#aventurine noncon

[heartlyrins]

OUTLUCK THE UNLUCKY !

˚₊‧desc— Kakavasha and his little sister has always been the polar opposite, they say he was born lucky and you were lucky to even be born.

˚₊‧TW— dark content, incest, angst, noncon, smut, manipulation, gaslighting, mental abuse, past child abuse, human trafficking mentions, past trauma, PTSD, porn with plot, baby fever, non-consensual breeding, mentions of lactation, sister wife!reader, yandere!Aventurine, 2.0 and 2.1 lore did not happen here, spoilers for Aventurine's backstory, both of them gone through some tuff stuff

˚₊‧A/N—I made a few changes to Aventurine's backstory and 2.0 w/ 2.1 lore didn't happen here. I changed up my writing style!! Do you like it? Don't read if it's not ur cup of tea hun

Ever since you were born just a couple of years after Kakavasha—your big brother. You were disgraced, labeled as an unlucky being said by the Sigonians.

Whereas Kakavasha was born on a rainy day which was perhaps meant to be a blessing. Meanwhile, you were born on an unlucky day and just moments after your birth, your mother died.

Though as you grew up, you became attached to your big brother. A contrast to your unluckiness, his blessing outpowers your curse therefore you two were bound to be attached to the hip.

A curse you were called, but never by your siblings. They loved you dearly which includes you sister who promised you and Kakavasha the dawn one day.

But the promise were never fulfilled because your sister had died as soon as your birthday arrived. You ran away with Kakavasha.

Soon the both of you were caught and sentenced to death by the IPC— but your brother got the both of you out of that punishment, you never knew how he did it and the only thing he told you was 'not to worry.'

You fit into the lifestyle pretty quickly, everything was done by your brother. You just had to sit still and be pretty, as he said.

Soon he became the very thing that ruined yours and his life—an IPC staff, but still you couldn't shake the very feeling that you both were still just a slave, no matter how much credits you were buried in.

You were granted a house, a luxurious one, probably afforded from the IPC's money. He was doing everything for you, even though you wanted to help him at least a little bit.

You wanted to alleviate his burden. But seeing the very thing that burdens yourself—you don't think that you could help.

So you did the only thing that you could manage, become a housewife for him. At mornings he would wrap his arms around your waist and sometimes you felt like a real marriage couple.

He gives you kisses on your cheek as he stares at the wound you received from chopping up the vegetables— again.

Sometimes he would bring your fingers up to his lips just to lick them clean just to see your embarrassed expression.

Which brings you to the present situation.

"Kakavasha—I.." you were cut off with a groan from him as he hides his face in your neck.

"Don't call me that, I go by Aventurine now with other people, remember?" his breath hits your soft skin before he snakes his hands under your blouse.

"We're not in front of other people now.. And it's not like I get to meet anyone else.." you mumble—far too late to take back your words.

He gives you an 'mm' before gripping your sides harder that it was sure to leave a bruise. From his reaction, you were sure he wasn't pleased with your words.

"You don't need anyone else but me, you know that right?" he mutters before helping you to put down the knife you were holding to chop the vegetables.

"I know that.. But I haven't gone out ever since we've gotten this house.. And that was a few years back."

"But I do let you out. To buy groceries."

"Kakavasha—you know that's not what I meant. I want to go out freely, without you sending those IPC guards after me or tracking me.. Or even—!"

"[name]." the tone in his voice makes you stop, you know that's when he's fed up with your words. He pulls his hands out of your blouse before staring at you.

He grabs the sharp and brandished knife before gripping your chin with his free hand to make you face the knife, you could see your reflection.

"Look at yourself." he grips your chin tighter, "Do you see your face? It's full with scars that results in whenever I'm not there—remember, you're the unlucky child who needs me as a lucky charm to protect yourself."

"You need me." he drops the knife on the cutting board before kissing your lips and biting your lips until it bled.

He sighs as his demeanor starts appearing right back and he smiles on again with the same, sly smile.

"Don't speak of this again." he warns you before kissing your cheek and walks away like nothing happened at all.

He waits by the door as he tries to fix his tie, horribly messing it up once again before you came to the rescue and does it for him.

"I'm going now," he says as he puts on his shoes, "I'm going to be late today, don't wait for me." he merely says before placing a kiss right on your forehead.

Once he leaves the house, everything seems dark. Sometimes it seems like that you were the epitome of darkness—and he was the light that shines on your life.

Whenever he isn't there, parts of you disappear.

"Big brother, we can't leave our sister behind!" the small you sobbed when he pulled on your wrist to drag you forcefully from the chaos.

"Sister sacrificed her life for us, we have to run,[name]. I promised sister I won't let anything happen to you." he stops for a moment as he looks right into your teary eyes.

You stared back at the chaos happening behind you, that day—everything was red like the clothes you wore on that exact day.

You were dragged once again to keep moving forward by Kakavasha, but once you stared right ahead—the little hand dragging you were gone.

The only light within your life was gone, where did he go? What are you gonna do? What would you do without the light that guides you—you thought as you broke down in sobs until your body felt a warmth wrapping around you.

You can hear your name from the distance being called once again, it's Kakavasha. You were sure it was as you open your eyes to come back to the real world.

"[name], wake up. You had a dream." your brother— the grown up version of him was her once again and you sigh in relief.

You hate that dream—it was the same dream with different endings. One that would have a happy outcome.

"Did you have that dream again?" he asks and wraps his arm around you, it was the same warmth in that dream.

You hum as he sighs once again, in a pitiful way or somehow a sympathetic one. Eitherway, his hand snakes just above your waistband and sticks his hand in your panties.

"Mmn—" you groaned and look at the time, "Stop it, I'm not in the mood.." you retaliate, sometimes he would back off at times like this—especially during your vulnerable moment.

"I saw a baby today at my workplace, one of my co-worker's no doubt. They looked so happy, can't we have one too?"

"I—you know we can't have that. We're siblings, what would the world says?" you push his arm off that's groping one of your boobs.

"I don't care what people says about us, I don't even care how the Aeons view us." he moans as he humps your ass.

"Stop it, 'm not in the mood right now.." You whimper and attempts to get away from his obvious dick imprint humping you.

He stayed silent and kept a tight grip on your hips, sliding your shorts and panties off with his other hand.

"We're not supposed to be doing this.." you mutter and almost retch as he forces his fingers in your mouth.

"Just be good for me, little sister. Haven't I done enough for you? I need this." he says, not giving you a chance to respond as he's already pulling his fingers out of your mouth and already sneaking between your thighs.

"You say things as if you aren't wet right now.." he spreads your lips apart to admire your pussy before giving a testing lick and moans at the taste.

He wraps his lips around your little nub as he sucks on it, thrusting his fingers inside whilst licking your slit up and down.

Your first reflex was trying to push his head off—moaning and struggling to push him off so you laid off the fight and just accepted it after awhile.

"Pussy's so wet, stop lying and just tell me that you wanted this." he pills away and sighs as he finishes his meal, your juices slipping down his chin.

He licks his lips and pushes his cock inside you, not even giving you a warning or time to wait. He groans as he pushes in all at once.

"So good, mhm. You're so good to me, lil sis. Gonna make you a fucking mommy! yeah, you want that?" he slaps your face almost gently to wake you up from your trance before groping your tits.

He leans down and sucks on it, appreciating the size of it while he sloppily thrusts his big cock inside of you.

"Fuck, fuck.. Can't wait to see these tits swell with milk." he moans and looks at your face, you seemed so out of it.

He can't miss the way that your lips scream the words trailing along, "I'm coming! I'm coming!" in an almost high pitched tone.

When you clench around him, he doesn't even stop for a moment. Just going at a faster pace which makes you even more out of it as you hold onto whatever you can.

And when he cums— he pulls out and shoves it back in all at once making you squeal and raise your hips as you came once again.

"We're gonna do this for at least another three times, I need to make sure you're knocked up." he groans as he felt you clench.

As he thrusts deeply once more, you can feel a part of yourself disappears. The warmth you felt from him was no more, instead what you felt was pleasure—accompanied by a sense of sadness.

You can feel tears hitting your cheek and you look up to see your big brother crying, while also trying to maintain a stable composure.

"I don't want to lose you." he sobs out as you reach for his cheek to caress the soft flesh. He leans into your soft touch with reluctance, so hesitant to show a moment of vulnerablity to everyone except for you.

"I can't lose you, please don't leave me as everyone did. You're not— you're not the source of anyone's misery, I didn't believe it when you were called unlucky. Because to me— you're the very thing that made me so happy, I want to be with you forever. I don't care if everyone else leave me."

You smile—not because you find this situation comforting, because it was so incredibly hysterical that he depended on you as much as you depended on him.

Once he's faced with your smile, he loses his composure and spills his seed in your womb while hiding his face in your neck again.

"I don't care how many nightmares I have from that night, I don't care if everyone blames you for our parent's death. All I want to be is with you."

That's when you realize, he is stuck with you just as you were stuck with him.

#tw.noncon #tw.dark content #tw.dubcon #tw.incest #aventurine noncon #aventurine x y/n #aventurine x you #yandere aventurine #star rail aventurine #aventurine smut #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine angst #angst #hsr angst #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail #honkai star rail noncon

[stickyspeckledlight]

Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]

The cotton in your mind protects you.

Ao3

word count: 11.4k

TW: Stockholm syndrome, implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts (not detailed but reader does mention having them and thinking about the act), mild gore (little actual gore but the prose uses gory language), reader goes through it and let’s just say aventurine is a terrible influence, tonal whiplash for my own sanity, wow aventurine are you really this emotionally constipated

Note: My first ever yan work! This is a bit of a mess, but I’ll bet five dollars and janitorial duty at Taco Bell that it’s a good mess 👍

(Written before 2.1)

The sun sets as you both bask in the afterglow. Clouds streak the baby blue sky, hued in soft yellows, calm oranges, and blushing pink. 

(And it reminds you of his eyes) 

Sights like these made nights spent in a casino a bit more bearable. You take a deep breath, sighing in contentment and exhaustion, and you wish you could shut your eyes and stretch this moment for an eternity. To remain in the setting eye of the sun, softly breathing as you press against the gentle beating of his heart. To have his hand lazily draped over your waist, the other caressing your head, fingers softly entangled with your locks. Your tears have dried, too. Yes, you’d like to live in this singular moment, divorced from everything else.

But as you’ve learned during your time with Aventurine, time is a rapid to move with.

You shiver a bit. Noticing this, he pulls up a thin blanket. The difference is small. But still, the serenity of the moment is shattered. The soft silk is meant to cage you in for whatever happens next. You don’t mind, anymore. Or, when you’re more lucid, when you let the torrent that is your mind flow, that’s what you decide.

You’re not stupid, but you wish you were. If you were stupid, you wouldn’t ever be forced to trek away from your home. Wouldn’t grab the attention of anyone smart and shrewd (though you did hear about one ‘Dr. Ratio,’ committed to remedies of ignorance). Even if you somehow did and ended up where you were, maybe your mind would be filled with cotton rather than thoughts. That you could enjoy everything all the time. 

But you’re not stupid, nor are you a genius who could hope to outwit the man who holds the aventurine of stratagem. Knowing how normal you are compared to him only makes you more hopeless, so you do your best to fill your mind with cotton again. You feel your inner voice berate you for your willing ignorance but it also cries at its necessity. 

Cotton. You needed to fill your head with cotton, because if you didn’t in time (and that time was short when you were with Aventurine) you might just sob again then and there. You think too much. So you won’t think. At least around him. Because…you still don’t want to acknowledge it in your mind. You protect yourself from the brunt of it and effectively live a lie.

“You’re clenching your jaw,” Aventurine’s voice possesses a perpetual drawl, but in moments like this it softens a little. Almost like he’s talking to a person and not something to use. “Just what could it be you’re thinking about?” 

Could you even be called a thinking creature right now? Cotton absorbs color, and right now the sun, so big it could engulf you, is so beautiful. You tell him the truth. “The sunset’s beautiful. Really, really beautiful. A lot more beautiful than the others.”

He hums. He knows you’re not lying, but you haven’t answered his question. “You’ve made your affinity for the sight quite clear,” he says, and you only notice that odd edge in his voice from your sheer exposure to the man. Whatever Aventurine has against this sight, you’re not sure. He seems to like sunrises, though, if you can trust the times you’ve woken up and see him watching it. And whenever there is no sun, you wake up to him gone or kissing you awake. Though lately, you’ve been steadily receding from your habit of oversleeping, so you more often wake to the sound of his morning rituals. The hand in your hair tightens, and there’s a small tug, firm but not painful, at your roots. He still wants his answer.

Your mind, chosen to be wrecked with cotton, doesn’t know what to think. You say the only other thing in your absent mind. “This one looks like your eyes.” 

You think he likes that because you feel him shift to look at it. You can’t see his face, but you assume he’s taken off his usual smile. Smiling all the time sounded torturous, and you rub your cheek at the phantom pain of your own imagination. 

“Hmm…” and you feel him shift again, and you really have no idea what he wants. From the intonation, he’s about to do something either mischievous or ‘flirtatious.’ “You know, sweetheart,” he purrs, the word heavy on his tongue. He shifts, so you lay on the bed and he lays directly across from you. If this were earlier in your relationship you’d fantasize about ripping his throat for robbing you of the sunset; and he’d tut and make sure to evaporate those thoughts. His hair is messed up, his smile soft but still unreadable. The sun shines on the mark on his neck, and something about the sight makes you a bit…happy. And angry. He takes your face in his hands and locks your eyes. You tense a bit out of instinct. Aventurine’s full attention on you was intense and overwhelming, like a bright sun and a feral beast; the bit of dried blood on his lips is proof of it. You make a note to yourself to do more work on hammering your justified instinct away. Your heart feels like it will burst, as his gaze bores into your own. From apprehension or anticipation, you’re not sure. “If that’s the case,” one of his hands trails down your jaw, the ghost of his touch fluttering against the marks he’s painted on your neck. He’d have no issue finding more all around your body. He softly, lovingly holds your neck like he’s prepared to snap it and equally prepared to drown you in his affection. His thumb finds and lightly presses on a mark, one he drew blood from. “Why not take in the real thing, hm?” His thumb presses harder, and you blink back a wince at the pain. He notices, eyes softening impossibly further before relinquishing his thumb and kissing the irritated skin. “Sorry,” he says, but it’s said the same way a cat licks a mouse’s carcass. But you don’t mind. You’ve made sure you don’t mind a lot of things, and it’s made you equally content and miserable. Maybe you hold onto that latter feeling in stubborn defiance, because losing that shred of yourself would turn you into something that You wouldn’t necessarily hate if it were anyone else, but when it’s You becoming that—that, that, You hate.

But you do enjoy being close to someone like this, and hum contentedly to try and focus on that instead. But Aventurine is perceptive, and though his head is below you, you feel as if you’ve been chained up when you once again lock eyes. “I can hear your thoughts, darling,” He returns to his former position, “I hate seeing you all stressed out,” he says, as if his veins weren’t running with anticipation when you were saddled with debt and when your parents got hit with unfortunate ‘accidents’ that insurance couldn’t cover and he didn’t love the day you became his. “Didn’t you say that open and honest communication is important in a healthy relationship? I’m rather fond of our little romance, and I’d hate for it to crumble.” He nearly pouts—doesn’t surprise you much anymore, but there’ll always be a little bit of whiplash that doesn’t quite go away. Though, You feel a slight hint of bitterness—‘crumble?’ Some cotton burns away. Did he mean that for himself? …Or might it have been a vague threat to you…? You think, but you’re quick to fill your head back up with cotton. The process isn’t immediate, however.

“Our relationship is the furthest thing from healthy,” you point out. You don’t add in that you never sought out romance in the first place, “and it hasn’t exactly been built on a sturdy foundation.”

“You’ve got me there,” He chuckles. “Well, let’s put it like this,” he brushes a lock of hair from your face, “I see that my lover’s been saddled with all these thoughts, and it’s gotten them so awfully quiet,” Lover? No, that’s hyperbole. He tucks his fingers underneath your chin, stroking the soft, unmarked skin; the only area spared from his assault. “Makes a guy worry, you know? The last time you were this quiet was when you first moved in.” 

Yes. It was mostly because You spent the majority of your free time sobbing, leaving your voice all but spent by the time he got back. And it wasn’t like you could be the goofy and sometimes witty and sometimes not buffoonish person You were when You were so miserable. When you wanted to do everything you could to retreat into your own skin—but Aventurine simply ripped you out, exposed, bloody, and sniffling. After that thought, the cotton has completely grown back.

“…And…?” Through the cotton, you can only wonder what he’s talking about.

His smile becomes sharper, and you wonder if he might feel insulted. Does he think you want to leave him, see him get what he deserved and some actual help like You used to? “C’mon don’t you…” you blink a little vacantly, and he seems to realize something. “Or, maybe you’re…” but his voice suggests something knowing. Suggests experience. And the gears in his mind click. “Oh, I know that look!” He laughs, delightedly or derangedly, you don’t bother to differentiate. Either way it makes you shiver. 

“Huh? What look?” You asked, filtered through cotton. He doesn’t answer and cuts to the chase.

He playfully flicks your forehead, and you imagine a bullet going through it, “Riddle me this: what do you want, sweetheart?”

You blink. What do you want? When you first got here, it was security and his or your death. After some time had passed, it was peace. But now…you want whatever storm that’s inside of you to stop. But he doesn’t need to know what you want deep in your soul. So you tell him the truth, filtered through cotton. 

You do something that would’ve been unthinkable to You, and worse, it’s subconsciously without a second thought. You push him back down on the bed by laying on him—flopping on him like a fish, You think, for your mind is such a silly little thing—lay your head over his heart, and take in the sunset. The sun’s nearly below the ground. “…If it’s fine, and only if you want…” you ask, because You detest the idea of being controlling, “I’d like you to…” you flush, “…h-hold me, um, like you are right now, until the sun’s down and, um…” your heart is going to burst and there’ll be a hole of viscera through your chest and maybe Aventurine will admire your pathetic, desperate corpse before burning it, “we can take a bath. And,” you look up at him, “I’ll look into your eyes, as much as you want…” You tell yourself it's because you need to appease him. But you know of the primal thing that lives in your chest. 

It’s true. But Aventurine puts it perfectly.

His smile speaks of years of clawing his way up with honeyed words and masked expressions. “You’re not lying. Thank you. That’s such a sweet wish,” he says kindly (you’re no longer scared of his kind voice), stroking your head like you are an obedient dog, one that he adores and veers on despising, and then wraps his other arm beneath your thighs, “but you know I’d like the truth.” He then says, primally, ready to carve out a space in your body to inhabit, “To know what storm’s brewing in that little head of yours,” he takes in a shuddering breath, and his eyes light with perverse excitement, “if it’s begun to…crack and burn up.” He sits up and carries you away. You’re slightly disappointed you won’t be seeing the sunset in its entirety, but you’ve gotten good at forgetting. Aventurine sighs wistfully. “But…” he grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him, “I don’t mind that second proposition of yours,” his voice is husky, and he kisses you. You flush, and the cotton is the only thing that prevents you from tearing into him with your canines.

As the sun moves further and further away, You think yourself a fool for thinking it would engulf you. Aventurine wouldn’t leave anything left of you, whenever he decided he was done with you.

—

This is your only choice, and it was everything you could do to not shut down the instant you realized. 

You were in denial, at first. It was all just a coincidence, right? You’d always feared this sort of thing—financial struggle—and so getting hit with it should be something you take in stride, and come out of it either in a wreck or just barely getting by. And, if you wanted to get a little nerdy, capitalist economies have to crash into recession eventually, so maybe now was just that time of the era. No place was hiring you, and your parents were getting buried in bills they couldn’t pay. 

But, if anyone with half a brain took a step back, they’d call out the bullshit excuse you concocted in your mind, to deny the ridiculous truth. Because whatever recession was happening, it seemed to only affect you; not to mention that this wasn’t even how recessions worked. The truth that you, you, were the apple of someone’s eye (for lack of a better term—you aren’t delusional—you’re just as disposable as the next person, as much as you wish for the universe to cease operating like it). 

Preposterous! Scandalous! You, a complete idiot, catching someone’s fancy? How the fuck did that happen?! Were pigs flying now? …You take that back, there are indeed flying species of the hog persuasion gallivanting about in the cosmos. But this does not detract from your point. One might say “bimbo vibes,” but you know for a fact, even taking into account your own bias and self-perpetuation of your self-esteem issues (which makes you still having them even worse, but you’ve already gone down that spiral more than you could count), that you do not have anywhere near enough bimbo energy to attract anyone with that kink. Or the looks. This was your knee-jerk reaction to the situation. And to an extent, still is, because thinking about it like that gives the situation a bit of levity you desperately need. You can’t wrap your head around it in the slightest. But you can’t dispute fact. And the fact is that you are wanted by someone else, and you can’t even begin to understand why. Least of all the person who wants you.

The man who hides behind the name ‘Aventurine.’ That fact alone already makes you not want to be so closely associated, and it makes everything more insane and stupid. An IPC executive has no use for you. If he wants to extort you for unpaid or cheap labor, he’s already got a vast selection of underpaid grunts to do his bidding. If there’s one thing the IPC knows how to do, it’s keeping those desperate enough or arrogant enough trapped. You’re not either of those things; though you admit you’ve adapted the former trait in light of recent bullshittery, but you digress. 

Most of what you come up with is met with an easy counter. Aventurine, a sleazy businessman obsessed with sex? He has money—he can just hire a prostitute; hell, you’re sure there are plenty of people who’d throw themselves at him for no charge. Sure, most of them would be coming into it with their own agendas, but he’s sharper than that. Aventurine, a man with insatiable greed? Again, he’s already rich as fuck, and the only way he’s getting any more money is if he looks up the pecking order. Whatever wealth you offer as an asset (the thought churns your stomach) is barely a drop in the bucket. Aventurine, a gambler who loved seeing his opponents fall into ruin? That was actually plausible to some extent, but you’ve made it very clear you’re no gambler (not in tangible matters at least, but you keep your card close to your heart). Then maybe he wants to try and push you over the edge? Try to make you take a risk bigger than yourself? 

So, you’ve settled for this: Aventurine, a man who cannot stand to be sober from the drink called “power.” Desiring complete domination over someone. A personal matter, and briefly you hear the echo of a quote: “We desire that which we do not have.” What doesn’t Aventurine have? 

…A relationship? Well, you shoot that down easily. Whatever kind of relationship this leads to ends with you ruined and him hunting after his next prey. 

He’s a bit like a serial killer, you muse, and you just so happen to meet his criteria for victimhood. But unlike a killer, he’s merely going to make you wish you were dead. If you wanted death, it’d have to be at your own hands. If he gave you that option at all. Another thought you have is that he might use you for snuff or something else equally or more horrific. That’s…you haven’t pursued the thought any further.

You’ve been robbed of much of your control, but you still control the hand that knocks at the door. If you’re going down, it’ll be on your own terms. This is your last, desperate attempt to pretend you have any control at all. You make sure your bangs cover your eyes. 

You just wish your heart didn’t feel like it would explode. You wish that you weren’t actively holding back from breaking down into a sobbing mess. You wish you were made of the same steel heroes were, but you cannot be what you are doomed to not be. 

Aventurine opens the door, giving you a grin that makes you retch. He’s dressed in his usual peacock-esque finery, and something about it makes you frown. Maybe it’s because he’s dressed in the colors you love—forest green, the blue of the sky, the black of where the moon does not shine—and it feels so wrong for something that wants to destroy you to be clad in them. “Sweetheart!” he coos out the wretched (and cringe-worthy) pet name with faux surprise; it propels you to roll your eyes even now. He knew you were coming; otherwise, you’d be detained by hotel staff. It didn’t quite help that you didn’t really bother to dress up either. It made you stick out like a sore thumb, and you’re glad that this is the only time you’ll be at a gaudy hotel. “You’ve come to visit little ol’ me! I’m charmed.  Aren’t I a lucky man?” 

You fantasize about his guts strewn about on the floor, accompanied by your maniacal laughter and sobs of elated despair. “...You could say that, Mr. Aventurine,” you aren’t foolish enough to be curt, so you settle for polite and cordial. Professional and businesslike, though you know that gives him a slight advantage. “There’s something I wish to discuss with you. I think that’s best accomplished behind closed doors.” 

He clicks his tongue playfully. “No need to be so cold. We’re friends here, aren’t we?” 

“I suggest you drop the ‘sweetheart,’ then. Friends don’t call each other that, Mr. Aventurine.” 

He raises his hand in mock surrender, and you want him to get to the fucking point before you lose your nerve. “Oh, fine. Then,” he gestures to the lion’s den. If only he were the gentleman he was pretending to be. “Walk on in, darling.” You cannot suppress the groan that comes out of you. His smile widens; you're sure he gets some kick at riling you up.

You don’t have the energy to deal with him, and you certainly don’t have enough to suppress the sigh of irritation you let out. He seems to look like…some sort of positive emotion that you don’t know what to name. You’re not sure if you want to name it.  

The sunlight catches his predatory yet enrapturing eyes. His eye twitches, clearly trying not to shut. Maybe, you muse, the sun hates him as much as you do. It brings a weak smile to your face. You make sure to take your sweet time to enter. You won’t take off your shoes, either. He can deal with a bit of tracked dirt, you think, but then you notice that he’s wearing his shoes as well. In his own place. And here you thought he was monstrous enough.

But when the door shuts, any semblance of levity you could summon dissipates, and you’re reminded of what you’re here to do. Aventurine’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, and you want to rip it off and feed it to the birds. Thankfully, he just leads you to the living room. The sun is cast overhead. 

“So,” he circles till he’s in front of you, “What could be so important that you’ve come to see me this time of day?” The cat purrs to the mouse, petting it with claws retracted; for the time being. It makes you abandon courtesy for curtness. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t cancel some business meeting to make this happen.”

“Oh! You’ve got me!” he chuckles, “My, you’ve already gotten to know me so well. Don’t you think we’re like two peas in a pod?” He teases, and you know he specifically means for it to piss you off. Not to mention it’s an incredible reach. But to his credit, it works.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you spit, and his hand lets you back away from him. “I was thinking about…” you take a sharp breath—you can’t lose your nerve now, “...the ‘deal,’ you gave me a little while ago. The gamble, to be more precise.”

His smile stretches so wide it seems to crack his face, and you feel phantom pain radiating along your own mouth. His eyes, those alluring and dangerous rims of pink and electric blue, are spiked with adrenaline. You wonder if his eyes are dilating, but you don’t want to look at his eyes any longer than you have to. “I knew you would come around. But I see it in your eyes—you want to discuss the terms, right?” 

He’s right. “Yes.” 

“Admirable,” he says lazily, “but before you start, you should know that I’m not budging on my reward.”

“I know,” you bitterly say, “this is about my reward.”

Interest ignites, burning the blue of his eyes hot with intrigue.

“If I win, then I want you to reimburse my family, and then some, for all of the shit you’re making them go through. And then I want you to leave them the hell alone and not harm them.”

You can’t tell if he looks more interested or disappointed. “That’s hardly different from our original deal. The only difference is that you’re not getting any compensation.” At least he doesn’t deny that he’s the one the source of your family woes this time. Likely because you two already jumped through that point. You may not be sharp, but there are things even you can’t be gaslit on, and you think Aventurine realized this and decided not to bother. “Do you really hate the idea of getting money from me? You do remember that I told you that you can use me however you want, right?” 

Money that’s sourced from less than savory grounds, you think. You hate how he wants to use you, and you equally hate using anybody. “Yes. You made that very clear. I know what I’m doing. Now, come on.”

“Don’t be so hasty. I’ll have to modify my will so—”

“No need. Get the gun already.” You aren’t too worried anyway. Businessmen like him know to honor their deals. He’ll probably dismiss it easily and assume you’ll either donate it to charity or give it to your family.

He laughs, not so dissimilar from nails digging into a chalkboard, “You’re that eager to kill me? And you were so against it too! I wouldn’t have expected your morals to shift so quickly.”

You bite your lip. “You don’t seem to be all too worried about dying,” you point out, “You were the one who proposed this in the first place.” Another reason you don’t want to associate with this man. He treats his own life far too callously, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that whatever there is to unpack, it’s bursting at the seams. Normally you would’ve been sympathetic, but this is the manner of man that wants to seize you. You don’t want to know what would happen to you, under his dominion. 

Still, at least you know that he prizes adrenaline above all else. Why else would he risk his life for a hit of it? It’s useful info and also the only wrinkle in your plan…but you’re not banking on this entirely.

Aventurine doesn’t respond, but his eyes accentuate his mirthful grin. It reminds you of yourself, muttering a joke under your breath. You do like inside jokes, but you cannot say the same for the ones you’re left out of. No matter how demented this man’s humor is, knowing what he finds funny would at least give you more to glean on him. A part of you does enjoy piecing together puzzles, even ones you can’t solve.

He produces a simple revolver from his jacket. Sleek and as dark as a moonless night, even you can tell that its craftsmanship is more than deserving of admiration. But it spikes your anxiety. You want to dig a hole and suffocate, to feel your lungs burn like lava and to have your fingers raw when you have second thoughts and desperately try to claw your way out. You blink back tears, but you know what you must do.

He takes his sweet time with the gun, but you don’t pay attention. Your eyes are trained on the ground as you try and fail to psych yourself up. You know what you're doing. Your parents would tell you this was a bad choice, and you agree, but you weren’t given very many good choices.

A shot rings out. Glass shatters from behind you. The coffee table. Your breath halts. Something searing and hard digs into your chin, forcing you to look up. Your gaze is misty from the pain, for you’re more resilient to the cold, not the heat. 

“Sweetheart,” he smiles kindly, “I don’t like being ignored.” Despite your best efforts, a tear has rolled down your cheek. Your chin feels like it will be seared and forever be fiery hot. You need to get this over with before your mouth starts to uncontrollably twitch into a frown. He roughly lodges the gun from your chin, but replaces it with a kind touch that sends spiders crawling down your back. “Aw…” he coos, his cheeks faintly dusted with pink as he begins to lean in, “there’s no need to cry, dear.” 

You can’t stop it. You let out something that sounds like a growl, and shove him off of you. “You don’t get to touch me,” you hiss, a sound you didn’t know you were capable of, “Hands to yourself,” For some indiscernible reason, another tear falls, “you haven’t won anything yet.”

He’s not fazed. “Ah, I suppose I’ll have to concede there,” for now, “Here you go then, friend,” Despite his claim of concession he yanks your arm up and forces it in your grip, “Let’s see who luck favors.”

You shake, a little, but you’re not shaken enough to lose all your rationality. “Is there still a bullet in here?” 

“Yep,” he pops the p, like you two were old pals, “though I suppose I should roll the chamber again. Give me a second.” He takes the gun away and gets to work. You’re both thankful and sobbing on the inside. At this rate, your ribs will be dust from how your heart hammers into them. 

It’s back in your hand after what feels like an eternity and a microsecond. “Now there shouldn’t be any problems. Feel free to start shooting,” he purrs, adjusting it to point toward his chest. He moves to secure the barrel to his chest, and you must act now. You’re shaking and you want to die—

Ah. 

Good. 

You won’t lose your nerve then. 

“Actually,” your words shake with imminent tears and ramping fears, “there’s another term I wanted to discuss.” Your words aren’t threatening, but it’s ominous enough to give Aventurine pause. Now that he’s given you the inch, you’re taking the mile. You take a deep breath. It could be one of your last.

You’ve forced the barrel against your forehead. You’ve either gasped or Aventurine’s breath has hitched. You feel tears welling up, but you’ve made it too far for things to end here. You will yourself through your terror. “If I get shot, I win. If I don’t, you win.”

A tense silence whistles about. The air is almost electric from shock. But you know what you’re doing. You know it’s stupid, but you’re hopeless and this is the closest thing to a shred of hope you can grasp. See, you did a bit of research (on a library computer; you weren’t taking your chances). You found out that there are a few stories (very few, buried underneath the announcements of a music video and interviews and what-have-you) about Aventurine playing roulette—and even more about how he’s made numerous casino goers lose everything. In other words, he’s a lucky bitch. 

And you’re not that lucky. You doubt your luck is good enough for a regular gamble, but for your life? You treasure it, and sealing the gun to your head leaves you on the cusp of a breakdown. This is what you’re banking on: you’re not lucky enough to win a gamble, but you’re unfortunate enough to lose your life over something so inconsequential. Your parents would murder you if they saw you. Say you owe them nothing, and you do agree—but you can’t shake your habit of overpaying them. You’ve left a note at home for them to dig up, but it wouldn’t be an apology. If there’s an afterlife, you’ll apologize for eternity. You think the only way you can apologize is by searing your soul in the hells till nothing is left of you. 

You do have a more selfish reason for taking this approach, but it’s also incorrigible and unreasonable. You don’t need to dissect it. 

You think he’ll take it up. Sure, maybe the adrenaline he’ll get won’t be as great if he were the target, but so far he’s been the type to take pleasure in pushing others down a peg. He smiles at your distress, after all. So surely your quivering, sniveling form is giving him a kick? And surely, surely he’ll want to see your eyes glassy, your expression forever contorted in a fearful, desperate sob?

But Aventurine’s voice is missing its usual lilt. It’s hard, no longer deceptively light. Not playfully pushy but demanding. Maybe this is how he speaks to his enemies, you think, suppressing the urge to crawl into yourself. “…What?” A shard of ice is lodged in your back and makes your heart skip a beat from the surprise. But you can deal with the cold. It helps that it numbs the piercing pain in your back.

“I said what I said,” you push the terrifying thing harder into your skull, “these are my terms.” You’re more adamant than ever to not look into his eyes. You fixate on your shoes. You won’t speak more than necessary.

He seemingly contemplates for a moment. You’re about to push further when he finally speaks. “Do you remember what I said when I first proposed this gamble?”

Your mind is too fear-stricken for recollection. “You say a lot of things. C-can’t remember all of them.” Shit, your mouth has twitched a bit.

Shockingly Aventurine doesn’t poke fun at that, and is unusually focused. “I don’t take deals where I’m on the losing end. You’ve skewed this far too much in your favor.”

No. Oh, no. You were wrong about something. Lava starts to sting at your eyes. If you were wrong about this, then what else were you wrong about?!

“W-what? You’re not the one risking your life!” You exclaim, and it makes you look up at him, “How are you on the losing end?!” You shriek, because you aren’t a composed person at heart.

His eyes, lifeless and intense, widen as they bore into your own, pinning you down. If you squirm, you think he would stab knives in them to keep you down. You’re afraid of even blinking. He isn’t smiling and your knees want to shake. “Let’s go through this one by one, so you understand. One: what do I want?”

“W-wha?”

He repeats himself, harsher. “What. Do. I. Want?”

You settle for the safest answer. Your heart feels dead. You’re sure it will wither to dust. “M-me?” 

“Bingo.” It scares you that he’s not saying that with a lilt. It scares you that he’s not trying to manipulate you. It scares you how there’s only a thread between him ripping you in half. “And here’s something very, very important to know about me,” his hand caresses your cheekbone, positioned to catch any tears that fall, or to crush your skull, “I do whatever it takes to get what I want.”

“Then how is this different?! You’re still taking the risk of not getting what you want no matter how you slice it!”

The smile he gives you is all at once angelic and biting. “I don’t like it when I don’t get what I want.” His pupils dilate. Your eyes well up looking into the malice and…something, that plunges you in ice water. “If I can’t get what I want…hm, how do I describe it?” his voice begins to regain its lilt, fueled by your increasing distress. He smiles like he’s teaching a child a lesson, but you swear his eyes are growing duller. “Well, it’s like being trapped in a land without dawn,” his other hand softly holds your shoulder and it feels so wrong because you swear he’s holding back from brutalizing you, “there are chains around your neck, ankles, wrists, waist, eyes…” he chuckles sardonically, and a vindictive grin spreads as he leans in, till you can feel the ghost of his breath, “your life is a living hell, but the cold of the metal seeps down to your very bone.” You yelp; his grip has tightened. “Something stirs in your chest,” the hand caressing your face comes to rest over your heart, “begging to destroy everything and everyone that’s made you suffer.” His fingers dig into your chest, as if he’ll rip out your heart. “Tell me, my friend, do you want a man like that alive?”

You want to close your eyes so badly. Your mind is an inky landscape, blackening every single thought you hold. A soft flutter to your cheek knocks you out of your stupor. You register expensive perfume, something tickling your skin, and soft lips kissing away your tears. Immediately you shove away the opportunistic beast and stumble in your escape.

You’re in too deep. You need to make this work, because as much as you're terrified, something deep within you purrs at the weakness he’s given you.

But it’s good to know how spiteful he is. You already feel much better about your own plan. Both parts of you purr in delight: one knows you must twist the knife, and the other has been waiting for the opportunity.

“Coward,” your mouth is faster than your mind, “you coward!” Your meager wit and anguish over the past few months begin to tumble out uncontrollably, “I don’t care about your shit—you’ve hardly given me any say about anything. You’ve had the upper hand this entire time, and now you want to backpedal? This is too much risk for you?!” You heave, and you’re too enraged to care about how disgusting you must look, “You said to me there’s nothing you like more than a good gamble. Well, I’ve got a GREAT gamble for you, and if you’re upset you’ve got no one but yourself to blame! You wormed your way into my life, you orchestrated its steady decline, and you pushed me right here! You don’t get to back out of this like a coward!” You’re breathing heavily, and your vision is watery red, and you throw the gun in what you think is his general direction, and your vitriol spills out of you, “Take it and take whatever fucking risk exists! Languish for a month or a day or an hour because you didn’t get what you want like a little baby! If I’m going down, you’re coming down with me!” You’re heaving at this point, and you absently lean on the couch so you don’t collapse. Your composure is in shambles, but you’ll try to save a complete breakdown for when your choices catch up to you and you’re choking on your own blood. 

You hear a slow, rhythmic clap, and it shocks you that your ears aren’t flooding with blood at it. You hesitantly look up to see Aventurine grinning like a beast. 

“You, dragging me down…” the lilt has come back, and you realize that he likes something about this; that he’s schemed a part of it, “...so I see.” He drawls. He tilts his head, regarding you with the interest one has in an animal displayed in a zoo. “I’ll admit,” each slow step he takes toward you makes you sink further into the couch, “I was expecting you to cave with that. Yet you still insist…sweetheart,” should you be glad he’s calling you that again? “Let me be the first to tell you that it’s a great honor to push people like you into a corner. You were correct to fear me to try and avoid this.” So you were right on one thing, but it’s only a single thing. He’s inching ever so closely, and before you can start getting away he’s pounced on you. 

You yelp in surprise and begin to thrash, “You—get, get off of me!” You attempt to be intimidating, but your intense terror makes you seem like nothing more than a child scared to get a shot. Perfume burns your nostrils. More tears are shed, but he’s merciful enough to not lap them up just yet. 

He giggles and just pins you down. He waits until you're humiliated and exhausted before continuing. Your mouth twitches, and against your better judgment a sob brews in your chest. Your mind floods with ink, now. You try to tell yourself to keep it together, but the more you repeat it the more terrified you become. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d change the terms like this,” you squirm and look away—you don’t have the bravery to look at him directly right now. He lets you. “I was sort of expecting you to try and stand up for yourself, or maybe even demand I put in two bullets…but, you’ve run counter to my expectations. For one, I didn’t have you pinned to be this spiteful, nor this willing to give up your life.” You flinch and make a hateful sound as he starts to pat your head, continuing on as if this was the most normal conversation in the world, like he was the most normal person in the room, as he smiles so warmly—you’re a frog being boiled, but you’re too tired and afraid to retort, “Heh, this must’ve taken all of your guts to do, right?” The affection in his voice forms a lump in your throat. “I’m proud of you. Take pride in that,” he wipes away a tear, “and you’re right.” Suddenly, all warmness is gone and you’re blasted with heat. His grin shows his teeth, and for a moment you think you’ve really died. “I’ve always loved the thrill of going all in.” He laughs, a depraved sound of hedonism and complete despair, “If I win, it’s the jackpot. I get you, and you get me.” Get him? “And if I lose,” your head is tipped up by the cooled barrel of the gun to look into his eyes—

You whimper. The only thing that registers in your mind is that you’ve found yourself in a fox’s jaw about ready to clamp down.

“I live with my loss at the hands of a nobody. And it’ll gnaw at me from the inside…” he says breathlessly, “Yes, that’s a risk I can see myself getting behind,” Ink has made your soul quiver further. “And only taking deals on the winning end…I do that enough for business. That's to say…” he suddenly pulls you up, causing you to stumble and lean into him. He chuckles as your addled mind and body reorient, but the arm slung around your waist prevents you from straying too far. It’s the pillar you must rely on, but one wrong step and it will crumble to dust.

It scares you. 

But.

There’s another side to your fear. What sort of things do we fear, you think? These months have taught you that people hate that which they fear. When the fear amps up, so does the hate. You aren’t blind to how he looks at you. He’d vivisect you if it got him what he wanted. Your teeth grind. Oh, you hate him, you hate him so much. But your hate doesn’t burn, nor does it freeze. It’s a part of you; it hums through your veins; it thrums with the beat of your heart. There is nothing special about what is merely a fact of life. You are its vessel, and for that it sustains you.

You won’t see the fallout of your victory, but the mere idea sends a wave of ecstasy through you. 

The barrel of the revolver presses against your heart. 

“I accept your terms.” His voice edges with adrenaline and delight, but, and rather exquisitely, your instincts think, an edge that he must be the one to win this gamble—that in this moment, for him to live with loss is completely undesirable. It pleases you greatly, that you seemed to have ever so slightly peeled off his mask. But unfortunately for him, you’re not lucky enough to avoid a stupid death. You quiver, but not with fear; not entirely. Still, a part of you wonders if he’s just been testing you with his easy agreement. Should you be glad if you got full marks? Or should you hope you’ve failed?

Still, a brief feeling of levity blooms in your chest, and you seize it immediately. 

You did it. And unexpectedly, rather than further terror, relief washes over the heat and ink, because now that you’ve felt dead so often in such a short time, death is salvation. But just as quickly as the water came, a blizzard freezes the sea. 

Click. His lips are against yours. 

Of course. He wouldn’t let your final moments be pleasant. 

He takes advantage of your inexperience to entangle your tongues, and his hand against your head pushes you deeper and deeper as he tries to devour you. You gasp and tear up when he bites and bruises your lips. You’d like to fight back, but you want to get this over with. Even if it means being taken advantage of in your last moments, mother death’s repentance is merely a chamber or two away.

But still, no matter how demented you are in the moment, you are human, and the instinctual desire to survive makes you recoil.  The eye contact exacerbates it. His eyes hold a sea. On the surface, you can freely see the coral and starfish, difficult to understand but beautiful. But deeper, where the sunlight does not shine, the predators have taken to hunting one another, having wiped out the prey. And when only one is left, then it can only move up and up, until it’s the only thing left standing. And now it looks to consume you to satiate its unending appetite. Your lungs burn. 

You’d love to shut your eyes, but doing so feels like losing. At least when you do so, you can see yourself be devoured. Your awareness of yourself is the only agency you have right now. 

Click. He pulls away, and you take in a greedy breath. You feel a deep imprint on your lips; a bite, just barely not drawing blood. Your heart beats and a tear trickles; you’re not dead yet. That’s ok. You’ll be dead in a moment. 

“You look so certain you’ll win,” he observes, “it’s a good look on you.” 

You scrunch your nose. “Pull the trigger. I’m getting sick of looking at you.” 

“But, if I do, then you might breathe your last,” his eyes narrow, though you’re not sure if it’s predatory or softening, “can’t I take the sight of you in?” 

“Ha!” You cough it out. “For a man who dresses to the nines, you sure have bad taste.” 

“Aw, don’t demean yourself like that,” he mockingly reassures, “I’ll have you know you’re perfectly enchanting.” 

You decide to play along because banter is banter, and no matter how spiteful you are, you’ll take comfort and levity where you can find it. “And you’re a Knight of Beauty.” Absently, you wonder how terrible you must look. You feel your eyes still well with tears, still sniffling back bits of snot every now and then. 

You’re not sure if everything’s just catching up to you, or if the thought has propelled you to the realization, but you’re so, so, so tired. It does make your tears dry, a little, and your muscles relax. 

You see he’s starting to lean in again, and you immediately put a hand between you and his lips. “Don’t.” You growl. “Just…just shoot,” you sigh in exhaustion, “I’m tired. Just shoot. If you’re not satisfied, then you’ll have my corpse.” The implication is disgusting but he’s disgusting, and you really just want to sleep. You’re pretty sure he would’ve done it even without you saying. 

His hand drifts down to your waist. “Can’t say the image is pleasant.” Is his voice colder? Tired? Distant? Or are you finally losing it? 

“I’m already a teary mess. It’ll just be colder and a little stiff.”

He scoffs, “If I wanted someone steely, you wouldn’t be here.” True.

You bite your cheek and look at your feet. “Shoot.” 

There’s a pause in the air. You wonder if he’s contemplating on saying something to you, or just getting it over with. Both would make sense. You close your eyes. You will yourself to not think, because you know if you do that your life will just flash before your eyes. And if that happens, you’ll die completely miserable.

Click. 

You’re breathing. His hand is on your waist. The gun’s pressed to your chest. Nothing’s changed. Why aren’t you on the ground choking on blood? 

“I win.” You hear. You shut your eyes when sunlight gets into them.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

You’re still here. 

It didn’t work. It didn’t pay off. Your knees give out as you finally are no longer able to keep your tears at bay. You feel fluttering around your eyes, and you dare not open them. Shhh, shhh, you hear, but you only cry more. Everything has come to impale you, and you cry as you feel your organs spill. You’re his. You’re his. You want to die. Everything is coated in ink. You process nothing but the terror and rage and fear and despair and laughter and anything and everything you’ve ever experienced. You try to curl in on yourself, but you’re stopped by a beast’s hold, warm and predatory. 

“Shhh, it’s alright…” a hand strokes you to soothe, but it’s more akin to sandpaper rubbing on raw skin, “Let it all out…we have plenty of time. I don’t have to hold back and neither do you,” he reassures. It makes you sob harder.

You heave and sob. All you can think about is the unknown future that awaits you. You barely register being placed on a plush surface.

When your sobs finally quiet, you’re forced to look into his eyes. There’s a flush on his cheek, a slight inconsistency in his breathing, and his eyes have dilated with adrenaline and…and…you’ve never seen that emotion before, whatever it is. 

You wonder what face you’re making, as he smiles ferally. “You were right. That was great,” he hisses with elation and laughs. “Oh, you’re beautiful.” 

The world spins. You’re lying, and he’s on top of you. 

Oh…oh no…You begin to flinch and twitch uncontrollably. You aren’t thinking. You flail, kick, and cry even as you exhaust your meager energy, but he doesn’t budge. You need to get away get away get away get away—

“One last thing, to really seal the deal,” he smiles, insidiously kind and horrifying, “to commemorate my victory and your defeat.” 

He bites into your neck, and you scream. 

The fox swallows you whole.

—

He lets you roam freely, whenever he’s gone. To say you were baffled and suspicious was putting it lightly, so you refrained from taking advantage of it for a long, long time. In fact, when you found out his spaceship-apartment-thing was mounted with surveillance in every nook and cranny, rather than walk out the door, you found a cramped closet to hide in for a few days. Curling into a ball all day wasn’t easy on the joints, but you were taking any semblance of privacy you could get. But Aventurine, petty and cruel, forced you to seal off your haven with your own hands before he tore into you. If he wants you in his sights or roaming about, he should just make up his mind already.

But, for this one occasion, you choose to abuse this privilege. You usually come back around the same time he does to appease him, but you finally decided you needed a vacation after he forced you into one of his stupid gambles and forced you to fulfill another of his especially perverted fantasies; on top of forcing you to help him get acquainted with a gacha you played—and he’d be the direct cause of your cake turning out burnt. Sure, there are those big moments where lava and ink converge, but it’s the little things which sting and nick that pile up. The real kicker was when he forced you two to share a plate of pasta one night and when, of course, you two landed on the same noodle, he had the brilliant idea to suck it up at the speed of light; likely hoping it would get him to your lips sooner. How romantic, making out while you both had half chewed food in your mouths; you truly could not commend this man’s genius enough! Unfortunately for his plans and your sanity, you couldn’t keep up, and that is why you know what it’s like to have tomato sauce in your eyes. Not to mention that there were pepperoncinis in there. You were washing it out for days. At least he seemed genuinely apologetic over it, but copious amounts of jewelry don’t supplement how he never asks if you even want or like it.

So, yeah, you’re no fan of how he fucks with you. You gladly made this choice, and all the risk it came with. 

“So, this is where you’ve been.” You think he’s still a little surprised, just as you are. You haven’t done much in the way of defiance, both because you wanted nothing more than to remain within yourself, and because you feared his retaliation (very, very much). The few risks you have taken never pay off. Even this one didn’t pay off in full: for you didn’t even go to see your parents. You tried to tell them the horrible truth and because they deserved to know their child’s fate, but every time you approached their house, something stopped you. Shame, fear, embarrassment, sheepishness…you don’t know. You almost laugh. To think, a quarter of why you’re here is because of the danger they were placed in, yet you can’t even muster the courage to talk to them. Maybe you want them to think you’re dead, because then that’s the version of you that’ll be eternal in their minds: loving, goofy, brimming with potential and optimistic pessimism; and not the pathetic wimp you truly are. The mere risk of seeing disappointment shine in their eyes (they wouldn’t but what if they did? What if?) was enough to scare you off. You dismiss them from your mind because you have to deal with Aventurine, unfortunately. You wonder if you’ll forget them, if you cast them out of your mind enough. “I’m charmed. Our special place.” 

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. This was mine before you ever came here, and it still is.” 

You met each other here on a moonlit night. You couldn’t see each others’ faces, but it didn’t stop you from conversing. You don’t bother to think about it more, because what started as a memory that made you feel warm now enshrouds you in a volcanic blizzard. You’ve already mulled over it plenty anyway—on how such a mundane conversation started all of…this. 

Now, the sun is setting. It calms you down.

“Darling, this is a national park. You don’t own it.”

You tsk. “Shut up. I don’t feel like dealing with you right now. And you literally called this place ‘ours,’ you conniving bastard.” 

“Unfortunate,” his arm slings across your shoulders, “because it’s been such a lonely week without you…” you don’t share the sentiment. His other arm cages you by the waist. You imagine his body rupturing and exploding, showering blood and guts that you’d dance in. Or would you soak yourself in his organs, to savor his defeat? Maybe you’d open your mouth, let your mouth and throat be coated in his blood so you— 

Huh. Something’s off again. You are no stranger to violent thoughts, but lately, at rare times, your fantasies get accompanied by something strange you can’t quite put your finger on.

You make a face, as you look at him over your shoulder with a deadpan glare, “And you’ve let me parade about.”

He giggles. “What? I had no clue you were here till a few hours ago! Honest.”

“Says the surveillance freak.” You wave your phone, “Not to mention I’ve so conveniently kept this tracker with me.”

He drops the act. “You didn’t even try to cover up your tracks.” He sighs, “I must say, your defeatism is probably the least attractive part of you. Can’t say I really understand.”

Then why does he still keep you around? It’s already been nearly half a year.

“You and I have no illusions that I can escape you, and I lost a bet. I try not to be a sore loser.” 

“And yet you so often cry when you lose our games. Kick and scream sometimes.”

Your chest feels hollow, and you hate the feeling so much that you want to die right then and there. “What, should I be jumping for joy when you rape me?” 

Silence. You can almost think he’s a little remorseful. But then his fingers snake up to pull at your collar. Peeling back your skin, to try and coax you out of it. More like tear you out.

You scoff, but your eyes heat up. “Seriously?” Your voice carries a mix of disappointment, anger, fear, and despair. It cracks, “Hardly three minutes and right after I—”

“Relax,” he’s so soothing that your muscles tense up and your heart beats to the nines—what a reassuring boyfriend! He continues his ministrations until he has a good view of your neck, and hums in pleasure, “I can’t say I’m entirely peachy with what you’ve done, but you haven’t been that bad—” you feel yourself slightly relax, “—so we’ll get a room first.” And your heart drops, but you did expect this. He hums, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice, “Unless…you’d like to really make this our special place?” 

No. He can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t he won’t—The slightest bit of life crosses your relatively lifeless face. “Don’t you fucking dare—!”

He covers your mouth, silencing you, and squeezes tight when you try to speak; you feel something in you wither. “Alrighty, I get the idea,” He casually concedes, but you doubt he was all too adamant if he dropped it so easily. “We’ll both save ourselves for later. In the meantime, let’s keep quiet, mhm? We really wouldn’t want anyone to just interrupt us.”

You seethe, but then his grip becomes near painful. Humiliation wells in your chest, as the muzzle tightens. You forcibly relax, and reluctantly nod. Fresh air has never been sweeter. A drop of sweat trickles down your face.

“Good. Very good,” he purrs. “You’re always so good; thank you. I’m glad you see the mutual benefit in doing so.” He brushes a spot at your neck. It’s the spot he first bit you in, and thinking about it still makes you shake in pain. And he’s always sucking or biting at it to stake his stupid claim. You brace yourself. And right on cue he’s latched on, and your scream is muffled by your hand. You’d like to say you’ve gotten used to it, but you’ve never had a good tolerance for pain. Against your wishes, tears fall. Aventurine lunges at the opportunity, sensually licking them and leaving behind a disgusting trail of slime to dry. He kisses your cheekbone, leaving behind a weeping crimson flower, “You really are a crybaby…” his voice sends spiders crawling into your ear.

You desperately wipe your cheek with your sleeves, mostly because you know shoving him away doesn’t work when he gets like this. And then your short lived adrenaline fades.

“Shit!” He’s drawn blood. Again. And you liked this shirt! But you can see why he doesn’t—it was a high collar and a long sleeve, able to cover the mural of bites and bruises he leaves on your body. The majority were faded, but some of them were just a little more permanent. You briefly wonder why he’d ruin your shirt; he’s made it very clear that the mural is for his eyes alone. You suspect he wanted to create an excuse so you’d be forced to wear some jacket or shirt of his.

“Sorry,” he kisses the spot, but each kiss burns you. You don’t understand why he bothers to say the word when you both know he’s not capable of feeling remorse, at least, not for you. He keeps stinging your tender flesh.

You groan, blinking back mist. “You’re making it worse.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, giving you a bloody peck on the cheek, “but can you blame me? You’re not wearing any of my gifts. Makes a guy a little jealous, y’know?” He kisses your cheek again, firmer to imprint his bloody kiss.

“Yes, I can blame you for making conscious decisions,” you coldly snap, but you’re already tired, “Once again, jewelry is overrated and I reaffirm that your taste is shit.”

“I recall my jewelry and clothes were some of the first things you complemented.”

“Aye,” it’s true, but you see an opportunity for levity and take it, “but I have since evolved from my follious self.”

He’s getting that feral look in his eye again. Why?! You didn’t even do anything! You snap. “What is it? Spit it.”

“You’re doing it again.” 

You can’t stand his touch any longer. “Doing what?” You hiss, shoving him away from you so you can face him. But you almost wish he didn’t let you, because there are few things he would trade for you in his hold.

He whistles. It feeds your frustration. You assume that it’s what he usually wants from you. “If this is some weird sexual innuendo then it’s fallen flat on its ass, you affluent horndog. I thought you said to wait later, anyway.”

He blinks in brief shock, before laughing—his canines shine in the orange sunset, “No, no no, not this time around. Let’s put it this way, and I’ll be very clear, just for you,”

As he calms down, an angelic smile spreads in his face, and you know you’re looking straight at damnation. 

“I’ve learned that defeatists succumb to themselves. Pushing them past their limit helps, but it’s not entirely necessary.”

…In the back of your mind, you make a horrific realization. 

You have tilled fields, so You may eventually sow them with cotton.

—

What does your face look like, right now? If you hazard a guess, it might be bestial. You only know your eyes are wide open and not flooding.

In an unexpected subversion, it is you who pins Aventurine to the ground. You don’t pay much mind to his expression: parted lips, breathless, glimmering interest and fulfilled desire in his eyes; it’s unusual and you would’ve drank it in if not for the tornado in your mind. It’s torn through some cotton, leaving the field barely clutching to life.

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” You do not recognize your own voice. You feel your body shaking and find that you’re breathing heavily. 

He smiles. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” His head tips in faux questioning, “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”

You grind your teeth. He hasn’t answered you. “You played Russian Roulette.”

The body of his opponent is slumped on the table across from you two. Their blood continually drips, crying out in defeat. You couldn’t care less about that, because there’s a thought playing on repeat in your mind. 

That could’ve been his body.

His eyes twinkle as he smirks, “Are you jealous?” He cruelly teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?” 

“No.” You’re not being sensible. The cotton in your mind is shredding. You want to balk at the idea, and You want to jump at the opportunity. “Answer my question.”

“Mmm,” he hums, and his nonchalance makes you shake, “well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.”

He’s right. You know just how much pleasure he takes in putting everything on the line. Your question is answered, but for some reason it’s still not satisfied. The few surviving patches of cotton are still in your way.

That depraved feral look in his eyes only grows at your internal battle, and his gloved hand cups your cheek. “What’s wrong?” He goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?”

For a moment, the cotton has come back, regrowing into a beautiful field. But then the scent of blood wafts to your nose, and all of your senses have increased tenfold. The drip of blood sounds like pouring rain, poking numerous holes; the tile below your palms are lifeless slabs of ice, sticking itself to you so you’d have to rip your skin off to get away; blood and perfume and spilled champagne root themselves into your sinuses, bleeding 

them out; chocolate and salt roil on your tongue, scraping along like a rusty iron blade; and Aventurine, beautiful, cruel, loving Aventurine, has never looked clearer, so enthrallingly vivid and colorful you are tempted to sob at the beauty alone.

Hell hath flourished, and it burns the cotton to dust.

You begin to unravel. 

“I want to hollow out your chest.” You admit maddeningly, and you wonder how much your insanity bleeds out. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you think your breath has grown more erratic, “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing, on nothing but you!” You’ve leaned closer till your breaths fan over each others’ faces. Small patches of water begin to drop onto Aventurine’s face—his face that is so breathtakingly and satanically beautiful without the cotton obstructing it—your breath hitches and your mouth twitches, as you take in a quivering breath. “If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” and then something ugly sparks in your chest. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”

The puddle of blood begins flowing toward you. 

It completely burns the cotton, and that is the moment You are no longer safe. But hell is beautiful, you find, and you so gladly drench yourself in its flames. You are still painfully aware of how wrong it all is…but, the storm within you is starting to calm, you don’t cry with your every free moment and you no longer agonize about your parents. You…you think this is peace. To harbor obsession for the man who trapped you in this hell and tortured you and then drowned you in affection and obsession.

You sob, a sound of euphoric despair, and you confess the terrible truth,

“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp, “I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back as you break down, “I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, “I love you I love you I love you I love you!” You’ve collapsed, curling in on yourself but resting your head atop his heart. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…I need you, and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” Oh, you feel so ugly and you feel so much lighter and, and—

His breath shudders, and then swiftly takes you in his arms. You flinch out of your daze, but his grip doesn’t cease, like he wants your bodies to meld into each other. His grip is tight, almost biting, but in your mind free of cotton, it feels secure and adoring. He sits up, shifting so you straddle him. Red dusts his cheeks, a similar shade to the crimson pooling beneath you two. His eyes hold a hunger satiated and a new voracity, gleaming with animalistic intent that makes you shiver. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders, grounding himself to hold back, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he’s panting, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession?” Your heart soars. “You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.”

As the dawn shines on you both as he kisses you, it clicks.

He wanted someone just as desperate as him.

The whisper against your lips is almost reverent, “I knew you were the one,” His eyes are like a meadow, where you dance and sing and never leave, even as your feet howl in pain brushing against poison ivy and oak hidden amidst the grass and flowers. Now you recognize the emotion that drowns in them: an all consuming affection which threatens to erase your existence to everything but him. “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me. It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.” 

Your tears flow, but the corners of your mouth twitch upwards. Insanity has sunk its claws into you, your stress and limits explode in a desperate supernova, and your very being trembles with ecstasy. Aventurine joins you, standing up and spinning you around in his firm hold as you both laugh and laugh in the dawn’s sunlight, with red not trailing too far behind. This is a spectacle you burn and freeze and drown in, witnessed by your spectator in rot.

Then you're devoured, but you’ve grown your own claws and fangs.

Driven by nothing more than instinct, in the throes of your tryst, you bury your head in the crook of his neck,

And bite.

#yandere #Yandere aventurine #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere aventurine x reader #aventurine x reader #yandere honkai star rail #Yandere x you #tw noncon #if you’re this far into the tags then hello welcome to hell #How are you? I’m chillin out it’s pretty nice #Dreading the day I must finally become a proper tool in capitalism (re: get an actual job so I do not starve to death and deprived of— #—basic human necessities. Like nestle water) #Ha didn’t expect capitalism depression in the tags of a yandere work didja well to that I say SIKE BITCH I’ve got you #But also every other post has espresso depresso abt capitalism so it’s kinda the norm at this point #Marx is rolling in his grave #Anyway go get a drink of water it’s very very important to be hydrated #Also you do not know how hard it is to not write good girl/boy in this FR— #Destroyed Onset

[merakiui]

What abt adventurine noncon while you're in the dream pool....

OMG THIS IS THE DREAMPOOL???????

(⊙_⊙) oh,,,, oh, it's absolutely stunning......... the seashell tub, the ambience, the atmosphere, the colors, the everything!!!! It's so vaporwave AAAAAAAAAA. What a romantic place. <3

T^T I want to play Penacony arc so badly,,, uuuwuaaa it looks so pretty,,,, Aventurine non-conning you in the Dreampool........ soft somno,,, whispering the sweetest of praises while you're drifting in a dream!!!!! Your body responding so readily to his touch by carnal instinct, to his lips on every inch of your soft skin, as if the two of you were made to be together this entire time.

#honkai chit chat #tw: noncon #n/sfw #getting bred in the dreampool........... #aventurine please wait for me my love orz #soon i will be able to play a lot of hsr to reach you in the story!!!!

[alisdarkwrites]

Aventurine thought <3

Possibly ooc aventurine

Tw - noncon

I can see him making you gamble with him, but if you lose you get fucked. If he loses, you get to try and escape. But if you can’t escape you also get fucked then too.

Pretty much you’re fucked either way.

“You lost again” aventurine said, walking over to you. You tried to get away but you just backed into the head board. He’d already pounded you 6 times that night. You were exhausted. “Please I’m really tired! I can’t do anymore!” You were begging, pleading with him. Yet he wouldn’t listen.

He fucked you for hours before he was done with you, setting the game up once more and forcing you to do it until you passed out <3

#yandere imagines #yandere aventurine #tw noncon

[jean0farc]

claiming the jackpot.

// warnings

non-canon compliant, a bit out of character. yandere. relationship inexperience. implied noncon.

// author’s note

Aventurine’s a little out of character for this imagine. There’s not much content of him on the wiki and I’ve been itching to write some stuff about this guy since he’s pretty new to Star Rail.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Aventurine has always been pleased with the idea of claiming prizes he deemed rightfully his. Toying with the minds of others was what he did best; besides, what is there to satisfy him more than winning a game of chance? Gambling has always been his best feat, but moreover, he wasn’t the type to easily throw a fit over his losses in the heat of the game. In fact, these challenges and obstacles to this game of chance was what made him all the more feisty and insistent.

When he met you, he began staking out his claim like a panther and insisted you to be respectfully his and only his. Months into the friendship, you always showed signs of naivety since this was not a situation you had adequate experience around. Aventurine was unlike other men around. He treasured you, spent time with you, made you feel beautiful, loved, and appreciated for doing the bare minimum. Despite all this, you grew tired of his antics considering you weren’t actually ready for a serious relationship.

“He’s always this vibrant” — you thought. And you were right. He always displayed exemplary behavior when dealing with colleagues and members of the Astral Express. That was just a part of his charm. You chose to look at the big picture and imagine how your experiences with Aventurine would turn out provided you said ‘yes’ to his will of wanting to lure you in. But that wasn’t enough. You needed to dig deeper into the core of his being and sense any form of red flags in him while it still wasn’t too late.

There are many layers to Aventurine’s self — one that’s charismatic, friendly, and outgoing. Yet that’s just a tip of the iceberg according to your family and friends. What he hid from the masses, was what he displayed right before you at this very moment. A pissed, sarcastic Aventurine filled with pride and deceit.

The question remained in your thoughts — was a relationship with this shady, questionable man really worth pursuing?

There’s not enough chemistry between the two of you, was there? If you observed anything from the man himself, it was that he developed an addiction for gambling, playing games of endless possibilities and luck. And god knows what he does to his most precious jackpots.

You, a prize in his eyes, felt an overwhelming sense of urgency to run from his touch. Sure, he was polite enough to lend you some money for your college fees. But such treatment just wasn’t worth a reason for you to pursue hooking up with him. Before you could face Aventurine head on, he lifted you up bridal style, shoving you on the mattress with your face first. There’s not much you can do right now.

Sure, he was glammed up in luxurious jewelry and sported handsome, youthful features. He could spoil anyone he held dear for he had the gold to do so. But something wasn’t right. This relationship wasn’t right. It just felt so out of your control and the timing was off. But he didn’t stop.

Your mouth eventually complied with his tongue. Aventurine guides you through the whole process of pulling you in, claiming you as the grand prize of tonight’s game. It’s not as if you could resist any of his advances from now. He’s got millions of eyes glued upon you just like he had millions in his pocket.

“Beautiful. Such an eager little sweetheart. I’m going to take you nice and deep, and you’re going to be a good doll for me, yes?”

“N-no!!! Please, let me go!” you pleaded. Pled till your throat ran dry. You struggled against Aventurine’s strength as you shook your head from left to right, indicating your resistance towards his touch. “I swear, I’ll do anything, just please, let me go! I’m sick of our relationship being this way!”

“Ah, ah, ah, better watch what you say, little one. Those who seize the night may be out to get you, yet none of them went the extra mile to actually express their love for you.” Aventurine chuckled condescendingly. “From this day onward, you’re going to regret leaving me.”

Against your will, you felt something similar to a sword hilt impale you like an uppercut, It was Aventurine’s length stretching every last bit of your sanity, hell, even your pride.

His moans. You couldn’t get enough of it. Despite being naked and restrained in his king-sized bed, you felt his body heat radiate in front of yours, feeling the friction of his thrusts that grew guttural as time passed.

“Hah. I’ve been addicted to the art of gambling for quite a long time now, and it’s been a long time noting how……fascinating it is to actually claim the most precious prize of them all…..All of it, as mine.”

“I’m not yours! Ngh!” you exclaimed, stifling a moan.

“Yes, my dear. Yes, you are.” Aventurine sneered. “One of these days, you’re going to get used to this. Used to having my eyes set upon the fragile, feeble you. I’m going to meet you in that beautiful afterglow as I make this relationship the best you ever had. And that time….is tonight.”

“It would be better if you just do as I say. Otherwise, I’ll just find more ways to sneak up on you and make you mine.” he added.

With that, he, once again, pressed his lips onto yours, shutting you up for the sake of shutting you up.

And there he was, plainly confessing his undying love (and lust) for your presence as a lovely jackpot.

#x reader #yandere x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr aventurine #hsr x you #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #hsr x reader #yandere tw #dddne

[daze4all]

Preserve the Deal - NSFW Yandere!Masochist!Aventurine x  Debtor! Reader

You don’t get to walk out this deal unscathed…he has you in chokehold which you deliver right back.  Reader!Debter and Creditor! Aventurine. Hate sex.  Asphyxiation, Masochist! (Sadist!) Aventurine.

Warning: Yandere! Aventurine, Powerplay, Crediter x debtor Reader, Thigh riding, Pain Masochist! Aventurine.  , Suffocation, He has you in chokehold… he is annoying so could see why ppl want to strangle him a bit…hate sex. Biting kisses, tie bondage. Dubcon/noncon.. safewords so unwilling but consensual? Prostitution  dirty talk. Bets. Swearing. Humiliation. Swearing.

Yandere!Masochist!Aventurine! X Reader

Spread out on billboard along with the many chips you simply were a prize to be won in this bet and aventurine was never one to lose…

Yandere! Aventurine eyed you across the desk in his hotel room. A proud symbol of great nation fallen to debt but shining with rich history culture.

Miss perfect. He mocked a glint in his eye as he panted at her ministrations gentle and steady but not enough when the fires of jealousy still raged.

 He was fixated particularly on you so you had been served per his request as the representative to deal with him on most occasions.

“You mean to say you like to build it back the way you like” bitter as you mind calculated dteh losing deal your planet need resources the ipc provided. Aventurine struck gard deal and was a headaches his hypnotic eyes always searching for more.

“ Most of citizen made to be ipc worker from the planet you take over” you pointed out

Gazing at the ipc emblem on the wall and remembering strict communal way were run down to identical uniforms. You grimaced as aventurine looked amused.

“I like preserve civilizations not ruin them.” Tactfully he retorted.

We will exist and survive as brand are quite powerful, preserving longer than past civilization I say. Aventurine countered

And if I do remember friend, you own quite the debt Yandere Aventurine hummed

“I won’t let the culture and heritage be erased colonized and dominated by the ipc brand as one of their projects.” You proudly retorted without the strength. You reminded him of cute cornered mouse putting on brave face before the amused smiling cat.

Oh, then what will you give up instead? We run an enterprise not a charity after all. He already had a deal forming in his mind.

“Our land rich with trade there is benefit to get rare materials seen nowhere else and we have lasted centuries as has our trade union. Name it do you want “you ventured confident in your planet resources but not excepting his request.

“Rare treasure indeed…as you are rarest of all. Give yourself to me, let me preserve your beauty.” He smoothly said as you blinked perplexed as his words sank in.

“Is that even allowed?” you spat out shocked and appalled nervous eyes seeking a way out. If you had a  drink you’d have thrown it in his face, He wasn’t serious was he ?

but your planet needed this deal. …

“Sometimes rules need to be broken~ he whispered in your ear.

The way I do business is different …. but a once in lifetime deal just for you dear. I’ve taken a liking to you assured aventurine sweetly as he draped his coat over you covering you with his scent.

I’ll give you the business dinner to think about it her genouslry offed as he helped you put on not your own but His coat . An obvousis sign and symbol marking you and a chain kept you frozen in place by his side the rest of the night at the business dinner.

Your mind whired at the implications and insinuation.  The benift and obcous disadavtage the fallout this would bring as you relize dyouw ere trapped.

At the end of the night found youselr again alone with Yandere! Aventurine  in his office as he reached out to tuck hair behind ear and his hand strays to brush your to neck where the pulse beats as fast as a trapped bird .

Why you asked?

“I am the ipc so all that fleeing and ethereal I deal with…” He hums as he pulls from your ear a coin like a magic trick.

“So just a taste of eternity tonight is all I ask.” Aventurine smoothly says the sentence heavy with expectations as he flips the coin smoothly from head to tail across his knuckles.

“As if I’ll get any pleasure from this deal” she spat out vitriolic in embarrassment.  Squashing shamefully the part of her that it so easy to say yes and fear she might fall for his hypnotic charms. The snake in the grass and the devil in the details of the deal.

To give him what he truly wanted all along when he had fixed his hypnotic eyes on her when first visiting their planet,

“Glad to see you are agreeable to the deal now you want to bet on it?” Aventurine smiled serenely extending a hand to seal the devils deal. Eyes flashing hypnotic and melodic a sharp flash of teeth.

Compelled conflicted and trapped you took the devil deal and shook his hand.

Yandere! Aventurine would prove to her a night with him was pleasure not easily escaped.

----- 18+ Smut begins---

Yandere! Aventurine took her hand pulling into his arms before hoisting her up on his desk Spreading his hand apart on either side of her observing her next reaction so fascinating to his hypnotic eyes. Observing and calculating his next move to her nervous stare.

“Get on top, after all that all you ever wanted right? The everything will be right” he crooned cruelly in amusement. With a sly smile he sat back in his plush rolling chair as he admired her perched on his desk above him.

“Alright “she mustered with what pride she had left. She shook with anger frustration as she stepped down from above and gave in settling herself on his lap with an icy stare.  Goaded by the bet.

“I love to ruin perfect things and you my dear are perfection.” Yandere Aventurine purred.

After months of bargaining with him over deals and bartering on behalf of her planet whilst putting as much space she could through communication with talking helms and sky crane.

Finally, she was forced to meet him face to face as he wanted. On his lap no less. bending o his whims like the whore, he wanted her to be.  

She thought ashamed, disgusted, and a bit turned on despite her deep feelings of anger she felt for this man.

“Ahh miss judge not wanting to break the rules. Miss perfect” he goaded. Humming idly as he rutted up into her to get her to move. 

Annoyed she ground down hard enough on him she thought it would hurt but only got a please groan.

“You scoundrel” she breathed annoyed to be caught in his web. He was handing over the reins for the illusion of control.

All she could do was ride him with her anger at her predicament. Undulating hips sharp and hard twists intending to make it hurt putting pressure on his groin but only receiving please moans in retuen. Was this guy a masochist ?

“Move dear or is that all you got”. Yandere!Aventurine mocked a glint in his eye as he panted at her ministrations gentle steady but not enough when the fires of jealousy still raged.

She set her lip in grim determined line and properly straddling him moved purposefully receiving unwanted pleasure from the action. Her grip also tightened at the nape of his neck provoked by his taunt.

It was fight for control over the planet as much as over each other. One neither wanted to lose. how many times did she want him writhing beneath her like this helpless so many times like she was while her land lay wrecked and ruined. It was the best revenger she could get bittersweet as she knew just falling in to his hands. Afterall how could she hurt a masochist?

“The treasure of the planet all for me.” He crooned admiring he view of her

As she bounced on his cock, he took a nipple into his mouth with mischievous grin rolling the bud in his mouth and scraping his teeth against it.

“Don’t you dare” she hissed tightening her grip and pulling as his hair at the nape of neck in warning in response he only hovered and delivered a love bite and sucked making a hickey as he moved back to survey his work.

A mixture of pain and pleasure shot through her in revenge her hands went from his shoulders to his neck reflexively and squeezed in warning.

Yandere! Aventurine groaned in response, breathless from the lack air sweet relief and high rushing from sudden adrenaline rush of fear, pain and pleasure. A risky bet he had made one he would win.

Sometimes rules need to be broken~ Aventurine taunted before turning the tables on her and hoisting her up and pushing her swiftly onto her back so she was bottom and he atop

Yandere! Aventurine pushed aside cumbersome clothing and thrust suddenly to her surprise and into her to wet wall gasping panting from exertion seeing stars.

AH! Hah—you bas- She gasped as a finger stifled her

Ah I do love it when you fight …amused as Yandere!Aventurine notices her trying to turn to face him to regain control. He pinned her down easily and he locked her arm behind her back and mount sher from behind as she gasped from the fullness of him.

“Mhh how good how wet you are for me dear what lovely cocksleeve” Yandere!Aventurine groans in pleasure the feeling of velvety walls close on him. An embrace she would never give him normally.

So, it was a sweet prize her took heightened by her annoyed and angered face. She trembled in anger and humiliation.

“So feisty and so beautiful don’t you see? This is sight I must preserve my eyes alone”

Yandere!Aventurine bites his glove off “to feel you better my dear” he crooned as with slim fingers he explore nook and cranny of wet walls fingering and flicking the nub so she was leaking for him.

Humming nonchalantly with cheeky grin. Yandere!Aventurine thruss into her to wet walls gasping, panting from exertion seeing stars with her spark of pleasure burning between them as high as the feeling from the damnble attraction between them. Each the other thorns in their side rival and enemies in the workplace.

Now he the creditor putting his debtor in place.

“Ah you are perfection, I will preserve all of you~” Yandere!Aventurine murmurs hotly into her ear savoring her warmth , her burning embarrassment, shame and humiliation at his hands.

 “Before I break it all”. Hushed whispered a dark promise as she cried out and succumbed to his ministrations as she pushed her onto her back and took her over and over again.

“And build it back up again” Yandere!Aventurine growled as she wailed as met esctay and high warmth spilling unhinder into her deiptis her struggle.

“That was the deal my dear” Yandere!Aventurine crooned in self-satisfaction at her ruined wrecked state chasing her own pleasure futilely on his cock no matter the bastard it was attached to as she had hissed in his ear turning him on even more.

“You smug bastard, I hate you” she gritted out tears squeezing out and mouth open in unwanted pleasure as she rutted against him face flushed panting.

“As long as you love this~” He purred as he wrapped his tie around her hands jerking her forward onto his lap making her bounce to his hips in smacking rhythm like before but he was in control.

“Hmm with that face, my dear it says you want this” Humming Yandere!Aventurine thrust into her to wet wall gasping panting from exertion seeing star until her and pick up speed

Yandere!Aventurineloosened then tightened his tie as he pulled her forward on his lap forcing her down to embrace his weeping cock. To kiss it with her own pussy leaking and hungry for him although her own mouth may say otherwise.

“So fiery~ ha I love it “

Do I have to ah shut you up again? She threatedn

“Try it all the more pleasure for me my dear” smirked Yandere!Aventurine

confirming he was in fact a raging masochist as much as he was sadist enjoying her humiliation at his hands.

Annoyed her hands reached out and did as he asked for the satisfaction of the deed no matter that it gave him what he wanted.

“ah Quite a good deal, I’d say my dear “he gasped and purred as his tilted up her chin to kiss her as she sexily strangled him.

She jerked her head biting down on his tongue. Trail of red blood and saliva slid  down their lips connecting them  and broke between them.

“Whores don’t kiss, is it?” Aventurine sardonically said at her hate filled gaze. 

Bastard, I’m not whore she retorted.

“That what you desire dear with your attitude.” He rretorted as he he flipped her doggy style and pounded her harder. Her grip tightened harder on his neck giving him the delicous sensation of struggling for air. Making him heady with the loss of air  panting and flushed with the sdrenaline rush to shut him up until she released him.

“Bastard pervert” she swore as she trembled from her own orgasm disgust on her face as if he were an insect or worm. The disgust on his face on serving to turning him on. As he was the disgusting pervert

“Remember dear I’m the one defiling you. What does that say of you dirty girl?” Aventurine choughed out before closing his eyes savoring her warm insides

“Not a whore” she bit back hotly.

 “True just my slut then~ he hummed satisfied as his own delusional conclusion.

“Afterall, You wouldn’t dare go back on the deal and fuck someone else would you?”

Yandere!Aventurine’s eyes dark and hypnotic with jealousy. She scowled she never made no such promise.

Better make sure, shouldn’t we dear? Dread crept up her back at the institution as she felt he hardening of him within her relizing too late his intentions.

Ahh mph You better not-hey this was not part of the deal-“ she protested futile as he pushed her down lost in pleasure.

He met her eye sand just smirked emptying himself in her to her disgust.

 I’ll pay extra he tossed out as she glared daggers at him fading into distraction by the warm rush of him and by her own pleasure as her own orgasm washed over her.

Extra Post Coitus

Cleanup will be bitch Aventurine lightly remarked as he sat on the bed observing the mess.

No more than you are she answered ambiguously wrapped in the sheet he stole from him as he grappled for them back then settled to smoke while eying her cocoon .

“I am your destructive mess” Yandere!Aventurine conceded “one you have to deal with on daily basis dear as you best customer.”

Someday he would have her in her entirety not just her body he mused as smoke curled from his cigarette and couched as she grumbled about the smell and nestled further in her covers.

By his side he wondered if she realized she was unintendedly cuddling with him but decided to bite her tongue lest she squirm away in disgust again.

“How did it feel dear?” Yandere!Aventurine asked.

At the silence he continued “I don’t take bets I don’t win so of course you loved it” smugly as he unwrapped her shaking flushed form still shaking with desire lust as she reached out for him.

“I wonder if you are not the whore” she snarked back as her only acknowledgement of his skills as last resort. Annoyed he had had enthralled her so and made her fall to temptation and pleasure of the act.

“Again dear?” Yandere!Aventurine smirked as he embraced her. Yes, this deal was a most fruitful one that he would win by the end.

Extra: Behind the scenes could read it as a roleplay and he paid her….

“That was crazy and cumming inside was not part of deal” she tartly said as they lounged post coitus. A close bond formed from the intertwining of bodies and informality from dealing with each other for so long.

“Hmm but you never said the safe word … A bank such as the ipc always has a safe password ~” Aventurine reminded her cheekily.

“….I forgot” she sniffed turning her head in embarrassment

What No really? Aventurine mocked with a laugh.

What was it?

Not telling he teased

Imagine lol…the safe word was Ratio because nothing turns off a man like hearing another come from herlips or if you guys ship him reminder what cannot have or cheating one lol. Hmm maybe do threesome aventurine introducing his girl to ratio to make him fall lol

The trick is technically this fic never mentioned one…but it may had been decided earlier if it was deal the two a customer and client rather that debtor and creditor but up to reader interpretation…

-Background Context for OC/Reader.

- Originally used she as reader Dawn based OC the Judge to ten commissions

- who had to pay the IPC to keep trade deal up with Xianzhou & renew deals after the abundance war fallout when quintets split up leaving the loufu in shambles like the situation with Aurum alley

-So she had to deal with Aventurine…with her body and rumor circulated she only had her beauty and no strength unlike  her high elder older brother Dan Feng to deal diplomatically with other planets

- Virgin queen Elizabeth based Reader who enticed suiters across space with promises with marriage expect Dawn is the not so virgin femme fatale with Jing Yuan as the right hand Roger Peele man she was involved with but was unable to marry.

more smut on here

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere imagines #female reader smut #anime smut #hsr aventurine x reader #aventurine x stelle #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #yandere honkai star rail #male yandere #yandere male #yandere hsr #yandere x darling #yandere aventurine #yandere hsr x reader #female reader insert

[jymwahuwu]

Aventurine carries a timer. If you don't orgasm within the time limit while being noncon by him, you will get a lot of creampie, which will make you afraid of getting pregnant. Or a dice, directly choose the number of times you will be creampie that day, but you roll it…

[strawberri-yan]

I truly believe if Acheron didn’t step in to save us then Aventurine woulda nonconned us that night

#he was giving us the im gonna fuck you eyes

[maxzinn]

off topic but also on topic its so clear that the genshin/star rail (saying both cause theres a large overlap) have no capability of thinking.

there are so many fics where *reader* somehow becomes a (sex)slave or is forced to do horrible shit and just general dead dove behavior. the fact that the author used INGAME LORE, CANON BACKSTORY FOR THE CHARACTER proves how braindead so many people are.

like people try to free slaves/captors in media isnt a new thing. theres a lot of art of that angelhusk ship where one gambles for the others freedom (never watched it but its an example)

like having slaves/captors in media isnt new and never has been but the only reason people truely care is because its a hoyoverse game and cant handle anything darker or complex then a PG rating

(sorry anon, I got carried away with this one tee-hee)

YOU'RE SO REAL FOR THIS!!! y'know I was sooo confused when people started screaming for blood when the authors are using his IN-GAME LORE in their fics and then claims that the people who enjoyed writing those have "white-knight syndrome" like cmon sjsadhjg you're giving me a fucking stroke.

I'll say it again, wanting to give slave aventurine or someone a better life DOESN'T mean they have "white-knight syndrome" when they have good intentions!!! We were all were crying for him and his tragic past, we all wanted to comfort him, and we at some point also wished for his salvation and the betterment of his life. These people need to stop throwing these "white-knight syndrome" accusations cuz it's definitely not about that. And like you said, it was his IN-GAME LORE. I already expected some authors to write about reader saving him from his slavery and there's nothing wrong with that! Cuz please, don't tell me you won't help the guy out of his abusive owner, let's be fr here.

Like you also said, many have been writing yandere/heavy dark themes about reader being literally SA'd and R'd by said character (do not tell me you guys haven't read all those fics where Aven was our debt collector and in paying our debt, he noncon or manipulated us into sleeping with him 💀) and now they wanna talk about morals?

And please, don't even try bringing up Romania or irl people in here. IT'S A FICTIONAL RACE IN A FICTIONAL STORY. it may be "inspired" like they said, but it's not directly addressing Romania!!

I get their point alright, I truly do. Like I said in my other post, I do not condone the sex slave! aus about aventurine and the master/slave bdsm cuz his story truly hurt me and I'm uncomfortable sexualizing his slavery when I know about his story and what happened to him as a slave. But I won't go as far as to actually send death threats to those authors and act like a hypocrite💀 people can write what they want to write and I don't have to read those writings if I don't wanna.

Just to say, I'm a yandere/dark-content enjoyer as well, it's just that I draw the line when it comes to aventurine cuz I just wanna cuddle and dote on that man and give him all the love and affection in the world. but like I said, am no hypocrite as well. (sorry if I can't explain it very well but I hope you get the gist of it)

It's just funny and baffling how people are like "eww this person wrote a fic about reader buying slave aventurine so they can be a good owner to him".... this is leaving me speechless how they turned an act with good intentions into something malicious... that poor author doesn't even have bad intentions when writing that fic.

When you apply their logic, it's like saying "this person adopted an abused child so that they can be a good parent to that child, disgusting" do they even realize how stupid they sound??? 😭

#aventurine x reader #I just cannot with this #y'all giving me a headache with this one #funny how they turned a person's good intention into something malicious

[yandollies]

UPCOMING WORKS && IDEAS

Hello, pretty things <3 My name is Naaji and I'm a hypersexual writer, writing to get some of my thoughts and feelings out instead of letting them sit. My pronouns are he/him and I'm a gay trans man, so most of my writings will either be male reader or gn reader. That being said, anybody regardless of gender or sexual orientation is welcome to interact :3

I don't take requests, but you're free to leave thirsts / brainrots anytime! If I find the concept interesting I might write a little drabble or some hcs about it ^_^

WARNING : This account will contain smut and possibly disturbing topics written by a minor. I don't care who interacts with me, but if you're uncomfortable with this please leave for your own sake <3

Moving on to more of what I'll write...

I will be writing smut and dark content such as: yanderes, underage sex (between two minors), large age gaps (18 & late 30s / 40s ?), threesomes, character x reader, character x character

(PS: I might also add some of my own hcs to the writing just because I love my hcs and I want everyone to know)

However, I will also write fluff or familial relationships (platonic) every once and a while! (And maybe angst if I'm feeling it)

Some fandoms that I'm into and may write about are: Bungou Stray Dogs, Genshin Impact, Honkai Star Rail, Reverse 1999, Final Fantasy, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Heaven Official's Blessing, Pokemon, Omori, The Legend Of Zelda, Devilman Crybaby, Fairy Tail, The Summer Hikaru Died, Project Sekai, and Alien Stage

Some of my favorite characters to write for are: Kaedehara Kazuha, Shikanoin Heizou, Scaramouche / Wanderer, Freminet, Neuvillette, Wriothesley - Fukuzawa Fukichi, Oda Sakunosuke, Nakahara Chuuya, Atsushi Nakajima, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Osamu Dazai, Edgar Allan Poe - Blade, Dan Heng, Aventurine, Gepard - Pavia, Зима, Shamane, Horropedia, Forget Me Not - Adaman, Volo, Bede, Gladion, N, Kieran, Guzma - Till, Ivan (The boyfriends..,.,..) - alot more I can't list all of them

Some of my favorite ships: Kawoshin, Ivantill, Soukoku (specifically 15!skk), Kazuhei, Wriolette, Kazuxiao, Suntan, Sunflower, Cactiflower, Sunturine, Sunhill, Akiryo

I will also likely write about some ocs of mine or just unnamed character concepts.

Some things that I will NOT be writing: minor x adult, smut containing young children (1 - 12 yrs old), r-pe, SA, noncon, stepcest / incest, kinks containing bodily fluids or anything like that (piss, scat, vomit, sweat, etc. Sorry.. just not into that)

Masterlist coming soon !!!!

Reminder that I am a minor and I do have school and other things going on in my life, so posts might not be that frequent .. Sorry lovelies </3 Goodbye for now !! ^_< ♡

#x reader #yandere x reader #genshin x reader #hsr x reader #bsd x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #male reader #ftm reader #smut #x reader smut #kazuha x reader #chuuya x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #dazai x reader #blade x reader #reverse 1999 x reader #pokemon x reader #smut written by a minor #odasaku x reader #fukuzawa x reader

[heartlyrins]

GAMBLE FOR YOUR LIFE !

˚₊‧Desc— In which by gambling on his life, Aventurine manages to procure himself a little pet to take care of.

˚₊‧TW— smut, dubcon, slave/master, gentle noncon, face fucking, hair pulling, praise, anal, fem!reader, pet names, human trafficking, pussy eating, pussy kisses, he loves babying you, Aventurine sees himself in you so he's a total softie to you :(, spoilers for 2.0 and his backstory

˚₊‧A/N— Hey cuties!! Short lil fic before I actually write dark content for real, sorry my writing is a lil messed I'm a lil sleepy. Not really dark content since it's more like dubcon, sorry I was in the mood for praises :(. Send me requests I'm so lonely

Gambling is something many people enjoy—of course, Aventurine is one of that many people. It's not that he enjoys it, he just has some extraordinary luck as his sister once said.

Through gambling, he finds that you can attain many things. Some of the things which shouldn't even be sold—an illegal trade of sorts.

You could even trade a life.

Not his life, of course, not anymore. But a cute doozy girl from the slumps, he was once a being like you—a slave sold from places to place, but he had escaped that life.

The Kakavasha he once was is no more, instead an Aventurine is reborn. But seeing the look in your eyes reminds him of the child he once was, the child he didn't have the opportunity to memorise.

The life he left behind and hoping to forget. But he's reminded of it everytime he looks deep into your eyes.

He's grown to like you. You've gone through the same things he did, but only that you hadn't have his luck to escape earlier.

He can see that you're starting to grow him too, it was easy to get you to like him. The masters you've had must've treat you badly, so it would come to you naturally to like a kind one.

Well he does give you pats and praises when you've done even something that isn't worth noting. Like for example, picking up something from the ground and throwing it away, sleeping when he told you so, chewing with your mouth closed.

Those were the basic things natural in life, but he can't help to praise you for the simplest thing.

Even as you're just taking him into your mouth, not even bothering to suck on his cock and just taking it motionlessly in your mouth while he does all the work, he still can't help but praise you for it.

"Oh, baby—baby relax your throat." He coos as he looks down at you, holding onto your hair gently as if you were so fragile.

He starts to push his cock deeper, enabling your gag reflex as your throat attempts to push away the foreign object currently in your mouth.

He's so gentle with you that you hate it, you hate how he babies you, you hate how he's doing this without your consent and you especially hate how your body is reacting to it.

"I'm going to fuck your throat now okay?" He pushes through despite your gag reflex and grips onto your scalp almost painfully as he begins to fuck your face repeatedly.

"F-fuhck—you feel so good, so fucking good!" In a breathy moan he starts to abuse your throat faster, the only thing you could do was attempt to breathe through your nose which you were failing miserably.

You were almost kne the verge of fainting, black spots taking over your visions until he pulled out of you and came on your face, his cum dripping down your hair and eyelashes.

You start heaving on the floor, appreciating that you could at least breathe again. But you weren't even allowed that when he brings you to the bed and lays you down flat on your back gently.

You weren't used to this kind of gentleness from your previous masters, or anyone at all. He kisses your pussy through your panties before pushing them to the side and spreading your lips apart.

"Your pussy is so pretty.." He moaned out when he was met with the sight of your pink lips.

He licks a stripe up to your clit and gives a kiss on it and it gave you a moment to wonder if he was making out with your pussy.

The index of his ginger soon entered your hole as he licks at your vagina as if he was a starving man on an island.

Once he deemed you were wet enough, he positions the tip of his cock on your entrance before sliding the tip of it down to your puckered hole and you can see him smirking as he sees the fear in your eyes, desperately trying to push him away.

"N-no there.. It's dirty and dry—" you attempt to reason but he only spits down on his thumb and opens up the puckered hole slowly with his thumb.

The mere feeling of it disgusts you.

But what could you do accept take his cock in your asshole as he wanted to? And he's certainly adamant on it.

He brings his head down to your ears before whispering silently in your ear and you can feel his hot breath on your earlobe.

"Shh, it's gonna hurt if you don't relax okay? I'll do it slowly, baby." the fact that he was so relaxed about it made you wanted to push him further, but he kept you still by the hips and pushes into you as he said—slowly.

But it still hurts no matter how he does it and you squeal at the pain—you wish that he would've just pushed it all at once so the pain would be gone faster.

"You're such a good girl, you know that? My good girl. It was worth it gambling my life in that casino, just for you. I wanted you the moment I set eyes on you—" he groaned as he pushes himself further until he's at the hilt.

You push against his chest, flailing around at the pain but he just leans over to your tits and holds one boob in his hand before sucking on the other.

He reaches a finger down to your clit and starts rubbing you to get you to your climax faster which made it hurts even more, but it felt so pleasurable even if you try to resist.

"N-nuh, not there I'm sensitive!" you moan, it felt like you wanted to black out from the pain and the fact that it felt so good infuriates you.

He groans as he starts setting his pace faster, letting go of your nipple with a pop and moving onto your neck before sucking on one of the spot.

"Ahah—you're so cute.." he says when he pulls away from your neck, leaving a hickey in place.

"So adorable.. Go on, cum my little princess. Cum from me fucking your little tight asshole—" as if on command, your body reacts and came immediately.

He groans as he felt you tighten up, giving a few more thrusts before he came in you and pulls out, letting his cum drip down the sheet.

You were so glad that it was over, until he cups your chin and makes you face him.

"Oh no, baby. I've got a few more load left inside me, after all, I still haven't used your pussy yet.. You didn't think it was over, did you?" he grins when he sees your droopy face that was stained with his cum and gives you a kiss on your forehead.

The night still has a long way to go.

#tw.noncon #tw.dubcon #tw.dark content #master/slave #master/pet #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #aventurine smut #aventurine x you #aventurine noncon #star rail aventurine #yandere #yandere aventurine #yandere oc x reader #aventurine x y/n #smut #please send me requests I'm lonely #pretty bad for my first fic #not really dark content #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #tw noncon #tw dubcon

[stickyspeckledlight]

Waxing, Waning, My Unraveled Body Beheld By the Moon [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]

The sun is not always shining. But the moon can only shine because of the sun. A companion piece to Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset. This fic assumes you've read it, so I heavily recommend you read it first before reading this. It'll make more sense if you do.

Ao3

Word count: 15.4k

TW: Implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, mild gore, violence against reader, choking/strangulation, Stockholm syndrome, Aventurine's Past shows up, EXTREME tonal whiplash due to the beginning (but frankly it's so you can brace yourselves...the calm before the storm), Reader needs a hug, Ratio where are you my man needs therapy NOW, twisted "happy endings" my beloved

Note: This got so out of hand. Aventurine is the most potent brain worm I've had in a while. Poor reader though. They used to be such a cringefail, now they're a poor little meow meow 😔

(Written before 2.2)

You stand on the top of a tower. 

It’s a modest and small thing, but every second and breath you’ve taken is in its service. Time is its mortar, and actions are its bricks. It is stable, for you’ve built it straight up; a wide and strong base, with little deviation. If it had a shaky foundation, then you wouldn’t even bother.

You have no plans to construct it into something grandiose and spectacular. It’s best to keep your ambitions realistic, for it is so very easy to use and dispose of those with dreams bigger than themselves and small enough to be crushed in the palms of those atop skyscrapers. Your tower is modest, and you will keep it that way. You will have to become a cog in the machine for that to happen, but you can meagerly control the stability of your cog. 

It is cruel that it has to be that way, but you aren’t capable enough to change the way things are done. You might as well make the most out of this.

You know this song and dance, by now. The park is closed at this time of night, but, and it might be your greatest achievement of them all, you found a way to sneak in undetected. Granted, there wasn’t anyone to stop you, but you were always good at being quiet, so rarely are you noticed. 

You park your bike, well hidden in the bushes and trees. This is the noisiest part of your visit since the bike is heavy and you can’t suppress your soft grunts as you weasel it into its spot. But it’s worth it. After that, you walk along the trail, and when you’re far enough away, you stop trying to silence your steps and enjoy the sound of your boots falling onto dirt. It’s a soft but firm sound, and it brings you a sense of peace. You hike until you reach it. A little trail to the side; few sets of feet have paved the dirt, and even those who decide to pursue it usually turn back at the impenetrable foliage. But, you know there’s a stop. It’s tucked away, discovered by a much younger and adventurous you. You’re not sure if you found this place because you wanted to pretend to be a fairy princess or a heroic knight who saves the princess, or if you might’ve always been a little bit lonely. Whatever the case, you found this place, and it has since been your reprieve whenever things become too much. 

You know the area like the back of your hand, so you turn off your phone’s flashlight as you make your way. It’s a small clearing of forest, but it’s perfect. Bushes and trees surround you in a half-circle from behind, and in front of you is the ledge of a cliff. From here, the sky has a clear view and it is always lovely whenever there’s a sunrise or sunset. Sometimes, when your mind wanders, you wonder how long you’d fall if you tripped over the ledge. But those are just musings you have no intention of acting on. 

The moon does not grace you with its shine, but that’s alright. You’re here to see it shine on everything else. You’ll bask in the darkness, and admire the silver sheen on the rest of the world; the world which gets a fraction of the sun, even at night. You settle into your spot against the tree trunk, shaped so it nearly encircles you in its embrace. A silly thought crosses your mind: has this tree loved you? Of course not, but it’s just that: a silly little thought. 

You’re not here for any especially soul-crushing reason or anything. It’s the usual: schoolwork ramping up and deadlines creeping up. And the accompanying existentialism of what comes after. It’s just another peaceful night during a stressful time. It will soothe your soul, the comfort within shall ebb and flow, and then it will all fade away when you’ve returned to the world blanketed in the sun’s golden sheen. When it all piles up again, you know you can always come back here: your special place, where you can curl into yourself as much as you want to. And as always, you will fight the urge—so tiny that it’s insignificant but still so omnipresent—to sink your head fully into your stomach and become a mass of unthinking flesh. Becoming smaller and smaller until you aren’t even a speck.

The wind picks up. The cold doesn’t bother you much, but your so human, and instinct propels you into nuzzling into your cotton scarf. It does mean you have to wash it often, but the inconvenience outweighs the comfort it provides. Yes, tonight will be a lovely one, spent doing nothing but staring at the moon from the shadows, alone with your thoughts and nocturnal critters that may tussle in the shrubbery. You hear a series of quick rustles—squirrels, maybe? Two of them, considering the frequency of rustling and the fact that it’s their mating season (well, you’re pretty sure spring is mating season. It could be wrong, but it’s useless trivia anyway, isn’t it? In the back of your mind, you imagine someone berating you). Another rustle plays, and you sigh wistfully. And then—

“…Hello,” A voice, shrewd and low sounds out.

Ink makes your vision go black and the only reason you don’t gasp or scream is because you’ve always froze before you ran. But even if you were a runner, where was there to go? You don’t know who this person is, where they are, why they are in your special place and why they’ve come here like a malicious boy kicking down a toddler’s sand castle or could they be here to prevent you from ever coming back to your special—

You swallow your panic and look for an exit before it forces itself back up. It’s not the first time someone’s noticed you, but you never really had to worry; you could just slip into here, and they’d give up when you couldn’t be found. But this is uncharted territory. More importantly, if anyone else were to know about this place, it would be a ranger. And you aren’t very interested in counting empty donut boxes and coffee cups during a run-of-the-mill interrogation. 

Slowly, and as quietly as you can, you make your move. Your hands are clammy, and each step feels like it will cause the earth to crack and you’ll fall into its molten core. You’ll be melted down, and the idea that you may be reforged sends another surge of panic within you. You cannot let a single brick crack. 

“I’m not here to hurt you if that’s what you’re thinking,” the voice says, much much much closer now. The words themselves should be of relief to you, but the fact that he’s closer means he knows where you are—in fact when you turn to look behind you, you can see a vague silhouette. Still, the few seconds you took to turn around also made it so that rather than relief and panic nulling each other, somewhat cool relief washed over you. Even if this entire situation is very, very, very weird.

Should you just leave? He could just be lying to you. You weren’t great at figuring out people’s intentions, but you’d think that the most likely one in this situation leaned toward the malicious. However, you didn’t even notice his existence until he spoke. The fact that at the very least, he could weave through mostly undetected. If he could do that, then you think it’s not very likely you can just get away. 

You accept that defeat, so you decide to do something a little stupid. You talk to the stranger. In the event he’s a serial killer or something, maybe a conversation will let you get a good enough handle on him that he might just…let you go. Your heart hammers and you want to do nothing but shake, but you will yourself into a blizzard. If you are there, then you might be able to freeze and delay the ink that begins to drip. 

“I’m pretty shocked,” you mutter. Your voice is still a bit disconnected, still reeling, “I’ve never met someone here. How’d you find this place? Why’d you come to this place?” You ask these questions, and you won’t mind dying as much if they’re answered.

“Work,” he cryptically says. You just barely pick up on a sardonic lilt.

“So you’re a park ranger,” you deflate, and you nuzzle into your scarf as you brace yourself. But levity is powerful, and you’ll tap into it. “Here to arrest little ol’ me, then? You could’ve waited, at least until the moon started to dip. It’s a pretty solid night, methinks.” Your heart feels a little numb from hammering into your ribs so much. 

The ranger hums, “Moon’s the moon. It’s not bad, but the sun’s always pretty nice. But you’re right. It would’ve been better to wait till the sunrise. Alas, my schedule as of late has been a horribly rigid thing. I’m sure you know how it is.”

“Hmph,” you frown. It feels like he’s a cat playing with a mouse. You sigh with defeat, “Oh well. I’m not exactly known for being slippery, so I’m not even going to try and outrun a ranger of all people,” you extend your hand lazily, “Just get the cuffs already,” you decide to pout, to turn the situation around to something more comical and less soul-crushing, “Any longer, and the suspense’ll bury me six feet under. The records might call that cardiac arrest, but I call it embarrassing—the thought of dying like that is a real heartstopper.” Ha, look at you! A true punster, you little rascal. There is no reason for you to defame or attack a guy just doing his job, so if you go down, you’ll at least go down with a slow-witted joke or two. Across from you is a law-abiding Joe, and you are the evil thief mothers warn their children about. Truly, it cannot be more black and white than this, so it’s best for everyone that you don’t make too much of a fuss. See? You are capable of ethics! Or maybe that was more like philosophy? Eh, what’s the difference? You’re still fucked, and you very much want to die. 

“Arrest you?” The ranger’s voice teeters toward, um…you think it’s some mix of sarcastic, mocking, and—oh wait, you’d call it ‘teasing.’ “Do you want to be arrested?” He teases, but it feels like the way an owner would talk down to a beloved puppy. You don’t appreciate it. 

You frown. “No. Why would I want to be arrested?” You deadpan, “Can you please stop skirting around the issue?” More ink blots your sight, as your palms start to clam with unwanted anticipation. You think they could be gushing with your blood, if this guy keeps dragging your arrest out like this. 

The ranger laughs. Laughs. You aren’t sure if you want to join him or shove him off the cliff. Whatever the case, now you know that there is a nonzero chance this ranger has a bit of a sadistic streak. Instinctively, you take a few steps back, as if that could save you from disaster, from plummeting over the edge of your tower. 

“…Please tell me you aren’t planning anything…” The words you were thinking of saying suddenly elude you, but you’re already speaking. You have no choice but to see what haphazard replacements you make, “…goofy silly. Or something.”

The ranger clicks his tongue. It seems he’s fully dipped into a playful veneer; whether that’s his true self, or the mask he thinks you’ll best respond to in the way he wants, it nudges you a little further to the edge. You defensively nuzzle into your scarf, trying but failing to calm your nerves. You’ll give yourself one point, though: you thought you’d be more inclined to be screaming or crying. That’s probably because you are technically doing something illegal, so there’s really no one but yourself to blame for this predicament. Really, why do you still come here like this, when you know it’s against the rules? It’s not the first time you’ve asked yourself that question, but it’s certainly the first time it feels sort of tangible. 

“‘Goofy silly?’” The words seem all at once perfect and dubious when carried in the ranger’s voice, “Hm…you know what? I do feel like I’m in a ‘goofy silly’ mood!” 

Oh. Well, guess you’re double fucked. It was a good life, the clean record, you suppose. But what is life if not change? You’re entering a new era now, hardened criminal you. Crime will be your lifeblood; anything scared shall disintegrate into something depraved at your touch. You’ll do it all: tax evasion, defamation, shoplifting, parking offenses. Society will not be free of your crime sprees—all will fear the Suburban Terror. Karens will cower before you, the neighbors will hate you, the teenagers will prank you, and the children will scream with fear at you. All because the consequences of your actions caught up with you at the behest of the actions of some guy who just so happens to be able to arrest you. 

“So, about that arresting,” the ranger continues, “I won’t be doing that!” he peps.

Everything stands in place. “What?” 

“I’m not gonna arrest you!” 

“W-well, I heard that,” you stammer, “but why? You literally said you’re here for work!” 

You can practically sense the ranger’s lighthearted shrug, “I am. And I’m not arresting you. Simple as that!”

Everything feels like it's going too fast and too slowly. Whiplash isn’t good for the soul, in your opinion. “But…but the law…”

“Who said the law needs to be followed?” 

“The government and state…” and then something clicks, “Hey, if you’re a park ranger, then aren’t you working for the government? Is this corruption?” 

You imagine the ranger smirks. “What is corruption but a tool of the game?” 

“What does that have to do with this conversation?” You find yourself deadpanning. “And why aren’t you answering?”

“Life’s a game,” he breezily purrs, “and conversation is a part of life, so really, it has everything to do with this conversation.” 

“I think I’d rather go through a physics textbook than deconstruct that sentence,” but you find yourself smiling. The ranger has a good sense of humor, you find. You take a few more steps, no longer teetering on the edge. In the back of your mind, you think that he could just be lowering your guard, but honestly? Maybe you shouldn’t doubt a person’s goodwill, even if it’s technically illegal. Well, you don’t care about what’s illegal and not; if hairless monkeys with godless monkey brains are imperfect, then the things they make are imperfect too. Regardless…you don’t know his face, and he doesn’t know yours either. In other words, you’re both complete strangers. If you ever meet each other, you won’t even recognize each other, won’t ever truly register each other’s existence outside this singular shared moment. 

That anonymity, the opportunity to exist without future consequence…it entices you, and you’re drawn into it. Drawn into levity and shedding your superficial guard. 

“Careful, you might insult a doctor of physics or two,” the ranger says with an insinuating lilt. Perhaps he knows a physicist or a student suffering with their doctorate thesis. Information that is all at once useful and impeccably useless. “You might just get a piece of chalk lodged in your skull.”

You shrug. “I’m living my best life while they’re stressing over the mechanics of a rat yawning and how that like. Affects the physics of the air or something.”

That gets a soft huff, like he breathed out a laugh, “I say that too, but then he starts going on about quantum mechanics and wormholes…probably a lot more than that, but the stuff’s so incomprehensible I tune out.”

“Your friend sounds…well, like a scientist,” you unceremoniously blurt. “Sure, they’re called nerds, but for good reason. They can talk your ear off, all the while you nod without understanding a single thing…and then they sigh to go talk to someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.” 

“‘Talk your ear off’ is a bit of an understatement,” the ranger says, “though I think it’s better to say ‘gives a tongue-lashing.’”

You wince at the image. “Oof. Sorry about that.” 

“I’m used to it,” the stranger says. “Besides, I have a quip or two to throw back.”

“Oh.” You aren’t sure how to react. “That…that sucks.” 

“‘That sucks?’” his tone isn’t accusatory; it’s curious, with a hint of what you believe is wariness. 

It flusters you a bit, for some reason. “W-well,” you stammer, “if you’re used to it, then that means you get, uh, ‘tongue-lashings’ a ton, right? I don’t think people should be getting a ton of tongue-lashings…” 

“But what if I do things that deserve a tongue-lashing?” 

“Well, then you’d get a tongue-lashing. But, I dunno. I don’t think people should be mean to each other all the time, I guess,” you try, practically rambling, “Maybe it’s just cuz I know I’d just be on the floor in a sobbing heap if someone so much as raised their voice at me…but…but…w-well, you know what I mean!” You raise your hands, making desperate gestures as if you could telepathically communicate with them. Unfortunately, you do not live in a sci-fi with magical reality-bending wizard monk powers, not unless you devote yourself to a singular concept. “There’s always plenty of room for, um. Positive reinforcement, yeah! In fact, let’s practice!” Shit, your cheeks are heating and at this point you’re just incoherently blabbering but now that you’ve started you just can’t stop oh dear Aeons save you— “Uh…you…you follow your heart! By choosing not to arrest me out of…out of principle or, or, or pity…um, well, point is, you have defied the law of your own choosing, which is a pretty uh, gr~eat show of your super strong will! Your beliefs! They say within all delinquents lies a heart of gold, after all! And you know how to be sneak of super! I mean sneak super! I mean super sneak! Urgh, I mean suppppperrrrrrr sneaky. And I bet that’s really nice and I know that’s really cool! It’s a super power on par with that of uh. Uh. An Aeon? Yeah, an Aeon!”

You’ve lost your steam, and now you’re left blinking. The embarrassment flusters you, and now you’re something in between a fish being choked in the hand of a cruel fisherman and a wonderfully eloquent failing car engine. You truly are the epitome of grace and elegance. There was no way the ranger wasn’t at least cringing. Maybe he’d change his mind and just arrest you; after all, how else to fix cringe if not rehabilitate it? Well, if he did arrest you over this, you’d be back to haunt him with like, cheese, or something. You’d jump that hurdle when you got there. 

Hm…but you think you kind of wanna crawl into a hole and die…but that expression is too cliche, so instead, you think you wanna crawl into a hole and start a society of mole people. It’ll be like LARPing, except you wouldn’t be role-playing! …Actually, yeah…someone should just kill you right now before you start to laugh and then cry as your embarrassment transitions into self-conscious despair……..that’s how it usually went when you got like this….

It’s a good thing you can’t be seen. 

You think the ranger will laugh, stand in baffled silence, mock you, or just walk away, but he chuckles. “Hmmm…you know, I could get used to this; hearing people stumble over their words to compliment me!”

You’re a little dumbfounded, but you’re decent enough at rolling with the punches. You can come up with a headcanon or two on the spot. “Yeah! That’s the spirit! Now that’s what I call some good old-fashioned character development!”

He lets out a soft whistle, “That so? What trope would you say I embody, out of curiosity?”

“Hm…” you tap your chin in thought. You’re in a forest, and there’s a moon, and you get an award-winning idea. “Maybe…hrmmmm…a mysterious vampire, here to whisk the unassuming protagonist away to a forbidden romance, sustaining your very being on their essence…” 

“Oh? Am I really that charming even without a face?” He teases.

You laugh. “Well, you are pretty charming, but I was just kidding. I couldn’t just let that opportunity slip away,” your laugh calms into a soft chuckle. “No, I’d say…a mysterious stranger, with a past unearthed and a charming veneer, but beneath it all lay an affable man…who may or may not heed the word of law.” Sure, it’s cheesy, but you don’t care about if he likes cheese or not. You like cheese, and that’s all that matters in this cruel world! If the world doesn’t like that, it can kiss your ass! (You think all of the is while very aware that the world can just as easily kick your ass)

“So…you’re just saying you don’t have a single clue about what my deal is.” 

You feel a little offended. In hindsight, maybe you wouldn’t have been great at terrorizing Karens. “I mean, I’ve only known you for like, half an hour. All that I know about right now is that you’re some flavor of anarchist. Probably. Maybe.” But the same applies to him! He knows nothing about you! “But if you’re so confident, then it’s time to prove your mettle!” You point towards him challengingly, even though again, he cannot see you, “You tell me what character trope I am!” (And you briefly realize that you feel light and happy, that your smile is wide)

And at that moment, just at the cusp of truly extraordinary conversation (a claim which may or may not be exaggerated), an annoying thing happens. Your phone vibrates and your screen lights up; your alarm has gone off. Your phone always has the best timing, and you don’t want to scream at it and crush its sorry little body into itty bitty pieces. 

“Oh…” you awkwardly exclaim. You’re wearing a light jacket, so the ranger can see the soft glow just as you do. “That’s…yeah, that’s sorta…alarm. Yeah. It’s my alarm. Not me alerting the IPC or the CFSS or something. I…have to go.” 

“I see,” the ranger’s voice is light and airy, entirely unaffected. “A shame. I really did enjoy our conversation.” Your mind tells you it’s all empty, but your heart is aching to soar to heights unseen. Because you are only human, those with lone hearts die first.

You want to ignore it so badly, to just converse with this ranger a little bit longer but…but you really can’t. You must abide by it if you want to mitigate your suffering in the morning (re: you’ve run out of energy drinks and coffee at home and it’ll be hell to start your morning without slugging around like a zombie). And just like that, the ranger and your conversation will fizzle away into a distant memory. And you’ll still live, the same as you’ve ever been. And because you’re both strangers, there is no reason to ask each other for anything. Because if you do, then you will both have to live with the consequences of your words. And who knows? Maybe the ranger has only spared you this night because he was in a good mood. Maybe he won’t be so affable the next time you meet. 

But there’s something to it. Some allure—no, the same allure of your special place. So you offer something, and you think your face might melt off, with how your cheeks fluster to the point its searing. 

“...I come to this place a lot. It’s like…my special little place,” you awkwardly offer. “If…if you were curious about that, er, sorta thing. Yeah. Bye, have a good night.” You stutter awkwardly, stiffly and uncertain. And then you walk away, simultaneously desiring and afraid of hearing what his response to that would be. Of having your fear being validated with rejection. 

If there was one moment you could point to that sealed your fate, it wouldn’t have been that conversation by a longshot, nor was it your second, third, tenth, or even your final conversation before he revealed himself to you; it was your offer. After all, people only think fate is immediate whenever it comes to hit them straight in the face. In truth, fate is gradual, of many bricks stacking up into a skyscraper. That offer led you to swim in ink; to traipse into fields of cotton; to weather against frozen infernos; and then finally, to dance in a flowering meadow, your feet raw and bleeding, sanded against the soft blades of poison ivy and oak. 

—

He sees you’re on the balcony.

(Only right after when he woke up and felt that you weren’t in his arms and nearly tore apart everything and anything with a scream and that you were gone and had left him like everyone else—)

He’s rather taken aback by this. He was sure you wouldn’t even be able stand come the dawn. But you still unwittingly find ways to surprise him even now. You should really give yourself a pat on the back! Even if it seems like you’re leaning onto the railing for dear life. 

The moon covers you in its silken silver sheen. The breeze tussles your hair and makes your robes softly billow. It’s a heart-throbbing serenity, and he finds an iota of respect within him to make his ambush on you gentle. You’ll squeak, pout, insult him, banter, and hiss before you resign and then he can hold you in peace. It’s a predictable song and dance, but he hasn’t tired of it. Seems even he can surprise himself.

(But oh, it’s because it’s something resembling something warm which has become so familiar…and a sturdy rock he can hold onto)

The smile spreads on his face easily (but whenever he’s around you, it’s a little less weighted, a little less about pitiful survival), “Sick of me already?” he adopts his signature lilt, albeit weighed by sleep, as his arms encircle your form. “We’ve only been a couple for a few of months.” You squeak, comically so, and violently flinch as he settles his head in the crook of your neck. Your reaction almost immediately invigorates him, like he’s wide awake in the sun. Your heart rate beats more rapidly, but your tensed muscles relax, just a little. You’ve been practicing, he thinks, to lessen your own burden rather than increase his pleasure. Maybe there’ll come a time when you can mold yourself however you please, and he’ll be none the wiser in your embrace when your hand snakes into his back. 

(Don’t do that. Please, he just asks that you melt in his touch, melt right into him and stay—)

He inhales—his chest expanding into your back, and he feels your own breath hitch as if it slices into you—taking in your scent, all at once overwhelming and (newly) customary. A pungent ink comes to burn his nose at first, but underneath it comes moonlit snow, fresh and cool; dancing within a floral and earthy aroma, a dusty cedar scent with wilting flowers; and the afternotes of a decaying musk, passionate and vying for an end. He hums in appreciation, exhaling with contentment. You shudder in disgust because it’s him and you still aren’t used to the way his breath feathers and scratches your skin, over the bits of dried blood speckled over your neck. 

“Aw, nuts…” you softly curse, but there’s no surprise to be found. Your words are laced with sleep, but there’s something else to them, he’s noticed. Your words still drip with vitriol (though it’s always been measured with ink, and it makes him purr in delight and it makes him feel even more empty—), but they’ve gotten softer, for lack of a better word. Exhausted, the same way one is when they’ve walked through a blizzard or sandstorm for long enough. How one gets frozen in the bowels of hell’s fires, or how one burns in solitary inferno in the frigid arctic. 

And still, you haven’t reached your limit and killed him. 

Surprisingly, you turn to face him, and he turns down the urge to lean in and kiss you. For now, at least. He’ll take it when you’ve said your piece. 

You probably think yourself expressionless, but there’s a certain way your mouth subconsciously curls in displeasure like you want to scream or vomit your organs. Your eyes can host anything from enraged clarity to dull acceptance. The latter has only appeared a few times, but he anticipates that it will be a common sight as the months pass by. He wipes that look from his mind, and smiles wide as he looks intently into your eyes. The scent of ink burns his sinuses. Right now, your eyes are exhausted, disgusted, and a touch confused; nothing he isn’t used to. His smile goes soft, for he is more than willing to swallow poison you gift him. And as lovers, you’ll have to reciprocate, won’t you?

(Stop. Let him apply thinner to that ink, let him wash it all away and please please stop drowning in it)

“I was sick of you the moment you revealed yourself as the orchestrator.” you bluntly say, as if it’s an obvious fact—and it is—and for a moment he feels like he’s touching ice. You shake your head and sigh, looking back to the moon. You don’t want to discuss the matter, so you move on to another. “I just woke up and couldn’t go back to sleep. It’s nothing personal. Happens all the time.” 

“‘All the time?’” He echoes and slides his hand into one of yours, where you lean on your arms against the railing. Your hands have been clamming; gosh, he really was something, to get you so worked up in a matter of minutes! His self-restraint is already on a thread when it comes to you. He gives in and gives you a chaste peck. Your lips slightly pucker with disgust, like you’ve sucked on a rancid lemon. But the kiss was meant to be brief, so that’s not an issue he’s too hung up on in the moment. He’ll just work on it with you, later. He trusts that you’ll cooperate, anyway. 

(That you do not immediately hurl in his mere presence is miracle enough. He’ll take what he can get, and work from there. That’s how he got here)

He tilts his head boyishly and gives your cheek a playful pinch, “I mean…lately, you’ve been able to fall asleep without medicine—” your eyes widen and your cheeks flush as you’re caught off guard—but he doesn’t cut open your stomach or slice at your ribs to let your own body be the weapon which kills you—and he’s, his goal is always to win, but that doesn’t mean you have to fight. Right now, he’s merely having a heart-to-heart with you, sweetheart. So he doesn’t bother to point out the red on your cheeks, because he knows you hate it. Knows you understand it on a logical basis but still hate it so, so, so deeply and intricately. He doesn’t mind pushing you, but he would rather not see you bashing your head on the wall, crushing your skull and mind into lumps of grounded flesh, to try and ‘fix’ it. He sees that you’re mentally dismembering yourself when you locate the opening you gave him anyway. He doesn’t really need to try with you sometimes; it’s not an insult, it’s the truth, and he still loves you so very much. “These nighttime stirrings of yours aren’t going to be the norm, you know. If you’re able to fall asleep in my arms once, you can do so twice.”

Your eyes flit through a captivating kaleidoscope of disgust, intrigue, disgust again, pungent ink, and then victorious confusion. You scoff, but you don’t entirely deny what he said. “Waking up in he middle of the night and not falling asleep is a common thing. You shouldn’t misconstrue these sorta things y’know. Makes you seem desperate.” 

“‘Desperate?’ Coming from you, should I consider that bonafide or just another desperate act?”

You frown. “I was only desperate because of you. The shit you pulled gave me no other choice.”

“Really?” He smirks, letting out a mocking huff, “You weren’t desperate before that?”

You scoff. “If you’re talking about school, then fine, I guess I was desperate to graduate as soon as possible.”

“Errr,” he mimics a buzzer, “two strikes.”

“Are you just projecting?”

“Make that three.”

“Bruh.” You deadpan. You’re quite amazing to be able to momentarily take yourself out of reality, he muses. “I’m not desperate,” you insist, practically hissing the words.

(He’s a bit jealous)

“If you weren’t desperate, then why’d you blindly befriend someone whose face you didn’t even know?”

“…I don’t know my online friends’ faces,” you weakly respond. You’ve conceded, and all you did was for show. For him or for you or for you both. He’s not sure either. 

“Alright,” he pretends to concede, “Putting aside that they could just trace your information and learn everything about you…” his hand strokes your neck, goosebumps blazing in its wake, “They wouldn’t have been able to just…snap your neck, with you none the wiser,” He presses a kiss to your uneven pulse with a soft huff of laughter. 

“It’s not like I didn’t think that,” you shoot back, “I figured at the time that if you could sneak up on me like that, then I’d be helpless to your whims.” 

“Ah, but then…you offered me something: another night, in your special place, underneath the moon…who’s to say that I wouldn’t have been able to carry out any malicious actions? To continue to gain your trust and then stab you in the back?”

You frown. “Well…I…”

“Cat caught your tongue? Well, as I’ve said, the word you’re looking for is ‘desperate.’”

You swallow, and then you say, meekly, softly, like your voice is about to crack, “…I guess. And in the end, you did stab me in the back.”

He did, it’s true. That same iota of respect emerges, which makes him gently kiss you instead of speaking. Anything he’d say would only dampen your mood. You both may know about how disposable—

(Yet when it comes to you, something unpleasant twists his tongue, whenever he calls you disposable and he can’t truly come to vocalize such a statement)

—the two of you are. Nothing more than dots in the universe, nothing more than pawns in another’s game. The hand that moves him is the IPC, and it’s only natural he’s found a pawn of his own: you. Even if you’re not particularly valuable on the grand chessboard. 

[Do you even want them on the chessboard in the first place?] 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he promises. But you don’t believe him. 

“You can make it up to me by never showing your face to me.” Ice encases his hands, stabbing into him; but it also roots him right at his spot. He is unused to the ice’s painful cold, but for as much as it is a deterrent, ice has a tendency to trap.

“Hmmm…how about no?” 

“You half-ass…” You groan, tired and defeated. He feels a thread fall. “Seriously, people like you who use others to make promises you can’t and don’t keep are just…well, you know just how much you disgust me.” 

(But he admits. He admits that your vitriol is tiring. He admits that he wants to hear you whisper in his ear, the same way he does to you, that he wants you to harbor the same carnal adoration he has for you—that he wants you to tear into him and expose him and then kiss and embrace him and that he wants to feast on you devour you consume you infuse you with his heart and soul so that he knows you’re here and will always be h—)

His jaw expands and closes down. Blood spreads along his tongue like wine, bitter, salty, metallic, and well-aged. You let out a scream of pain, and he only bites harder so that he burns himself into your skin to prove that he has you and that he is hu—

“Ah—ow…ow ow ow owwww—” you hiss, muddied by a sob, “W-why…?” You whimper, “When you already—AH!” His mind is blank, excited by the sweet flesh, only focused on devo—

“S-s-stop! Please!” You beg, and he feels you struggle uselessly, “H-hurts! I-I, what d-did I do to—?! Gh!”

Satisfaction and triumph weave into him. Your screams mean you’re here, means he’s carved himself into you, means he’s indulging in wine. 

(But that’s a bit of a leap. He wishes he was as calculated as he makes himself out in front of you when it comes to you)

He pulls away. You breathe laboriously, looking at him with hate and terror, cradling your weeping neck with your hand. You aren’t completely exhausted, but he has made you even wearier if such a thing was possible. “Sorry,” he emptily apologizes, and presses a soft kiss to irritated skin, before moving on to your tears. Blood quickly smears your skin.

You growl, the pain making way for your unfiltered words. “You keep doing it, and it’s always so fucking painful.”

“It doesn’t help with how irresistible you are, sweetheart,” he smiles, and you bristle. “You know it’s because I love you,” he says, to rile you up a little. It helps that he means it. 

(So you don’t notice the fact that he was in a hypnotic daze) 

“‘Love.’” Your voice shakes. Your eyes are wide, angry, disbelieving, and blank. 

“Yep.” 

You shake slightly with anger. “Eat shit.” You spit. “Whatever the fuck this is, don’t call it that. Don’t you dare twist that word like that.” 

He blinks. It’s not the first time you’ve lashed out over the word or the admission, but he still doesn’t quite know how to answer you. He settles, then, for what he’s always said. “Then what is it?” 

“I don’t know. Obsession. Hate. Sadism. Loneliness. Whatever it’s called, it’s one hell of an insatiable beast. All that matters is that it’s hurting me.” You grunt, and bury your face into your hand, sighing blearily. “It’s late. Let’s…let’s not,” you exhale, tired, “Let’s not,” you repeat as if it were all a hopeless prayer. It might be more fitting to see you as a beggar, however. Leave me alone, you beg. Get buried beneath the sands already you Sigo—

“Why don’t you come back to bed?” he softly mutters, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, and presses a kiss to your cheek. The lingering blood on his lips blossoms into a weeping flower, a venomous and invasive species. They can be found throughout your skin, dried and wilting, but they’ll always blossom back. “You can sleep in.” Translation: he’ll still wake you up, but only for a kiss before heading to work. Though you’re still hesitant to exercise any bit of freedom he offers you. To be fair to you, you’re so very well aware of where your freedom and “freedom” lie. One has been crucified, and the other is merely its poorly preserved remains. 

His mercy isn’t lost on you, but the hope in your eyes is quickly simmered by your hesitation and dread. You look away and grunt, likely hoping he’ll just shrug and walk away. Or at least delay the inevitable. You’re smarter than you give yourself credit for, you know. So painfully aware of your complete lack of power, so painfully aware that any outright resistance just isn’t worth it; isn’t worth risking the pain you fear so, so, so much. But that doesn’t mean that a reminder is remiss. Hesitation is fatal for the gambler, after all.

He hums and grins. He pulls you back and flips you around so that you lean against the railing, slightly hiked up so the tips of your toes just barely press against the ground. It grants him an unfettered view of your expression, almost comical shock morphing into fear as you register your newfound positions. You may not be entirely dangling over the railings…but you’re still at his mercy. You don’t hold onto his hand for dear life because that’s just what he’s decided. And you don’t want him to pursue that option or even fancy it. 

[You mean…you want to point a gun into their heart, again?]

Fortunately, he has other plans. As much as he loves staring into your eyes, it’s the only thing he likes about you. He moves his head against your chest, right against that sweet heart of yours. It misses a beat before it resumes its cacophonous rhythm. “Wha…what?” your mortified tongue manages to get out. “Put…put me down!” He gives a content hum in response, nuzzling further into your heartbeat, tracing patterns into your back with one hand and securing you by the waist with the other. His silence only intensifies the cacophony, but he could never bear to shut down any sound of yours. He chuckles. You shiver. He can see you fight not to struggle, fearing that it would send you plummeting.

“It could be so much worse. You know that, don’t you? You live without chains and in a land where dawn shines, but that’s all my choice.” He finally speaks, when he’s decided you’ve had enough. Sure enough, the sound of screams and crumbling cities joins the cacophony. He pushes so he may discover all of the cacophonies your heart plays. He giggles, to twist the point further, “Relax! You haven’t done anything to warrant that! Yet.” You take a sharp breath. “But you still do things. Small things, but still bad things,” you quiver. “I’ve had a few thoughts. A tattoo,” your heart skips a beat, “of a peacock’s feather, maybe, tickling your thigh, or an ace of spades. Nothing too extravagant. Hm, although,” you’re frozen in place, so he moves his hand up to drift around your chest, clutching your waist tighter, “maybe we can just have my name, somewhere here…or…” he hums, for any and all matters pertaining to you need great care and thought, “....maybe we can just go with them all!” He exclaims. 

(What is he doing what is he doing no he knows what he’s doing yes he needs to see and feel and taste your ink he’ll take what he can get but what is he doing why is he doing why why why is he doing but why’s he asking it feels so so so good to be the one towering above)

He resists the urge to look up at your expression. Not yet, he’ll save it for when it’s truly exquisite, for when ink burns up into his skull. “Oh, and now that I think about it, maybe something fancy on your back? Ah, haha, but it can’t be super big. It has to complement you, not overtake you! On that note, a piercing or two. Your ears are a no-brainer, but…” he takes on a teasing lilt, like he’s a boy unsure how to act around his crush, “...where~ else~ do we go? The belly button? That’d be pretty cute! Or…” his hand drifts further along your chest, “here…” he giggles, “that’d be so awfully adorable, wouldn’t it?” Your unease rolls out in waves. His grin widens further, foxlike, silently thanking you for giving him so many openings. “Ah, but doing all of that’s like saying you aren’t enough, isn’t it? I’m sorry for implying that,” he purrs the faux apology, “and maybe those kinds of accessories would get in the way of your full resplendence.” He sighs, similar to the way he does whenever he’s done talking. After a few moments, the cacophony quiets down, the ink merely stings, and you breathe close to steadily. Poor thing. You think he was done? “Clothes, too.” Your heart plunges into the depths. His hand teases dipping into your robes, “Why have a wardrobe when it can’t possibly do you justice?” He clicks his tongue. “That just~ won’t~ do~,” he singsongs, and then transitions into a friendly tone, “and hey! You can just think of it likeeee…going full-on commando!” He feels you seize up with disgust drawn out from the very depths of your soul. “That’d be pretty fun, wouldn’t it?” He laughs, “And comfy. A self-proclaimed couch potato’s dream is to endlessly lounge away the days, right? So, then,” he slightly dips his fingers, featherlight against shadowed skin and bitten gifts, “you really should just spend all day in bed. It’s not like you could go outside anyway. And just think about it—” An image pops into his mind, widening his smile, “Wrapped in my blankets, tangled in silk, entrapped into a web of it…” he slides a hand around your trembling wrist, his thumb rubbing over your thundering pulse, “this would look so beautiful, in red ribbon,” he presses a chaste kiss to your thundering pulse, “your ankles, waist…a mess of them over your chest…” he sighs, but he isn’t a negligible man, drifting his touch to lovingly wrap his hand around your neck, “and that pretty little neck goes without saying. You’ll be just like a little gift and I’d really . And,” he chuckles, “I don’t imagine you’d want to leave, either.” You shudder, tremble, make a sound a cross between disgust and a gasp choking on ink. “Hm, actually, that’s a good question,” And then he finally looks up. He is not disappointed in the slightest. You are choking, and completely pale and the only signs of life on your frozen face are your infrequent blinks and quiet breathing. “Do you want to leave me?” He wonders: what will you do? Say? You both know the answer, but for him to ask it would have you second-guessing yourself on what to say. Should you be honest? Should you give him the answer he wants to be true? Should you merely say that the two of you know that already? Or do you just say nothing, as ink clogs your throat? 

[Do you really think you’re playing a game? With them of all people? How do you think they even ended up here in the first place?]

The cacophony of your heart cracks and twists the earth into pieces. You shake like a leaf, slowly but surely devoured by a caterpillar. Soft and innocent at first glance, but it only knows how to feast and gorge itself. Your breath comes out in short gasps, as burning ink drips through them and into your stomach. It forces itself out violently, as your sensitive skin clams up, as it painfully inches out of your skull, to thrust itself out through your eyes.

You’re beautiful. 

It’s an honor, he thinks. 

(And stand so highly elevated) 

Although your terrified silence was anticipated, he doesn’t quite appreciate having a one-sided conversation, sweetheart. It seems you need a bit of encouragement, but he’s more than happy to provide. Regrettably, that means fully raising his head, but at least he won’t have to strain his neck to get a look at your face. He hikes you up, and you shriek in with fear, vaulting to wrap your arms around his shoulders as you struggle in vain to give yourself any semblance of contact with the ground. But the tips of your toes just barely graze the smooth concrete. “Dar~ling~,” he sing songs, “don’t keep me waiting, now.” 

He smiles kindly. He takes your left hand into his own, gently rubbing in soothing circles. Your heart beats louder, as you’re forced to rely on him even more. You take in a sharp breath, stifled by a flood of ink. He leans his head down, over that nigh-on unbearably beautiful mark on your neck, placing his lips on it like a fleeting feather brushing past. He looks up into your eyes, blackened and blurred, while his own are rounded and soft. He coos and kisses the few that fall, a delightful flavor of vulnerability flowering on his tongue that he can’t get enough of. He tilts his head when he’s done, his expression lovesick and deviously innocent, and goes caress your cheek, to chain you to place. You stay still so that it doesn’t go from choking to cutting. He gives your hand a maliciously reassuring squeeze.

“I’ve got you,” he reassures, “you’re safe, with me.” The words are heavy and loaded yet he says it like he’s holding you close in the afterglow, whispering sweet nothings that mean everything into your ear. Impressively, a scoff is drawn out of you, yanked out through a sea. 

(It reassures him, in some strange way) 

You clutch at him harder, almost pulling him flush against you in an effort not to fall. Adorable. You’re still enveloped in ink, so looking up at him, you seem little more than a trembling newborn fawn. 

Something dark flickers in your eye; the same dark thing he saw on the luckiest day of his life, as the sun shined so brilliantly on the gun held against your forehead. That dark thing which he didn’t foresee, and hadn’t seen since that day, until now. 

You tremble, but you purse your lips, and, as resolutely as you can, give your answer.

“Yes.” And then you lean back. Your feet do not touch the ground. 

His instincts are far more trained than yours. Pulling you away and into the room is a simple affair. You whimper in pain, struggling against his hold, but it only takes a slight twist to your wrist, an effortless suggestion, for it to cease. 

(It’s his whole body that trembles, but you never seem to notice, when you tremble so much yourself and are so often a prisoner in your own mind) 

“My friend,” he says, dropping any semblance of emotion in his voice. You nearly shriek as you’re engulfed in an inferno, hyperventilating in vain as smoke from your own burning body clogs your lungs. You’ve brought this upon yourself, though. Trapped in the fox’s jaw, you have nowhere else to go but right here. He smiles emptily, knowing that it makes you want to die. “Why don’t you come back to bed with me? And we can have a chat.” 

(He hides his arm behind his back)

Just before he opens the balcony door, a drop of rain hits his cheek. The clouds obscure the moon, sealing its light shut. The sun will not shine on you two. 

—

You aren’t shoved onto the bed, to skid across it like a sea of sharp rocks, or anything like that. That makes it worse, you think. Though, with how heavy your mind is, with how much ink fills it, you could see a blossoming flower and think that doomsday was nigh. 

Trapped in his hold, out of endless possibilities, Aventurine elects to merely guide your forms to sit on the edge of the bed. He releases you, but whatever relief you felt was burned away when he slots your hand with his own, the other held behind his back. Like this, you two must look like a normal couple. One that had a fight, but then cooled down enough for them to sit and have a serious conversation; to communicate their feelings to one another, leading to a gentle reconciliation and promises to do better. But Aventurine…you’re sure that he holds a butcher knife, hidden behind his back, in moments like these. 

You almost don’t hear him over the pounding in your ears eyes heart and lungs and everything. “Just what were you thinking, acting like that?” 

Thinking? Thinking? Why would you tell him that? Actually, thinking? Did you even think? You feel your hand get squeezed like a lion clamping its jaw into a gazelle. “I—I, I…I,” you stammer. 

“‘I don’t know?’” and you almost demand for how he was able to guess your answer. He hums and leans in further and further, boring those terrifying eyes right into you; you fear that he’ll bore a hole right through your eyes and fill it with himself. So that even in death, a part of him would always infect you. 

Your mind, badly addled, nods. 

He hums again, betraying no emotion, “I know what you were thinking. And you will, too. I’m sure the two of us are eager to get back to sleep, so it’s best to cut to the chase.” 

“Cut…to the chase?”

“To the takeaway.”

It happens slowly, or quickly, or something, you don’t know you don’t really know at all everything drowns in ink—

He leans toward you, and gently pushes you on your back. You reactively scramble, but it doesn’t take much for him to make your struggle useless—and he wraps his hands around your neck and squeezes. Softly, then firmly, then roughly, then chokingly. He doesn’t butcher you, doesn’t spill your blood, doesn’t dismember you and put you back together, doesn’t meticulously carve himself into your skin, he just simply squeezes. That might’ve been the truly shocking thing about this. But you can’t think about that when you breathe and nothing comes in. You gasp, but it comes out as a silent, dying wheeze. You kick, but it’s useless. You try and pull his hands away. Useless. Useless useless useless everything is useless your future and very being are an endless abyss devoid of hope and life and everything you do have done will do is useless meaningless meaningless meaningless you’re dying you’re going to die you are dead you are hopeless and miserable and scared and dying dying dying dying dying he’s bored of you sick of you hates you he hates you hates you hates you hates you hates you stabbed you in the back choking you choking you you cry cry cry cry cry but your tears are searing ink that burns your flesh you’re burning burning burning burning there is no sunlight or moonlight—

You think and think about everything and nothing. You think about your cotton scarf. You think about your parents. You think about your degree and how useless it’s been. You think about the tiramisu you made earlier, and how it needed to set in the fridge overnight. 

But no matter what you think about, or what you stop thinking about, you cannot stop thinking about Aventurine.

It hurts, but you can’t say that. It hurts so much, and you feel that your neck will be sliced off your head. You must look so ugly. You feel your eyes bulge, expand from out of your sockets, just a few seconds away from popping out and hanging by a nerve that could so easily be cut and gushing blood that Aventurine will lap up before throwing your corpse out of the window, to throw the trash out of the house. Your nose uselessly tries to inhale, but all it does is marginally slow the hideous mucus that leaks. Your mouth is equally useless, and it isn’t long until you give up and your tongue ungracefully lolls from your mouth. You feel all at once overwhelmed—the tears from your eyes burn your flesh, your eyes will become weights that shake with every movement, the snot will leave behind anguishing trails of acid, your tongue feels like a dumbbell crushing your face—and floating. You decide to float. You think about your cotton scarf, nuzzling—

You dimly realize you’re nuzzling into the grip that’s killing you. 

Your body becomes lead. 

Aventurine’s expression betrays nothing. But you feel something shake—your body? It’s surprising because you can hardly even blink, let alone move. It’s mostly around your neck. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen. Your hands have gone limp, uselessly falling to the side, but you haven’t died yet. Aventurine is still busy killing you, and looking at you like you’re nothing and that he couldn’t care less about your reaction. You don’t want to look at him anymore. You don’t want to die with his face as the last thing you see. You’d rather die looking at the moon. But against his ironclad grip, your head doesn’t move. You struggle, but Aventurine’s face remains. Your mind begins to fill with cotton, and your eyes start to glaze, but it's burned away by a particularly forceful squeeze, which quickly lightens, but the damage has been done. 

Your tongue is drying. Your vision spots. Not with black, not with the shade of ink you’ve grown used to, but it spots with light. Sunlight. You’re being cradled in the sunlight. Warm and soft, but you’re wretched out of that false sense of security when your body begins to blaze.

And then he lets you go after what feels like years. Something burning and cold and wonderful enters your nostrils and mouth—air, air, air air air air you need air air air air air—

The air doesn’t come rushing in like you’ve seen described in books. It painfully pumps into you, but it’s vastly preferable to the pain you were experiencing just a few moments ago. Your head slumps, turning to the moon's salvation—but you see only the clouds.

When your lungs stop burning, and your breathing returns to normal, Aventurine gently pulls you up into his lap, where he leans against the headboard. A single arm draped over your waist confines you to his chest. His other hand is out of sight. When he’s sure you aren’t getting away, he takes a breath, and his hidden hand comes to tip your head up. 

His eyes all at once resemble an aphotic ocean and a flooding dam. You aren’t sure where it comes from, but you realize that, for this brief moment, he has dropped his facade. 

“If you want to die,” he says, quietly, softly, almost vulnerably. You must have brain damage, if this is how he sounds. “this is how it’ll happen. By my hand. By my choice. And trust me when I say it’s infinitely better than anything you could do with your own hands,” he removes his hand from your chin to intertwine it with your own, all at once invasive and sweet, “I promise, (Name).”

Your chest begins to flood with a sob. It comes out wrangled and inhuman, but he only clutches you closer. Strangely, he doesn’t lap up your tears. Like many nights before and to come, you pass out, weighed by the agony of living with a man so obvious and indecipherable.

Your last thought before finally shutting your eyes is that Aventurine won’t be throwing you out anytime soon. You do not celebrate the thought, not entirely, anymore. It’s only much later that you realize why: he finally succeeded in forcing a small part of him into you. 

—

When you pass out from complete exhaustion, Aventurine quietly tucks your head deeper into his chest. He thinks about yanking apart his ribcage, forcing you into it, and then pinning you there as he forces it to close. It’s begun to rain outside. It pitter-patters, booming in his ears, and nearly shreds his ears apart.

[But a part of you likes it when you drag them down to your level, right, Kakavasha?]

—

His master swirls a glass of red wine. It may as well have been blood; bought by blood, drank in the wake of blood, and spilled into blood. Kakavasha pursues his lips, to not scream in agony as the wine sears his wound; but it will be okay. He is used to weathering the sun, trudging through heavy sand, with his mouth drier than the environment. He can withstand this searing heat. He’s already withstood iron-hot metal pressed into his skin for minute after agonizing minute, no matter his involuntary cries and tears and pleas to stop. 

But that was an exception. The desert has long dried his tears. 

Besides, this is a ‘reward.’ For triumphing yet again. For surviving yet again. So the master sees it fit to briefly lavish him in luxury. At least it’s fitting for the occasion, Kakvasha thinks, the wine puddling out like blood. He waits for it to end. He’s already battered and bloody, beaten down, and he doesn’t need his neck chaffed and bleeding. Every yank of his chain evaporates energy he cannot afford to lose, cannot sacrifice or else there won’t be a bet he can emerge lucky from.

And, he admits. He’s a little (no, very) afraid of being brought to the edge between life and death again. He doesn’t want to be chained to the wall again, and have the chain around his neck pulled further and further away—

A sneer that would get him tortured spreads across his face. His face is already forced to the ground, so he’s not too worried. 

“My lucky hound,” his master drawls, “stay with me. You did pretty well; it’d be a shame if I had to reevaluate you if you pass out just from this. C’mon, gimme a lil’ bark.”

He wipes his sneer and looks up with a practiced expression: defiant, but sanded down with fear; feisty, but compliant. Just enough fight to entertain, but not enough to be a nuisance. “Alive and kicking,” he grunts. It’s a strange mix of genuine and manufactured, biting back his cries of pain. It took him a bit to figure out what his master liked, but all that matters is that he got there. It’s fine, he tells himself. He doesn’t need to know how much he’s using him, too. “And savoring your gift.” He’s sure it’s the right answer, but the slight tremor indicates the awful anticipation he has for the results. If it isn’t, then everything he’s done to get here would all have been for nothing. He cannot afford to fumble his gamble now. 

Luckily (ha!), it was the right answer. He’s given something his master can poke and prod at, and he’s gladly taken it. “I thought I asked you to bark,” he snarls, and the flaming wine ceases. But it’s for a reason, as he soon gets a kick to the stomach. It knocks the air out of him, but if his master were truly offended, he would’ve done much, much worse. Kakavasha coughs, just enough to suggest that he’s sorry and begging for forgiveness, but not enough to seem desperate and begging for a release and to stop stop stop— “Speaking is for humans. Honestly, I don’t even know why you Sigonian hounds were born with mouths. Universe’d be a better place if slaves like you were born with their mouths sewn shut—by the Aeons, do you disgust me!” he scratches before a smirk twists his face, “Though, ‘suppose that would mean I wouldn’t be able to hear the dogs whimper.” A shoe grinds into his stomach. He wants to see Kakavasha’s face then. “So, you gonna bark, or what?” 

Kakavasha doesn’t need to act much, this time. His face falls into grim acceptance; the face he made when heat emanated from his neck; the face he made when the doors to his cell closed; the face he made when he saw the sand bury his sister’s body. Although the expression this time isn’t genuine, it’s not quite fabricated, either. 

It’s fine. It’s fine. This is but one gamble. Acquiesce to his whims just enough, and then strike. 

Soon, wine pools at his feet. But the wine in his master’s hand hasn’t all spilled, yet. Memories flit by in his mind: his master, flaunting his wealth in front of him. 

“Humans wear clothes, accessories, and jewelry…dream all you want, but an animal can never become what it’s fated not to be.” His master’s voice echoes. 

His limp and cold hand is adorned in rings. His still wrist holsters a beautiful watch and tasteful bangle. Kakvasha takes a sip of the wine. It burns, dripping down his throat. It leaves his tongue rancid and as dry as the desert. 

He supposes that’s what it means to be human, then. 

—

When you wake up, pain radiates throughout your neck and legs. Absently, your hand goes to your neck to relieve it but meets soft cotton. Gauze. Did he disinfect your wound (brand, that bastard branded me get him out of me I’ll—) when you passed out? 

You close your eyes and try to fall back asleep but to no avail. With a moan, and then a hiss of pain, you roll over on your side. You see a note, a couple of pills, and a glass of water have been placed on your nightstand. With concentrated effort, you sit up and read the note. 

Darling, dearest, love of my life, (you’d scoff if it didn’t hurt like hell to even breathe)

A painkiller. One every three hours. I suggest you take it if you want to get through the day comfortably, so please don’t spend your day staring at them in contempt like they’ve killed your dog. Contrary to what you might think, I do care for your comfort. (You feel a jolt of anger through your spine) I’ll try to be back a half hour or so earlier, but if fortune’s on my side, I’ll be back to you a full hour earlier. Wouldn’t that just be amazing? Actually, let me do a coin flip to gauge today’s fortune—oh! Look at that! Seems that it’s an hour. You won’t be lonely for long, I promise. (You frown) Business is wrapping up, so we’re leaving today, but I’ve already packed your bags. Focus on yourself, sweetheart, and get plenty of rest. And before you start overthinking things, I’m not worried at all. You won’t be forgetting anytime soon, and you’re not going anywhere. (You grit your teeth)

Use lots of ice on your neck! It helps a ton. And eat soft foods that go down easy; broth, oatmeal, the works. Now that’s what I call a good excuse to gorge on ice cream; not too much though, you *might* just throw up. And no, you can’t break the windows. Literally. I know you have your impulsive moments, but you’ve gotta be conservative with your energy today. I’ll make sure you are. If not…well, you like guessing games, right? Haha, now I really do have to go. I can’t believe you got me writing such a long letter! Alright, see you later, sweetheart. 

Love, Aventurine. 

You stare at the signature. Love, Aventurine sounding over and over in your mind, hitting the walls and coming back in a cracking echo. Love—a knife impales you—Aventurine—and you’re eaten alive.

Love, love, love, love, love.

You force yourself to look at the painkillers. You have no reason to believe him, but he doesn’t have any reason to lie to you. You decide not to take them.

Instead, you take a few slow sips of water, letting it coat your throat and tongue thoroughly. Then you force your sore body to the kitchen. You stumble, you trip, but you still make it to the countertop. It’s not complicated. Your mind can’t process complexity in its current state anyway. 

It’s simple. You yank a knife from the block and plunge it into your chest, through your ribs, and into your heart. Blood gushes out like a waterfall, glistening like a ruby in the light of the dawn. You grin, pain wobbling your mouth, and swiftly cut open your stomach. Bile creeps up your throat as you gag violently, until you finally retch on the elongated mess of your intestines, unraveling into a bunch. You laugh hysterically when you notice that it looks like a horribly butchered plate of spaghetti—hilarious. It’s all nearly too much to bear, but there’s more work to be done. You’re still thinking; that just won’t do. You raise your knife, the tip shining in the sun and sparkling through your tears, and slam your forehead into it, finally putting an end to your existence.

That’s what should’ve happened. But the knife hasn’t taken that first plunge, yet. You will your arm to rectify the mistake. It shakes harder. And then everything from the night before rushes to your head, and ink clouds everything and everything and—

You can’t do it. Not by your own hand.

You violently throw the knife into the sink and collapse to the ground in a brutal sob.

You never attempt it again.

—

He was wrong about something. Your shattered limit would never end with his demise—it was yours. 

(Is he really surprised? Or was he in denial this whole time?)

He’s not sure how to feel, that you’d rather destroy yourself than kill when backed into a corner. But he can at least understand that urge of yours to take someone else down with you; only, that person isn’t him, this time. 

The wall you have built crumbles, and he wonders if you care if your destruction ends up killing another unintentionally; if that part of yourself has been killed, or if it has been twisted so you are born anew. But that’s a bit silly. You can destroy yourself, but you won’t ever lose yourself, even if you become fractured. That’s what experience has taught him, and it is both excruciatingly painful and relieving. 

You’ve pinned him down. Your eyes are wide and dilated, and that spark of life within them is just nearly dimmed out; and yet, beneath that spark, something awful and alive pulsates. They hold an unabashed focus, yet they also look past him. For a rare moment, he is completely taken aback, and cannot conceal his surprise and dubious, almost hesitant delight. But he drops the hesitation. It’s fatal for him.

(His heart nearly stops. Is he pinned to the ground, or is he looking into a mirror? He almost feels like he’s been turned inside out)

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” It’s your voice, but he can’t help but think it takes on a cadence similar to his own. He can see that awful creature brandish its claws.

As much as he enjoys seeing such a creature, he cannot allow himself to be ripped apart by it. He’ll assert his control, and you’ll back off, the same as it’s always been. But he doesn’t quite mind being pinned down by you, so he’ll allow it for the moment. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” He tilts his head, knowing just how much it pisses you off. “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”

Your jaw trembles, like a dog, he thinks, on the verge of barking and biting an intruder. Yet, a part of him also tells him that isn’t quite right. “You played Russian Roulette.” Drip, drip, sounds the blood of his challenger, but such a sound has been white noise all his life. 

He smirks. “Are you jealous?” he teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?” 

You, ever so slightly, begin to shake. “No,” you respond, without any sense of the word. “Answer my question,” you demand. He’s a little surprised because you so rarely make demands. He can see the beast grind its teeth, gnashing at the mere idea of his flesh, drooling its filth in gluttonous anticipation. But he knows you so, so, so very well. He can smell your fear—but of what? Fear that you might not be able to personally exact vengeance? He’s a little lost, for once. But he’ll know soon enough, he supposes. He continues with his usual demeanor.

“Mmm,” he hums nonchalantly, making you shake in agitation. “Well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.” He knows you don’t believe that entirely, having spent so much time with him. The look in your eyes tells him it was the answer you were expecting. But you still aren’t satisfied. You still haven’t strewn his guts about the floor, to join the foolish challenger. 

You do not respond, remaining as still as you can be. He decides to encourage you; you can’t just lead him on like this, you know. 

“What’s wrong?” he goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?” 

The blood’s aroma has wafted over. Your eyes glaze impossibly further. The beast breaks its chains. 

“I want to hollow out your chest,” you admit. His heart stops, and it’s only through years of practice that his face doesn’t instantly break out in shock. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you shake, nearly violently, and you take each breath as if it’ll be your last. His own heart begins to beat erratically; he’s excited, he doesn’t know what’ll happen, but whatever it is he needs to have have have it— “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing—” Aventurine feels a thread be pulled apart. “—on nothing but you!” You cry out, leaning in closer as you collapse to your knees and elbows, practically exchanging air. You’ve finally begun to cry, and with it, the beast has come—

No, he thinks. It’s already ripping apart his flesh. Your tears fall onto his face. His heart beats faster and faster; just as fast as when he ran away into those bloody puddles all those years ago. 

“If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” you sob, face contorting in a way he finds so breathtakingly pathetic and beautiful. For a moment, your mouth curls down, not maliciously, but with a determined promise. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”

Oh. You…you remembered. Of course, you did. You never would forget. You couldn’t ever forget. His chest feels numb with how brutally his heart has beaten it. 

He feels something cool seep into his pants and legs.

He is well acquainted with the touch of ice. How could he not? The time spent with you feels like a (fragile) eternity, and in it, he has glued himself to you; and you’ve, however unwittingly, froze him in place. Even if he’s always been able to force you into the desert with him, there are still those moments when a nigh unbearable cold seeps down into his bones, threatening to kill him, to preserve his dead body to be dusted ogled at whenever the master of the house needs to showoff their private collection to guests. But he feels it melting. He feels the cold you’ve desperately embraced crackle. 

You sob a sound of euphoric despair that has him resisting his every urge to cradle you, and confess the truth; confess your want.

“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp. 

His heart explodes. It is then he realizes that he, too, has gasped, and is breathing irregularly. That his composure has shattered without his realization. 

“I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back your breakdown, the volcano of your emotions erupting in a destructive blaze that killed a part of you; the part of you that’d been holding on. Flora and flowers burn, snow becomes hellfire, and any and all life is replaced by a hungering beast desperate to keep itself satiated. 

But only Aventurine can satiate it. A blush dusts his cheeks.

“I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, repeating the mantra like a prayer (to a devil in velvet), I love you I love you I love you I love you.” And then you finally collapse on him, a pile of bricks and rubble and dust. You curl into his chest, over his violet heartbeat. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…” he immediately secures your waist. It’s a disgusting implication. Why would he do that to you of all people? “I need you,” and his heart soars. A smile finally cracks his face, shattering something deep inside of him. 

[No, no, Kakavasha, that’s really quite wrong. You haven’t been whole for a very, very long time.] 

And then something brief surfaces in you, a small piece of useless reasoning, “and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…” That’s very true, which is why he needs to take responsibility. Which is why he has to continue keeping you, caring for you, and brutalizing you. The blood has trailed down to his back.

And then you’re back to sobbing, and practically howl, “Please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” you beg, and entirely break down into a concentrated sob, distant from reality. You blabber, likely unaware, utterly lovely and incoherent words. The blood has reached his head.

His entire body shudders, rapturing him into a pile of broken flesh. He can’t hold back. He holds you tighter than before. It snaps you out of your daze, your body instinctively flinching away, but his grip doesn’t cease; it can’t cease, because if it does you two may never truly meld with one another. He sits up, positioning you so you straddle and completely rely on him for support. He looks at you. His long-lasting appetite has finally been satiated, but now a new one takes hold of his shaking form, his excitement electric and bloody.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders breathlessly, just barely keeping himself from pouncing, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he pants, as his hunger grows painful, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession? You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…”

[Took you long enough.]

“...yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.” Because you aren’t leaving him, nor could you survive if he plummets back into that land. But you’re still coming with him because you need him (and so does he).

The dawn shines on the two of you, and finally, he kisses you. You’re too dazed to reciprocate, but you offer no resistance at all. But it’s a (relatively) chaste kiss, as he pulls back to whisper against your lips, wholly reverent. “I knew you were the one,” he confesses, and he sees your blush deepen, your eyes widen, “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me,” he brushes your cheek, “It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.”

You blink, eyes wide with tears, and just as he’s about to caress them away your mouth twitches—almost like you’re glitching as if the very expression was some bug in a game—and then you laugh. And it isn’t crazed, it isn’t weighed by madness, nor does it carry that familiar undertone of despair and fear he’s become so used to hearing from you—it’s warm like the dawn has cut through the rain to shine on him.

It’s that lovely laugh which the sun shines overhead and erases any shadow of doubt:

You’re insane. You’ve frozen over in hell, and have shattered yourself into pieces to melt into it.

If ‘I love you, Aventurine’ was the straw that broke the camel’s back, then your laughter is what made the camel burst and seep into searing, soulless sand.

It makes sense. Only someone destroyed and insane could love Aventurine.

(Kakavasha was dead. His hands are sticky, his chains rusty with blood and his throat burns)

[Is he? Or do you just need him to be dead? No matter how you slice it, I still see that same boy who clung to his Big Sis till the very end.]

But he’s a selfish man. If you give him your love, then he’ll gladly take it. 

[Tsk, tsk. A desperate man, Kakavasha.]

But more importantly, there’s a feeling in his heart. It’s the feeling of a peaceful day beneath the scorching sun, of when he wins a game, of when he and his sister were just themselves with each other. All of it coalesces into something he hasn’t felt in—no, something he may have never truly felt until now:

Happiness. 

[The closet thing you can call happiness, you mean.]

And is that feeling that has him lift you up, and spin and twirl with you in his arms. It is sheer elation, a hedonism that is so self-serving yet selfless all at once—sheer bliss—that fills him this: this is what he wants to feel. Your laughter is infectious, permeating his body and sapping it of rationality, but he does not try to fight this virus. For he is happy. The corner of his eyes crinkle; he is unused to the feeling.

He laughs and laughs with you. His clothes and shoes are tracking blood. Normally the thought of even rain getting on his clothes disgusts him, but now, all he can think about is basking in this crimson victory. The dawn shines on you both, commemorating your unholy union. 

You really are perfect for him, he thinks. Because he must be insane too, when he laughs like a crazed dog—the same dogs he nearly drowned in bloodied water to get away from. 

—

You both deserved a treat. He whisked you away to a room—he can deal with the casino room later, call on a few favors—because you deserve his utmost attention, as he does yours. The prospect of your complete attention, entirely unfettered, excites him.

It’s a fine room. The bed is large and soft, the bath is large and pleasant, and the view is utterly breathtaking. But neither of you cares about that. You could be rolling in sewage and shit and you’d still look at him the way he looks at you, still enter demented laughter and twisted joy, still parade under that veneer of love. 

He gets his fill, as do you—but you both know neither of you will ever be sated, not when you two can’t be joined together in the ways you want to. 

The dawn is rich and bright, shining on the waking and sending the begging crawling away into the shadows. You breathe softly, utterly exhausted. A complete 180 from just a few moments ago, too. Your arms wrap weakly around him, tucking yourself into him snugly. His kisses, imprinted with your blood, create a field of flowers on your face. As does his own. …He makes a note to tip room service extra for the bloodied sheets. There’s a reason he doesn’t dress (as) extravagantly for when he needs to get his hands dirty. 

Perhaps after this, he’ll gift you something truly special, he thinks. His earring’s twin has just been gathering dust. And it would be quite romantic to get your ears pierced by him, too. His heart beats at the thought. He’s sure you’ll agree to it if it’s by his hand. Maybe, after this, you’ll wear his gifts of your own accord. Small things, for when you go out, a modest bracelet or watch, a tasteful necklace (of ownership). Nothing overt so as to not draw any thieving eyes, but something to signify to those that know what to look for that you aren’t to be messed with. As for when you’re inside and home…he still remembers how red your face got, and the curses you threw at him. And you’ll finally concede that his taste is actually pretty solid (but, and he will clarify just for you, it's not a sore spot in the slightest! He’s more mature than that). 

He feels a bit of pride at your exhaustion (“I…erm…wanna…well, I can d-do some of the work,” you said, flustered and embarrassed by the mere admission. He found it endearing, that you could confess your desire to burrow into him and then stammer when asking him for something. You really did hate the idea of using him, didn’t you?) The remembrance of that moment makes him smile.

(He doesn’t bother dissecting what kind of smile he makes)

However, a single moment is on repeat in his mind. His hand absently drifts to the crook of his neck, weeping but a few minutes ago. Your teeth, sinking in so deeply, intimately, just on the verge of ripping a chunk of his flesh out; you were practically dining on him. It sent him over the edge. 

When you pulled away and looked at him, he was again taken aback at what he saw.

Your lips, slightly parted and utterly breathless, speckled with rouge. Your cheeks were red hot with adoration. Your eyes, brimming with love and care and everything he couldn’t believe someone besides his own family could direct toward him.

(But your love is very different from his family’s. They wanted to nourish. You want to devour. But he sees nothing to criticize there—indulge, and he will gladly indulge back, until there’s nothing left of either of you)

But what truly pushes him over the edge, is the smile you give, softly stained in crimson. It is pure and untainted, angelic and sweet, soft and warm like how the dawn kisses his cheek. It is as if this love of yours was born not of a tower’s rubble but of whispered secrets and touches shared in the shadow of moonlight. It’s as if the love you show him now would’ve been what he got if he was a more selfless man (if he were any other man). You both know he does not deserve the love in your eyes—it is the last thing you owe him. Yet you give it to him anyway.

You are utterly insane. And now that he knows what insanity on you looks like,

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

But before he can shut his eyes for an hour or two of respite, there’s something he has to do. He promised many things as you both feasted, but there are two absolute ones he has to reaffirm. Two absolute ones you wanted so badly that you unleashed a frozen inferno. 

“I’ll never leave you,” he promises, “And never would. I admit, it stung a bit for you to fear that from me, but…I’ll make it up to you tenfold, sweetheart. I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way ever again,” He kisses your cheek gently. He pictures your response and giggles. “Yeah, I’m being sappy, but you’re,” he boops your nose with each following word, “just~. As~. Guilty~.” You stir, groggily groaning but it’s not enough to rouse you. After a short while, you nuzzle your head further into his neck with a sleepy sigh. Something tells him that even asleep, you’ll somehow know what he’s telling you. Your lips come to rest on the gift you gave him, as if even in sleep you’d rip him apart. His heart flutters. “You’re so sweet…” he exhales with a shudder, “seriously, how do you manage it? Not that I mind, of course…” he plays with a strand of your hair. Candy and clouds and raw flesh burst on his tongue all at once, and he can’t get enough of that flavor of sickly sweet rot. He smiles, a soft and predatory thing, and his lips drift to his favorite spot.

But don’t get him wrong—every part of you is lovely and he would kill to vivisect you if only it didn’t mean killing you and putting you in extreme pain. It’s those two latter thoughts that quell his desire to do so. 

(Maybe he would enjoy it, but only for a moment, only for so as long as the euphoria and awe of seeing all of you lasts. If you did die—especially with cries and shrieks of pain—he would sob, curling around your body…and then he would take you with him, so when he goes to that place, you’d be with him on that very first step)

It’s where he first bit you on the luckiest day of his life. It’s bruised and tender, red and ugly and scarred. Renewed countless times, it is beyond repair. Moments ago it held a crimson sheen, but its been smeared throughout your collarbone and shoulder. The way it smears makes it appear like a red mist, like a curling wisp of smoke that dirties clouds and infects rainwater. He brings you impossibly closer, to keep you from becoming red mist. At the same time, should he squeeze just a bit too hard, then away you go into the mist.

(As if to keep you far, far, far away from the rainwater which had swirled with a thick, red mist—to keep you from breathing in it, from having to hide so you didn’t become like the cold bodies which floated beside you)

His lips seemingly slot in with the spot perfectly. It only makes sense. It was today where you’ve melded yourself to him.

(And he’s melded himself to you for a long time. Against his better judgment and sense, he melded himself to you; at the time it was only the idea of you, but it didn’t take long for it to be you. 

He sighs in content, but he still has another promise to make. 

“We’ll be together, you and I. Two sides of a single coin can face away from each other, but they can’t exist separate from each other. You’re pretty smart, so I’m sure you get it,” yes, he has plenty of faith in you, sweet thing, but he can’t help but ramble, “and it’s because I love you, (Name).” He says it so tenderly, your name, and unexpectedly (or very expectedly) something he thought he’d never feel ever again invades his chest, and it forces itself out, “I love you, I love you,” he thinks his grip has tightened and that his heart has started to race and that he’s shaking but he doesn’t care about that right now and he doesn’t care if he has been losing composure without his notice. “I love you I love you I love you. You have no idea just how much I want to devour you, just how much I want you tethered to me. How much I need you to be unable to live without me. If I’m alive, you’re alive. If I’m dead…you said it yourself. You’ll follow me. It just needs to be by my hand, and you’ll follow me. You won’t have to worry about being alone, being without me. And it’s all because…

I love you.” 

He dimly realizes that something salty has trailed to his lips. Are you awake? Or are you having a nightmare? Either way, he moves like he has so many other times, to remind you that he’d be there, even at your most vulnerable. He goes up to kiss your eyes and lick your cheek, but nothing’s there. 

Something flutters against his cheek. You’re awake, and he feels something warm and wet travel on his cheek. He’s not sure what he feels, when he looks up to you.

(What does his face look like?)

You blink, eyes bleary with sleep and weighted with content. But tinged with the sleep and contentment, there’s another thing, which makes everything within him burn. Which makes him shake and his heart nearly explodes.

Dimly, he realizes that your destruction didn’t just kill a part of you. He’s buried beneath the fire and rubble, too. 

[And it’s lovely.]

And then (at that moment), for some reason (for all the reasons), he buries his head in your chest (into your heart), 

To sob in the sunlight, soothed by the hands that unraveled him.

#yandere #yandere hsr #yandere aventurine #destroyed onset #aventurine x reader #yandere aventurine x reader #yandere x you #yandere hsr x reader #tw noncon #tw suicide #next fic is gonna be sitcom esque #the calm before the storm 😉 #and also because i need to write the reader being happy in a #not fucked up way LMFAO

[brainrotpot]

⤜♡ɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ♡⤛

Hello! I am Gear, and this is my writing blog. I primarily plan to write smut, but I will occasionally write fluff too.

DNI:

PROSHIPPERS, DREAMSMP STANS, MINORS, LOLI/SHOTACONS

Here is my masterlist! My requests are: closed!

⇀What I Will Write:

Smut

NonCon

DubCon

A/B/O (also known as Omegaverse)

Fluff

Platonic stuff

DISCLAIMER: Yes, I will write about terrible shit but I do not like the terrible shit that happens IRL.

ADDITIONAL DISCLAIMER: I am a gay transmasc dude, so my horny/romantic posts 99% of the time will be about men. I'd prefer not writing smuts for women (feels awkward bc i am not attracted to them) but I am not eliminating it off of the table.

⇁What I Will Not Write:

Incest+ Stepcest (I also block these posts/users on sight)

NSFW of minor/minor coded characters (please read my characters I won't write for list)

Scat/Shit

Watersports/piss

Vomit/basically any bodily fluid that isn't blood or cum

Minor x adult ships

Here is my list of characters I won't be writing for.

↬MY FANDOMS:

Team Fortress 2

JJBA Parts 4-6

Trigun Stampede

Pokemon SWSH/SV

Fire Force

Genshin

Honkai Star Rail

Stardew Valley

These are not all of them, but the ones I will probably be writing the most for.

↬ MY FAVES:

Genshin:

Baizhu, Beidou, Bennett, Chongyun, Diluc, Heizou, Freminet, Furina, Kaveh, Shinobu, Layla, Lyney, Neuvillette, Kokomi, Tartaglia, Tighnari, Venti, Wriothesley

HSR:

Argenti, Aventurine, Dr. Ratio, Gallagher, Gepard, Hanya, Jingyuan, Lynx, March 7th, Misha, Sampo Koski, Silver Wolf, Topaz, Xueyi

JJBA:

Kira, Reimi, Rohan, Mikitaka, Okuyasu, Tonio, Yukako,

literally the main cast, Diavolo, Melone

literally the main cast again, Donatello, Pucci

PKMN:

SWSH: Allister, Avery ,Bede ,Gordie ,Leon, Marnie, Piers, Raihan, Rose

SV: Arven, Dendra, Grusha, Hassel, Jacq, Larry, Oretaga, Rika

FF:

Arthur, Benimaru, Joker, Shinra, Takeru, VIKTOR, Vulcan

Stardew:

Elliott, Penny, Sam, Shane, Sebastian

I currently do not have any consistent schedule planned! I also plan to mainly do oneshots, no long stories. Have fun reading!

#en en no shōbōtai #genshin impact #introduction #intro post #fire force #jjba #genshin #hsr #honkai star rail #stardew valley #pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon swsh #pokemon sv #pokemon scarlet and violet

[alisdarkwrites]

Aventurine imagine

Tws - noncon, yandere, imprisonment, captive darling, addictive cum, him forcing her to beg

I love the idea of Avgins (like aventurine) having extremely addictive cum. Like just a few drops will make you helplessly addicted.

And aventurine is about to noncon his poor, poor darling and he just casually says “avgin cum is addicting, if you don’t want me to make you addicted start begging.” And you start sobbing and pleading with him, he even makes you get on your knees and beg for him not to.

Even after multiple hours of you begging for him not to he still drags you to the bed and forces himself onto you, shooting multiple load into you.

He doesn’t even care that the entire time you had begged for him to stop, literally saying you’d do anything. Anything but this. Yet he still shoots loads deep inside you and forcefully makes you addicted.

I did do an ask about this to someone so…

#tw noncon #yandere imagines #yandere aventurine

[mizuminon]

Welcome !

Welcome to my blog!

I'm Mizu (they/them, adult), and I'll write about Honkai : Star rail x reader , mainly because these characters are now engraved into my brain and it's just horrid at this point.

About my writing ;

I'll mainly focus on these characters ;

- Dr. Ratio (wife)

- Argenti (wife 2)

- Welt

- Dan heng

- Caelus

- Gepard

- Sampo

- Aventurine

- Blade (wife 3)

- Jing Yuan (wife 4)

- Luka

Luocha won't be written for so much because I was permanently scarred (/j) by Otto from Hi3.

About Asks ;

I accept asks (currently) , and I might not write a ton for female characters but feel free to ask ! Can be GN, amab and afab. Though I'll mainly try to write for GN.

If the ask is a nsfw one, these are the things I won't be writing ;

- Noncon , incest (including step-family relationships, scat, adult x minor relationships, anything creepy in general, please have common decency.

Fluff asks are always welcome!

Some basic criteria ;

If I ever do write anything of nsfw sort, minors will be blocked if I see them interacting with the post.

I will not be writing about characters that are minors, hopefully this is self explanatory.

DNI criteria ;

- Basic DNI criteria.

#introduction #blog intro

[sweet-honey-fruit]

Rules

Down below are the official laws of Simp Street:

Reposts, edits, and copying of any kind on any platform is not allowed. My work belongs to me and me alone.

As of right now, I mainly write for Genshin Impact and Honkai Star Rail. Although I will write for other fandoms I find myself in.

I have the right to delete/ignore your asks and requests if I feel like it is disrespectful, does not follow the rules, or if I simply do not believe I am able to write for it.

I take requests for fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, crack, and NSFW. I only write for character x reader.

Thoughtful and helpful criticism is welcomed! Just don’t be harsh or rude about it please. I aim to get better with my writing.

I mostly write for afab!reader when it comes to NSFW posts for that is what I am comfortable with. Meanwhile, my SFW posts I keep gender neutral for anyone to enjoy.

Each of my writings have warnings listed before the work itself. Let me know if there is anything I have missed!

This is an 18+ blog. Minors will be blocked.

Genshin characters I write for: Aether, Albedo, Al-Haitham, Arlecchino, Ayato, Baizhu, Beidou, Capitano, Childe, Cyno, Dehya, Diluc, Dottore, Eula, Heizou, Itto, Jean, Kaeya, Kaveh, Kazuha, Kokomi, Lisa, Lumine, Lyney, Lynette, Mona, Neuvillette, Ningguang, Pantalone, Pierro, Raiden Shogun, Scaramouche, Thoma, Tighnari, Venti, Wriothesley, Xiao, Yae Miko, Yelan, Yoimiya, Zhongli

Star Rail characters I write for: Argenti, Aventurine, Black Swan, Blade, Bronya, Caelus, Dan Heng, Dr. Ratio, Fu Xuan, Gepard, Himeko, Jing Yuan, Jingliu, Kafka, Luocha, Ruan Mei, Seele, Silver Wolf, Topaz, Welt, Sampo, Stelle, Yukong

Hazbin Hotel characters I write for: Alastor, Charlie, Husk, Lucifer, Rosie, Vox

Feel free to requests anything if my requests are open! I ask that you look down below for the stuff I DO NOT allow before requesting! If your requests breaks anything down below (or above), I will delete your request.

Not Allowed:

DO NOT request any work for any character that is not listed

No requesting when my requests are closed

Please refrain from sending requests that have a specific feature on the reader (i.e. pronouns, brown hair, chubby/skinny, etc.). I like to keep all of my SFW material as neutral as possible.

Any kink I will write for EXCEPT: scat, piss, vomit, blood (Nothing out right. Stuff from biting/scratching is okay), necrophilia, incest/pedophilia, age play, anal, noncon/dubcon, or anything that is gruesome

I do not write for yandere’s, explicit sexual trauma, or abuse of any kind. Some material may hint to these topics, but they will NEVER be outwardly stated.

#sweethoneyfruit talks #rules #genshin impact