"

"I told you, I'm not a good person."

"That wasn't what I asked." His grip on your chin tightens momentarily to bring you out of your spiral.

"I do what I believe is good." You sigh deeply, back relaxing against the alcove. "I know the lackeys are most likely people doing this to save themselves or their families. It doesn't feel any better to kill them, even if it gets easier. But they work for someone evil, and by proxy they do evil things, so I get rid of them. I do the same with enforcers. I know I can't save Zaun, even if I desperately wish I could. I just help provide our people respite, and that's all that matters to me."

He nods pensively, hand leaving your chin to continue wrapping you up. Dipping the towel in the hot water again before placing it on your face.

"You say you aren't a good person, but your morals are more sound than mine have been in over a decade. There is no pure good in this world, and although there is some evil most of what exists is colored in shades of grey."

His hands brush against your clavicle, a silent question. You nod and stinging begins from your chest at is ministrations.

"I had forgotten that the normalcy of these shades of grey didn't make you any more righteous. And from someone like you, I became who I am...who I was. Blinded by rage at the world against what they did to our people, and to me. Your kindness is a form of rebellion in itself in a world where many end up like me." His voice is soft, almost barely a whisper as pain surges from your stomach area, the stinging from hydrogen peroxide burning your flesh. "The people here like you, you're honest, you work hard, you're gentle. That's more than what any of us are usually given. Revolution is never done without blood, even if you feel guilty remember that, at the very least, you care for the other trenchers unless proven unworthy and never hurt an innocent."

Your fists clench and so does your jaw, lips pulled downward in a weak snear.

"You don't know that."

"Did you want to?" You shake your head, leaning backwards after because of the searing migraine crushing your head. "Were you forced to?" You hesitate, yet nod slowly, the hands wrapping up your middle tucking the bandage neatly. "Many of us end up killing at least once out of necessity. If you were forced into a cycle of violence where that necessity became a daily occurence, who can fault you for fighting for your life? You did not chose to be there, your opponents most likely did. They lost, you lived. That's all there is to it."

His hands touch your waist and twist softly, you obey his silent demand, your back now facing him.

"Where are you from?"

"The Sump." What the rough mumble you managed to let out.

"Keradon?" The name of your old handler had you grabbing your crossed legs, nodding grimly. "Were you the one who killed the poor bastard?" Another nod, one of your hand picking the towel on your face and throwing it in the basin, rubbing your face afterwards. "He organized fights to the deaths, and you were just a kid, you had no say in this. You're no monster, look behind you and you'll see what a true monster is."

You shiver, exhaustion and anguish eating away at the last of your energy as pain rattled your body, delicately manipulated in Silco's hands.

"You did good tonight. Just like it seems you've done good in the past decade. You're strong, and what you do is good, but do not play the hero."

"You were one, once."

"We both know that time has passed long ago." The last of your wounds are covered and cared for and after feeling a shift behind you, you're suddenly lifted, the blanket from your armchair wrapped around you as Silco carries you up the stairs. Careful as he places you on the bed, he goes to leave afterwards before your hands grab at his, his teal eye widening in confusion as his eyebrow furrows.

"Not to me."

His head tilts in question, his body coming to sit next to your laying form.

"I think you're still a hero." Your eyes find his, blurry gaze drowned in teal currents before being consumed by orange flames as you smile as much as your bruised cheeks allowed you to.

"Everyone gets lost at some point, the most important is that you come back home."

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solarstranger · 2 months ago

Text

SIMPLE AS THAT (3.9k)

pairing. k. akaashi x reader

synopsis. akaashi keiji's been at his wits' end with his job as a manga editor for months now. the last thing he needs is for his marriage to fall apart.

c.w. minors dni. fem!reader, timeskip!akaashi, aged-up (25 yrs old), established relationship, minor manga spoilers, hurt/comfort, a special appearance by one (1) kuroo tetsurou, nsfw/mature themes (this is an understatement. there's explicit shit. be warned)

a/n. marriage in crisis always slaps, y'all. it's one of my favorite tropes, and it took a lot of courage for me to write it, let alone with a character whom i love but am still trying to get a feel for in terms of characterization. that said, this is equally a character study of akaashi as it is a fic, so i hope i was able to portray him accurately! i love haikyuu so much, and i'm glad i'm finally venturing into writing for our volleyboys <3 enjoy!

It’s times like these that Akaashi wishes he was born a little softer around the edges.

A little less high-strung. Maybe a little more gracious. Certainly a lot more understanding and capable of exercising patience.

Patience that he miraculously has been able to demonstrate throughout grade school, exemplify in high school, and barely muster throughout college and the early years of being an intern, then finally, a progressively respectable editor.

He doesn’t know exactly when it all began to change, although if he could wager a guess, it wasn’t something that merely happened overnight. Stuff like this rarely does. All he knows is that patience was always something that he had to work for—never something that came naturally—and it was his patience, among other things, that somehow propelled you to gravitate towards him in the first place.

But, right now, as he watches you in your threadbare pajamas in the foyer of your new condominium unit, chin subtly trembling and tired, moist eyes stubbornly boring a hole into his forehead, he finds himself bidding an unspoken farewell to that distantly familiar gravity, and gazes at its replacement that’s not-so hidden in the way your shoulders are raised in palpable tension, or the way you’re standing a cautious distance away from him.

“Well?” you ask, a little louder and seemingly more sure than you were just a second ago. “Aren’t you gonna say something?”

Despite himself, Akaashi hesitates.

You stare at him—expectant—for another beat, before finally shaking your head, lips pulled taut into a frown. “I’m guessing you’re not opposed to it, then.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“And you don’t see how that’s worse?”

The ebony-haired man huffs, his grip on his sling bag tightening. “You know I’m exhausted. If you have any idea the shit I have to put up with at work, then—”

“Jesus, Keiji, are we really doing this again?” you shake your head, running a frustrated hand through your bed-mussed hair. “I know, and I understand. Which is why I’m suggesting we spend some time apart.”

Akaashi’s breath hitches. Hearing it the second time apparently doesn’t make it any easier.

He’s known it for a while now. Scratch that, he’s known it since the day he met you. The fact that he’s the lucky one, the one who has to thank his stars he’s crossed paths with you—let alone married you—and that if god forbid you ever grew apart, you’d be the one that got away.

But patience was never something that came naturally to him, and it's something that’s gradually and definitively worn thin, which is why he ends up blurting the next thing.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.”

He wasn’t lying about being exhausted.

After he said that last bit, ultimately (inadvertently) agreeing to your proposition, he dragged his slippered feet across the living room—right past your vulnerable albeit steady form—and straight into your master’s bedroom, where he hurriedly stripped off his clothes up to his boxer shorts before plopping himself down unceremoniously onto the firm mattress.

He doubts five minutes even got to pass until he knocked out and was fully unconscious.

He must’ve fallen into deep, uninterrupted sleep, because he doesn’t have any recollection of waking after that—at least, not in the wee hours of the morning blanketed by the moonlight shining through the barely open windows. It’s his alarm clock that manages to rip him out of his slumber with a jarring ringing, and he’s quick to slam down the button the second the noise reverberates throughout the otherwise quiet room.

Which, now that he thinks about it, is almost too quiet.

It’s this thought that prompts Akaashi to shoot up from where he was lying, turning to look at your side of the bed, which is decidedly and indubitably—

—Empty.

Instantly, he feels his pulse quicken, and a million unpleasant thoughts start racing through his head. His gaze shifts to your bedside table—similarly empty, with no sign of a note or a letter, or—god forbid—your wedding ring.

Akaashi deflates in partial relief. He guesses that’s something.

Shifting towards his own bedside table, he reaches for his phone only to find several work-related emails that were sent overnight waiting for him, a few Instagram notifications, and a handful of text messages—none of which are from you.

He pauses, thumb frozen in front of his slightly cracked screen. He supposes he can call, or even shoot you a message, just to confirm where you are and that you’re alright.

But, then again, you were the one to insist on spending time apart.

And he agreed.

Whether or not it was an informed decision doesn’t matter now, he thinks to himself. Besides, maybe you two did need this. He can’t remember the last time he was truly alone—in this home or in general—although it’s not like you’ve been talking a lot and spending much time together in the past few months, either.

If it weren’t for that damn job…

Akaashi straightens up at the thought of work, glancing at the clock beside him.

7:34 AM.

He scrambles out of bed.

He’s going to throw up.

At least, he thinks he is, the way he does every time the building’s elevator dings, signalling his arrival at their company’s floor like clockwork.

Still, he forces one foot to step forward, then another, then another, until he magically finds himself at the entrance of his cubicle—

—Where his direct supervisor is waiting for him.

“Masahiro-san,” Akaashi croaks, gaping at the middle-aged man who’s seated comfortably in his not-so-ergonomic office chair. “G-good morning.”

“Good morning,” Masahiro nods, slightly spinning to fully face the younger male. “Cutting it kinda close, aren’t we?”

Akaashi immediately tenses. “Uh, my alarm didn’t go off. I had to rush here to make it on time.”

Whether or not that fib just now was convincing, Akaashi doesn’t know, but the man nods again, before leaning forward. “Well, it’s good that you’re here now. I have some important news that I ought to tell you first before the meeting.”

“What is it?”

At that, Masahiro stands up to his full, towering height, using it as an advantage to look out for any surrounding eavesdroppers. Once he notes that the coast is clear, or at least as clear as it can be, he turns back towards the ebony-haired man, but not before beckoning him closer.

Akaashi hesitantly cranes his neck forward.

Masahiro takes a deep breath, as if to steel himself. “Our newest series?” he starts, tone grim, and Akaashi bristles, “It’s getting discontinued.”

The word is out in the form of a shout before Akaashi can rein it in.

“What?”

“Shh,” Masahiro brings a finger up to his lips, vigorously shaking his head, “You’re not supposed to find out yet, but I wanted you to know first.”

“Why?” Akaashi finds himself asking in a hushed whisper, alarm laced in his voice. “Am I getting laid off like the others? Is that it?”

“No! You’re one of our best editors here, if not the best.”

Masahiro opens his mouth as if to say more, before backtracking and heaving a heavy sigh. “You’re not losing your job. It’s, well, actually, the opposite.”

Akaashi braces himself for what’s next.

“You’re gonna have to work overtime to compensate for the lack of manpower, for at least a month.”

Akaashi blanches. “A-and if I can’t?”

Masahiro stares at him for a moment, perhaps processing the ostensibly unexpected question, before averting his gaze, features contorted into a frown. “Well, we might have no choice but to retain someone else who can.”

“Don’t you look like shit.”

Akaashi looks up from where he was staring blankly at his untouched plate of gyudon, a striking image of a suit-clad, grinning Kuroo carrying a tray of what looks like ramen filling his vision when he does. The blue-eyed male doesn’t fight the urge to roll his eyes.

“What, no comeback?” Kuroo goads, taking the seat in front of him, his back facing the floor-to-ceiling windows of their usual lunch spot, allowing Akaashi a good view of the people walking down the sidewalk under the blinding noon sun. “Someone’s going through it.”

“I’m really not in the mood, Kuroo-san.”

“Evidently.”

Akaashi barely manages to suppress an exasperated sigh. Kuroo studies him for a beat, gaze drifting down to the younger male’s now cool plate of food, before darting back up to the latter’s face. “Trouble at work?”

“I guess you could say that.”

Kuroo hums. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Akaashi pauses for a moment, before slowly shaking his head.

The slightly older man nods. “Alright, then. How about at home? How’s the missus?”

At the mention of you, Akaashi—despite himself—stiffens, a reaction that, to his chagrin, doesn’t go unnoticed by his senpai. Kuroo’s eyebrows furrow at the sight in front of him, and he hesitates, before finally settling with: “Akaashi. Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Akaashi grits out through his teeth, finally picking up his well-forgotten chopsticks in the hopes of diverting the man’s attention. “There’s nothing wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong, and yet you can’t even look me in the eye?”

Akaashi freezes.

Kuroo pulls his lips into a thin line. “You know I don’t like to meddle in personal affairs, but you’re doing it again, man.”

Akaashi looks up, frowning. “Doing what?”

“Being cold,” Kuroo answers without a single hair of reluctance. “Withdrawn. What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“Are we seriously doing this?” Kuroo deadpans, and Akaashi can’t help but tense at his words, which are uncannily similar to the ones you uttered to him yesterday in the heat of your argument.

Jesus. What does it say about him when both his wife and best friend think he’s being obstinately stubborn?

Akaashi gulps, before slowly setting back down his pair of chopsticks beside his plate. He finally forces himself to look at Kuroo, who’s observing him with such unmistakable concern that everything—in spite of himself—just practically bubbles out of his mouth.

“S-she left.”

Kuroo blinks. “What?”

Akaashi takes in a shaky breath. “She left,” he parrots, “She asked for time apart.”

“Wait, wait, wait. She left your house?”

Akaashi nods. “She wasn’t in bed when I woke up this morning. She probably left so that she wouldn’t have to talk to me again.”

Kuroo gapes at him. “Did you tell her not to go? When she asked for time apart?”

“I—” Akaashi tries to start, before trailing off. He shakes his head. “I couldn’t say anything. She caught me at a bad time—I just got home from overtime, and I knew I’d probably end up saying something I didn’t mean if I opened my mouth.”

“So you just agreed,” Kuroo finishes for him, “To your wife leaving.”

“I didn’t know she would just leave like that.”

“So, what? You thought spending time apart would mean merely avoiding each other under one roof?”

“I didn’t even get to think, okay?!”

Kuroo clamps his mouth shut, stunned.

A strained silence envelops the air around them.

“I’m sorry,” Akaashi eventually offers after a brief moment of stillness, eyes downcast. “It’s just—I’m going through a lot right now.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, too, for pressing,” Kuroo offers lowly. “But this thing with Y/N is clearly bothering you, and I think it’d be in your best interest to fix it before it’s too late.”

“Fuck—I know,” Akaashi huffs, “But I don’t know how I can when I’m barely holding down my job and—”

“Then go find another one.”

Akaashi shoots him a look. “As if it’s that simple.”

“It is that simple,” Kuroo argues, shifting in his seat. “You didn’t even want to be a manga editor, right? You wanted to work in the literary department. So quit and find something else. And if being in that line of work is impossible right now, then suck it up and find a different job. It won’t be forever, and it’ll be stable enough for you to fix whatever’s going on at home.”

“But—”

“I know. It sounds scary, even for me,” Kuroo admits, “So I can only imagine how this is sounding like for you. But here’s the thing, Akaashi. There are a million jobs out there, and you’re a smart kid. You’ll likely have your pick of the litter wherever you go.”

“I doubt that. The job market’s shit right now.”

“Okay, fair, but you get my point. As I was saying, there are—okay—a thousand jobs out there, but—”

Kuroo pauses, and Akaashi swears it’s only for dramatic effect.

The taller man grins.

“You only have one wife.”

He’s not supposed to be here.

For one, he’s pretty sure he was just able to enter your company’s building because he blended in with a group of boisterous employees as they walked past the blissfully unaware security guards, or it could also be the fact that the color of his ID lanyard is oddly close to theirs, allowing him to further disguise himself as one of the team.

In any case, it granted him access. That’s what truly matters; the hows should be the least of his extensive list of worries, at least for now.

Akaashi quickly scans the building’s directory, acutely aware of the concierge eyeing him from behind her desk, before his eyes finally land on the name of your organization, written to the side of which is your floor number.

It’s times like these that Akaashi wishes he had never quit volleyball, or at the very least, kept on regularly exercising.

Because he wouldn’t be standing in front of you in your cubicle, with hot sweat dripping down the insides of his crumpled polo, chest heaving in exertion from all the running up countless staircases he did just now, if he had—

Just.

Kept.

On.

Exercising.

“Keiji,” you gawk at him from where you’re seated in your chair, what seems to be a takeout container laid out neatly on your desk in front of you. “What are you doing here?”

Akaashi swallows, his mind suddenly—infuriatingly—turned blank at the sight of you. He clears his throat. “I needed to see you.”

You stare at him for a moment, confusion evident in your face, before quickly moving to put away your food and standing up to fully face him. “I thought we agreed to spend some time apart?”

“I needed to see you,” Akaashi finds himself dumbly repeating.

You falter, looking unsure. “What about work?” you ask instead, eyeing his attire, “Shouldn’t you be returning from lunch break by now?”

“I told my boss I needed to take the afternoon off.”

“What? Why?”

“Because,” Akaashi seethes, “I just had to see you.”

You frown. “You should’ve just waited ‘til you got off before coming to see me. Your boss isn’t going to be happy about—”

“I don’t give a shit.”

And when you only gape at him in shock, he backtracks. “I mean, I do, but that’s not as important right now.”

“…I’ve been complacent,” Akaashi declares when you don’t say anything for a moment, opting to wait for him to explain himself. “I got so caught up in trying not to lose my job and the security it brought me that I didn’t notice I’ve been neglecting you.”

“I understand, Keiji, which is why—”

“No, let me finish. It was stupid of me. To let things get this far. I don’t know—I guess I just got too comfortable with the knowledge that you’re married to me, that I forgot that didn’t mean I’ll always get to keep you around.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Keiji,” you attest, stepping closer to bring a hand up to cup his cheek, to which Akaashi presses himself further against your hold. “I just came up with that suggestion because I figured you needed the space to recollect yourself without me breathing down your neck and making it worse for you.”

“You never make things worse for me,” Akaashi immediately interjects, his firm hands finding their place on your hips, squeezing them. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel that way. I promise I’ll do better.”

“I know,” you smile, caressing his jaw. “I believe you.”

Akaashi returns the affectionate gesture, before leaning in to softly peck your lips. “Thank you, love.”

“Of course, baby.”

“L-let me make it up to you?”

You blink at him, bemused. “How?”

Akaashi looks around your office for any sign of other people, before looking down at his watch. “Are your workmates still out for lunch?”

“Yeah? They typically come back by 1.”

“Great. We still have seven minutes.”

“Wha—”

That’s all the foreboding you get before Akaashi all but lifts you and plops you gently down on your desk, and you’re about to say something in protest when he practically dives in and captures your lips into a searing kiss, shutting you up before making you groan.

He doesn’t wait for your go signal to let him enter your mouth, tongue frantic in its attempt to pry your lips open until they do, the wet muscle swiftly laving over the insides as his busy hands make quick work of riding up your pencil skirt until they’re bunched up at your upper thighs.

“Kei—” you try to mumble against his lips, although you’re instantly cut off by another sloppy kiss, and all thoughts momentarily dissipate from your mind when he squeezes at your flesh—so roughly and unexpectedly that you choke out a moan—one that Akaashi instantly silences with his mouth on yours.

“Let me make you feel good, love,” he breathes against the crook of your neck, where he’s now peppering a trail of kisses down the expanse of it, “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“I n-need you to s-stop,” you try to say, although it comes out as more of a whimper when Akaashi conveniently sucks at your pulse point, before soothing it with a long lick. “People are gonna see us, Keiji.”

“People aren’t even here,” he counters, insistent on kneading your outer thighs. “Besides, I haven’t tasted you in so long. I bet you taste even better now that you’re terrified of being caught.”

“Keiji,” you whine, trying to wrestle yourself out of his hold, but to no avail—not with how hard he’s pinning you down with his entire body weight into your desk.

“What is it, love? What do you want from me?”

“Keiji.”

“You want me to eat you out ‘til you cum? Is that it?”

At the mention of him giving you head, your thighs involuntarily clamp around him, a reaction that doesn’t go past Akaashi, who only smiles smugly to himself.

“Looks like you want my mouth on you,” he chuckles, “Am I right?”

“N-no,” you manage to choke out, desperately clawing at his arms as you—despite yourself—grind against his crotch.

“No?”

“No, we don’t have time,” you croak, gasping when your barely clothed clit snags at the bulge of his zipper. “Fuck me, Keiji. I want you inside me.”

“Oh, shit.”

That’s the last—and only—thing Akaashi manages to say before hurriedly unfastening his belt and undoing his pants, pulling them down with his briefs in one go, and you have to physically stop yourself from grabbing for his cock the second it springs free from the restraining material.

He must notice your interrupted motion, because he shoots you a knowing look, but not before gripping his dick and pumping himself a few times, darkened eyes not once leaving yours. “As much as I want you to stroke me, as you said, we don’t have time.”

“Here,” he reaches for your skirt, tugging it up even higher until your underwear is in full view, the sight of which absolutely drenched making him throb painfully in his hand.

“Fuck, love. Had I known you were this pent-up, I would’ve come here sooner.”

“Shut up and put it inside me already, Keiji.”

At that, Akaashi chokes out a laugh, but doesn’t hesitate to pull your damp panties to the side, lining himself up with your sopping, pulsing entrance.

And because patience was never something that came naturally to him, he doesn’t wait any further before pushing in.

The millisecond that he does, he barely manages to smash his lips onto yours in time to muffle your moan—a moan that would, no doubt, be heard by nearby, receptive ears, and it’s that very thought of someone listening in to you getting screwed that sends a sudden albeit undeniable thrill down your spine, and you do the unthinkable.

You cry out.

This time, Akaashi fails to contain your sounds, and a hand quickly shoots up to cover your mouth, while the other remains on your waist, keeping you pinned to your desk.

“Be q-quiet, love,” Akaashi rasps, although his hips are unrelenting in pistoning in and out of you as if trying to make you do the opposite. “I don’t want a-anybody else hearing how—ugh—fuck—g-good you sound when I’m fucking you.”

“I c-can’t,” you mewl in protest, frantically grinding against him, “I can’t h-help it.”

“Yes, you can,” Akaashi breathes out, bending his knees just the slightest bit, his grip on your mouth preemptively tightening the moment he thrusts in at the new angle, causing you to let out a strangled moan that makes him impossibly harder.

“Is that it?” he prods, hitting the same spot over and over again, just as an array of expletives spills out of your slack mouth. “Is that the spot?”

“Y-yes,” you blabber, before clenching your thighs around his hips, bringing him even deeper inside you. “Harder, Keiji—shit—p-please.”

“F-fuck. Anything for my wife.”

No more words are exchanged between the two of you except for hushed pants and groans as Akaashi earnestly follows your command, hips roughly snapping in and out of you in record speed, his grip on your flesh strong enough to bruise, his mouth never leaving your parted lips.

You don’t know exactly when it happens, but the signs of your impending orgasm come sooner than later at his ministrations—obvious, familiar signs that Akaashi notices first.

“Are you gonna cum, love?” he huffs into your neck, thumb rubbing persistent circles on your aching clit, to which you bob your head in response, too fucked out to muster a coherent sentence.

Fortunately—and to your relief—that’s enough for Akaashi, who only smiles against your cheek.

“Be a good wife and cum for me, then.”

That’s all you needed to hear to come undone, unintentionally biting on Akaashi’s shoulder to quiet your cries when you do so, an action that catches the ebony-haired man in sheer surprise, causing him to cum.

Hard.

So hard that trails and trails of his cum leak out of your pussy when he tentatively pulls out of you a moment later, the silence juxtaposing the frantic moans that were just shared between the two of you a minute ago deafening.

Although that silence doesn’t get to go on for far too long, because the distant sound of a door opening followed by animated chatter suddenly resonates throughout the air, and your heads snap to look at each other—mortified.

Fuck.

˗ˏˋ while likes are appreciated, they don’t do much on tumblr! if you want to support me and writers in general, reblogs, replies, and tags are the way to go. feel free to drop an ask, too—i’d love to chat. have a nice day! ´ˎ˗

#edited this in public. public editing seemed fitting for this lmao #this is for my akaashi girlies out there <3 i hope some of y'all are still around ik tumblr is pretty dead for haikyuu fans #akaashi x reader #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi x you #haikyu x reader #re: akaashi keiji #eeya.docx

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