Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]
The cotton in your mind protects you.
Ao3
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 hear 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, and 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 this 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. 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,” that word is heavy on his tongue. He shifts, dropping you on the bed and if this were earlier in your relationship you’d fantasize about ripping his throat for robbing you of the sunset. 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 and you tense a bit out of instinct—you make a note to yourself to do more work on hammering it away—Aventurine’s full attention on you was intense and overwhelming; the bit of dried blood on his lips is proof of it. Your heart feels like it will burst. 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, “Why not take in the real thing, hm?” His thumb finds and lightly presses on a mark. He drew blood when making it, and you blink back a wince at the pain. He notices, eyes softening before moving his thumb and kissing the irritated skin. “Sorry,” he says, but it’s said the same way a cat licks a mouse’s carcass. An empty apology made after the fact. 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. Though, 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 it’s You becoming that; and that, that, You hate.
You hum because you do enjoy being close like this. 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 was 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 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 its because you need to appease him, and easy on the eyes to boot. 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. 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. 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 when this crossed your mind. 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 someone actually knowledgeable in it AND hot. 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. 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. 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 going on a complete breakdown. 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 still 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, 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, and 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 lost 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 remember that he’s wearing his shoes. And 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?” He’s playing with his food. 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. 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 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, 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, the blue of his eye burning 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?”
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 anyway. 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 the package to unpack is 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, when you tell a joke to yourself. 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 your anxiety has spiked, and 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. You do not breathe, and something searing and hard digs into your chin, forcing you to look up. Your gaze is misty from the pain, and 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. You need to get this over with before your mouth starts to uncontrollably twitch into a frown. “Aw…” he coos, and 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,” the gun is lodged away from your chin, and 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 begins to grip it, 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 that Aventurine pauses. He’s given you the inch, and you’re taking the mile. You take a deep breath. It could be one of your last.
You’ve forced the gun 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 about Aventurine doing this—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. So obviously it doesn’t need to be dissected.
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, you’re sure. Surely your quivering, sniveling form is giving him a kick? 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, and you want 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.
“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 it 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. 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 at malice and…something that plunges you in ice. “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 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 still lets you look away.
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 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? 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, hums through your veins, 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. But unfortunately for him, you’re not lucky enough to avoid a stupid death. You quiver, but not with fear. Though a part of you wonders if he’s just been testing you with his easy agreement. Should you be glad if you get 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 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 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. 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, and you’re 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.
“Can’t say the image is pleasant.” Is his voice colder? 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.”
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 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.
“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.”
You heave and sob. All you can think about is the unknown future which 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 laying, and he’s on top of you.
Oh…oh no…You begin to flinch and twitch uncontrollably. You aren’t thinking. You flail, kick, cry, 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 about it was putting it lightly, and you refrained from taking advantage of it in fear he had something up his sleeve. In fact, when you found out his spaceship-apartment-thing was mounted with surveillance in every nook and cranny, 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 sight 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 then caused your cake to burn. 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 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 so you guys could kiss. How romantic, kissing someone with half-chewed food in their mouth, you truly could not commend this man’s genius enough. You couldn’t keep up, which was how you ended up with pasta sauce in your eye. And there were pepperoncinis in there.
Yeah, you’re no fan of how he fucks you mentally and literally. 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. The few risks you have taken never pay off. And 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 laughed. 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. You dismiss them from your mind because you have to deal with Aventurine. 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…” the other cages you by the waist. You imagine his body rupturing and exploding, and you’d dance in the blood shower. 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, “And 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 my least favorite part about 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 are snaking to pull at your collar. Peeling back your skin, to try and coax you out of it. More like tear you out, you scoff.
“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—he’s so good at this! He continues his ministrations until he has a good view of your neck, and hums in pleasure, “you haven’t been that bad.” 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. And against your wishes, you’ve cried. Aventurine lunges on the opportunity, sensually licking them and leaving behind a disgusting trail of slime to dry. “You really are a crybaby…” his voice is like crawling spiders in your ear.
You desperately rub them away 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. He doesn’t want others to see, but in private he can’t keep his hands off.
“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.
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, see?” 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.
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.”
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 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? But for once, you think it might be bestial. You 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 alive.
“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, cotton has come. But then the scent of blood wafts to your nose, and all of your senses have increased tenfold.
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, your breaths fanning on 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.
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 stumble, but his grip doesn’t cease, like he wants your bodies to meld into each other. He sits up, shifting so you’re straddling 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, holding back all he wants to do, “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. And now you recognize the emotion that drowns in them. That all consuming affection which threatens to erase your existence to everything but it. “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.
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,
Warnings: 18+ only, full on noncon (that's all this is), afab reader, threats of pregnancy, Aventurine is going off the rails again (I'm sorry) I'm really writing for this bastard every day at this point huh
By clicking read more you're consenting to read the fic despite the warnings
“Keep your eyes on mine,” Aventurine’s voice is barely above a whisper as he speaks to you, a predatory glint shining in his eyes, his pupils dilated in excitement like a cat’s.
You whine and try to squirm away from him, but he only holds you against him tighter, the grip he has on your body almost bruising at this point. “Oh, sweetheart… Do you really expect me to let you get away from me that easily~?” He laughs lightly, tilting his head back slightly in amusement. “Please, just let me have my way with you…”
“Why would you…” You trail off, unable to form the words which are on your mind. You realized at this point that you can’t really stop this from happening, but you can at least prepare yourself for the inevitable.
“How about I claim you fully right now~?” He spoke in a teasingly dominant voice, leaning down even further onto you, your bodies pressed together so tightly. “Just keep looking me in the eyes. Yes, just like that, you’re doing so well for me…” He praised you gently, softly running his hands across your body, touching every curve of yours.
You look into his eyes tearfully, letting out a sharp cry as he aligns himself and puts himself fully in position to penetrate you. It would take one thrust forward of his hips for him to slip inside you, making you try to squirm your body away from him. “Shhh… Shhh, just relax…” He encourages you softly, trying to calm you down so he could keep you still enough to do what he wanted with your body. “Let me make love to you, I love you so much…”
He leans down and you can feel the wet feeling of his tongue glide along your neck, him licking and sucking at patches of your skin. He whispers against your skin so softly and quietly, “I promise, it won’t hurt, it’ll feel good…”
And you’ve come to realize that behind every one of Aventurine’s words is a lie.
You can tell that he’s prepared to force his way in, not really responding to your fearful pleas with anything other than soft shushing and encouragement.
You let out another sharp cry feeling him slide into you, the wetness from previous activities making it so easy for him. You felt your face burning in shame as he settled his hips against yours, completely balls deep inside of you. His body starts to tense up as he presses himself fully into you, a shiver passing through his entire body at the sensation of finally being inside you.
He lets out a soft moan and you can feel the tears streaming down your face.
“A-Ah…’ You pant extremely hard, your head spinning. “I-It feels weird.” You insist, shifting uncomfortably underneath him, trying to get away again.
He grabs you by the hips and pulls you back towards him, your body sinking down his entire length again. “Weird?” He questions, thinking the statement in itself is so very cute of you.
And then he starts moving, sliding himself in and out, starting a rapid pace of plunging in and out of your body. Your body rocks in time with his movements, and he lets out soft pants and moans above you, getting really into the sensations. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it feel even better~”
“Hah… hah… N-No, please stop…” You try begging him again, as if he was going to listen to you when he was already having so much fun with this.
“Why should I~?” He questions you simply, his tone slightly mocking but carrying the same dominance from before. He heard you whimper and grinned in satisfaction.
“What’s the matter~?” He presses further, his words toying with your mind just like he was toying with your body, “Doesn’t it feel amazing~?”
You didn’t want to admit that it physically feels good, so you simply bite your lip and try to hold back more tears. “I-I don’t want to do this with you…”
“Is that so~?” He continues rapidly thrusting in and out of you, “Well, isn’t that too bad~” Another shiver passed through him as he felt the way you clench around him, pushing him to go even faster, chasing that wonderful feeling.
“Hah… hah… A-Ah…” The only sounds that fill the room are the sounds of his moaning and delighted sighing, your panting and whimpers, and the slick sounds of your bodies uniting as one. He forces himself in and out of you, faster and faster, until you feel you really might lose your mind.
“Are you sure you want me to stop~?” He teases you, listening to how much more vocal you’re becoming the longer time goes on. He reaches for your clit and begins to draw soft yet firm circles over it, making you squirm around even more and your breath hitch in your throat. “You seem to be having a lot of fun here~”
“I-If I said yes, would you…?”
“Hmm~” He seems to contemplate your question for a brief moment, before shrugging his shoulders. “No, I don’t suppose that I would~” He answers completely truthfully, his voice still soft despite the bluntness of his statement, as he continues to pleasure your body with each and every movement of his hips.
You can’t deny the warm rush that goes down your spine at his words.
“Even though… I want you to stop…?” You can’t tell anymore what you’re trying to achieve, as you already know he’s too far gone in the pleasure to actually genuinely stop.
He chooses not to respond to you, but he does grin with arrogance, and you can’t help the intrusive thought that his noises of pleasure are somewhat cute. Or at least, they would be if this whole ordeal had been consensual. You still can’t deny that they fill you with a warm sort of feeling, which you vaguely recognize as arousal.
“Besides, your body doesn’t really seem ready to stop this, does it~?” And you can feel it when he says those words, the way your body tries to meet each of his thrusts, the way your legs and arms have subconsciously gone from trying to push him away to trying to pull him closer.
He sped up his pace even further, moving quickly and forcefully, leaving you gasping and clawing at his back. You can’t control your moans anymore as your body moves in time with him rocking himself into you.
A smile slowly spreads across his face as he notices your involuntary reaction. He was high on the adrenaline and euphoria of getting to take you like this, of finally getting to make you all his.
Your body was reacting so nicely for him and what he was doing, even if your mind hadn’t come around to the idea yet.
You feel his hips stutter against yours, and hear the way his breath hitches, and complete panic and dread fills you.
Your body began to shake from how hard he was moving, but he kept on accelerating the pace, moving even faster as he chases both your release as well as his own. He tightens his grip on your body, making sure you can’t move away even a little bit for what was to come next.
You feel like a bucket of cold ice water was splashed on you as you come to the realization of what he’s planning to do.
“Y-You’re not going to finish inside… R-Right…?” You ask extremely fearfully, your voice cracking slightly towards the end. Now wasn’t the time to feel embarrassed at your own words, you had to do something, anything, to convince him not to.
“Hmm… I could do that to you though…” He says bluntly, still grinning from the intensity of the moment and the feeling of satisfaction he’s gaining from you begging him like this.
“W-Wait, please don’t… Anything but that…” You try pushing him away again, but he doesn’t budge even slightly. If anything he just presses further into you and moves even faster.
“What are you so afraid of, sweetheart~?” He asked you, genuine curiosity filling his voice this time. “I promise you, it’ll make it feel even better…”
“I-I don’t want to get pregnant…” You can’t help but whimper in fear, and his dick throbs at the sound and your confession.
“Oh,” Now he’s smirking, grinning from ear to ear, still absolutely ravaging your body with each and every movement. “You know, that is such a delightful idea…” His head was now full of what your children might look like. If your goal was to make him pull out, you failed catastrophically.
“P-Please… S-Stop… P-Pull out…” You keep begging him, demanding that he stop, but he just puts a finger to your lips and shushes you.
“Shhh… It’s alright…”
The speed of his pace picks up even more, the sound of skin slapping against skin drowning out everything else, and then suddenly, your orgasm hits you all at once. Your head is full of stars as your back arches and your toes curl, riding out every wave of pleasure as he continues moving in and out even faster, trying to draw every ounce of pleasure he can out of you. He rubs your clit through the entire thing, and you squirm in near discomfort, the pleasure too much to handle at this point. You feel a liquid squirt out of you and bite your lip, trying to hold back the loudest moan you’ve ever made in your life.
You feel him still for a moment, and then he’s pushing as deep into you as possible, completely balls deep. He’s grabbing and pulling your hips down towards his, still rocking his body back and forth, but more slowly and teasingly than before. It seems that your own orgasm sent him over the edge as well. You feel rope after rope of his cum shoot into you, filling you to the brim, him letting out a noise you thought you’d never hear from him. A whine full of complete vulnerability. His cum is leaking out and down your thighs.
“Y-You… You actually-” You say in shock and horror, and there’s that arrogant grin on his face again. This time you shrink away from it, the feeling of his stare burning holes into you as you feel slightly intimidated by the way he’s looking at you so lovingly and adoringly.
“Yes,” He confirms for you, “I did. And you were so good, finishing like that on me… How could I not cum inside~ How could I possibly pull out at that point~?” He asks simply, not caring for your concerns at all.
“And besides,” He continues, chuckling at how scared you look, “I’ve been wanting to have a family for a long time now…”
You feel cold dread wash over you at his words, and to your surprise, he starts moving again.
“What~? You didn’t think I’d stop after just one time, did you~?” He chuckles softly, picking up the pace significantly, relishing in your astonishment and discomfort, “Mm, no, I think we’re going to continue this until I’m sure you’re pregnant with my children~” He laughs softly at your expression of fear, your body beginning to tremble so cutely, “Don’t you think it would be adorable if they had my eyes and your hair~?”
If I- if I may be so bold and share An Aventurine Thought™ that includes a breeding kink (or at least baby trapping)… 👀 (spoiler-free!)
Aventurine is a high-stakes, high-return gambling guy, yet at the same time he doesn’t make deals that don’t pay off. (info taken directly from his official description) He’s willing to risk it all, but the price you’ll have to pay is just as high.
So he offers you a deal: let him do it raw just for one night and if you don’t fall pregnant after that, he’ll disappear out of your life. But in the case that you do become pregnant, you’ll marry him and will be forever his.
Sounds straightforward, and the chances are obviously in your favor (20% risk of pregnancy), so you agree to it.
What you did not consider is that “one night” does not mean one single time, so now you’re getting railed and creampied nonstop all night long. 😈 Ooorrrr maybe he whisks you away onto a planet where night is permanent so that “one night” literally lasts forever. OR he pretends to play fair on that particular night, but unbeknownst to you, he’s been noncon’ing you in your sleep for weeks now, and he absolutely will continue to do so on all following nights. Gotta make sure his seeds take, right?
Either way, there’s no doubt your pregnancy test will come out positive. Aventurine knows that, but you don’t. And aww, aren’t you the cutest when your initial confidence slowly dwindles to uncertainty and nervous “what if?”s over the coming weeks? 🥰
THIS IS SO DELICIOUS OH MY GOODNESS GOSH WOWOWOWOWOWOWOOOOOOOOO. OTL OTL I NEED HIM SO BADLY.
uuuwuwaaaa it pains me that I cannot articulate my thoughts in full without risking being ooc. </3 but omg this is everything and more!!!!! Aventurine watches you go from being so very confident to so very scared as the weeks pass and your period has yet to show and you start feeling more and more sick. Time to start looking into rings, dearest. Time to start looking for venues. Do you have any preferences? Just let him know and it shall be yours. <3 no need to look so disheartened. You agreed to this, after all. It's completely fair, and seeing as he's won this little gamble it's time for you to come to terms with your loss. Complain all you want; a deal is a deal, darling.
He's excited to plan the wedding with you, even more so when it comes time for you to pick a wedding dress. Of course you'll have to take into account the fact that, by the time it's finally the day of the big ceremony, you'll likely be so heavily pregnant. The dress may seem spacious now, but you'll grow into it. :)
And by then he's sure all of your vitriol towards him will have withered away into something soft and sweet.
(Here's the Yandere Cheshire Cat Aventurine, I think it's relatively tame? Warning for general yandere behavior and forced kissing/touching, but I think I'd consider this one on the softer side? I hope you like it and that I did the idea justice! I tried really hard to capture the energy of the Cheshire Cat in this one sgdhhkl
Added pic because he has such cat energy here)
If there was one thing you were starting to learn during your time in Wonderland, it was that no one here was to be fully trusted. The deeper you went, the more you realized there were more questions waiting for you than answers.
Your current predicament started off as a harmless bet with the Cheshire Cat, one you were certain that you’d have a good chance at winning.
If only you knew that only fools make bets with a madman who has nothing to lose.
“Let’s play a game of hide and seek, Alice. If you find me before I find you, I’ll help you go home.” Those multicolored eyes of his flashed an array of colors at you as your eyes were glued to his manic grin, “But if I find you first…”
You shuddered thinking about the words that followed, trying to push down the fear that was slowly bubbling up inside of you. You did your best not to think about it right now, not to think about the fact that you had promised you’d stay here with him forever if he were to find you first.
“Cheshire? Hello, Mister Cheshire?” You weren’t sure why you were calling out for him as you searched, parting bushes and shrubbery here and there, climbing trees and getting your clothes dirty. You were so desperate, all you wanted to do was find that White Rabbit, return his pocket watch to him, and go home. Instead you were stuck playing a game with a cat who had more screws loose than the Mad Hatter.
You were bewildered as to why he wanted to play this game with you of all people, and also as to why he wanted you to promise you’d stay with him if you lost.
And Aventurine, on the other hand, was absolutely fascinated with you, to say the least. That always grinning cat had taken quite the liking to you during your time here, watching your every move, flicking his tail in excitement as he kept a close eye on you and your adventure.
You climbed back down the tree with a huff, dusting off your clothes the moment you reached the ground.
That was all it took, that single moment of distraction, for him to dart out and pounce on you.
“Got you,” He said after he tackled you, letting out a light chuckle and pinning you to the ground underneath him. He was already panting hard, pure adrenaline rushing through his veins and excitement bouncing around in the glint in his peculiar eyes. “It seems I’ve won our little game, Alice.” He was grinning ear to ear as always, and his hand reached out to gently stroke your hair.
You were staring up at him with fear written in your expression, trying to squirm away from his touch, and that’s when you felt it. Something brushing against your leg, climbing up it, and coiling itself around you. You flinched at the contact, fearful that it was something absolutely dreadful. Looking down, you realized exactly what it was and recoiled in disgust. It was Aventurine’s kitty tail wrapping around your leg.
“No, it can’t be over just like that…” You mumbled, unwilling to admit defeat so easily despite the fact he already had you trapped underneath him. He moves in even closer, that smirk unchanging as he was impossibly close to you, his lips ghosting right over yours.
“Oh~? Do you want to raise the stakes and continue playing, perhaps~?” He offered, the excitement lacing every single word of his.
And in your desperation, you couldn’t do anything other than frantically nod your head. You were grasping at any straw you could and you both knew it.
“Good Alice~” He praised you, his voice a soft purr, “It would be boring if you gave up so easily.”
And just like that, he released you, offering a gloved hand to help you up off the ground like a gentleman. You hesitantly took it, but not without a glare in his general direction for tackling you in the first place.
“What… What could you possibly want from me? I don’t have much to offer here, Mister Cheshire…” You admitted truthfully, wanting him to be honest with you about what he was desiring. If only it could be that simple and direct.
“Call me Aventurine,” He told you, which sounded more like a demand than a request. The constant smile on his face continued to unsettle you immensely, and the slight edge of a purr to his voice did little to change your mind about him otherwise. No matter how soft his voice may sound, you know something darker is lurking underneath that sweet smile. It was such a sickly sweet smile, the type of sweet that makes your blood sugar spike and leaves you shaky and on edge the rest of the night.
“Okay, Mister Aventurine…” The sound of his name feels foreign on your tongue, but you force yourself to say it anyway in order to appease him. Who knows, if you play your cards right, maybe he might let his guard down.
“Come on now, aren’t we more well acquainted than that, Alice~? Just Aventurine will do,” His voice has a teasing edge to it now, and this new change of his was certainly not welcome. You did not like where this was going, not at all. You didn’t want to become too friendly with him.
You just wanted to win this stupid game against him and have him help you find your way out of here so you could go home.
“The most beautiful person in Wonderland~” He teased, placing his hand on your shoulder, which you promptly brushed off.
“Please, Aventurine, just tell me your terms already…” You reminded him of your game bluntly and with a bit of irritation. Not that he took your spiteful tone to heart, no, of course not. You had just called him directly by name and he was so happy. Alice was just a little cranky right now, or that was how he chose to see it, anyway.
Then just like that, he disappears right before your eyes, and your eyes widen in panic.
“Wait, don’t go! Please…” You hate how pathetically your voice breaks, falling to a whisper at the end as you watch him vanish. Perhaps you had been too mean and hurt his feelings. “Please, come back, I’m sorry…” You mutter, genuinely apologetic for the harsh tone you had taken with him just moments before. “You’re my only chance.”
“You’re sorry?” He appeared right behind you, draping his body over yours from behind, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. “Oh, Alice, I’m so glad to hear you say that…” He nuzzles his face into yours, brushing his face against you, truly cat-like in every way.
“Don’t push it,” You stiffen in discomfort under his touch, but his grip is too tight for you to be able to pull away from him.
“Alright, my prize if I win… How about a kiss~?” He purrs with satisfaction, leaning in even closer to you.
“No way in hell,” You snap back, feeling extremely uncomfortable with this situation now, and leaning away.
“Alright, that’s fair. Then I want you to pet my kitty ears. Surely you can do that much, right~?” He continues rubbing his face against yours, with you trying to fight to get away. His grip on you is too tight. It seems he really likes nuzzling against you.
“That’s… more reasonable.” You admit reluctantly, “What’s the game?”
It seems a cat will do anything to be pet.
“I can create illusions of myself,” He says, “If you can find the real me, you win. But if you pick one of the illusions, then you can’t go home, and you have to pet my ears.”
That sounds more simple than you were expecting, so you nod in agreement.
“Now, Alice… This time, you’re going to chase me~” He snatches away the pocket watch you had been wearing around your neck, the one you needed to return to the White Rabbit in order to leave this place.
He’s taking off before you can try to get it back from him.
“Wait! I need that!” You immediately start chasing after him, tripping over branches the entire way.
“Then you better find me quickly, right~?” He blurs, and then suddenly there’s about five of him. Or wait, no, ten…? Completely identical copies, all running in opposite directions through the forest.
“Oh, and if you don’t catch me in time, I’ll be destroying the pocket watch.” He says, as if he didn’t know your chances of going home hinged on that single object. His voice echoes as each of the illusions speak.
But how are you to find the real one?
You bite your lip, trying to think. Looking at each of them to see if you can spot any differences. And that’s when you notice it… The fact that the one that just ran past you is missing the collar around his neck, the one that goes between his shirt. Didn’t the real Cheshire Cat have a collar there? That must be the answer.
You dart past each one. Nope, not that one. Not that one either.
And then you spot him. The one that does have the collar, the one who is smirking and holding the pocket watch. You begin chasing that one specifically, but he’s too fast. You can’t keep up with him. You try your best to keep your eyes on him, but he keeps darting in between the trees, obscuring your vision. Two more run past, and then you’ve lost him among the others again.
You curse silently to yourself, realizing quickly that you’re running out of time. You know he won’t hesitate to break it, your only way out. He was playing with you, toying with you like this was all just a game to him.
Then you spot him dangling upside down from the tree above you, holding the pocket watch teasingly above your head. He leans in to steal a kiss from you, but you yank him hard by the collar around his neck so he can’t escape. You attempt to snatch the pocket watch back and away from him, but it’s just barely out of your reach.
“Please,” You say, “I just want to go home.” You start to cry.
In what seems like a moment of mercy, a moment of pity as he looks at you, Aventurine hands you the pocket watch, putting his finger over his lips as he does so.
Relief floods you. He actually gave it back? Just like that?
And then he disappears, and the pocket watch you’re holding along with it.
“Hey! What are you doing?!” You demanded, “I found you fair and square! Why are you cheating? Give it back!”
“Oh Alice, I’m not cheating. That was one of the illusions.” He steps out of the clearing, smiling and showing you the pocket watch broken into pieces. He throws it to your feet. Your only hope was crushed, literally and metaphorically.
“But… I thought it was the real you… The others didn’t have your collar.”
“Yes, that was a diversion from the real difference.” He says, barely above a whisper.
“And what’s the real difference…?”
He points to his chest.
“The real me loves you so much, I wouldn’t hesitate to break that damn watch so you can never go home again.”
“No…” You say in disbelief.
“That was merely a distraction so the real me had time to break it without your interference,” He says simply, grinning victoriously and flashing his sharp, cat-like teeth at you.
“No!” You repeat, falling to your knees and desperately trying to piece back together the broken watch. "That's against the rules! You said you would break the watch after the game if I lost, not during it!"
“Hmmm, I did say that, didn’t I~?” He teases you, and his smile looks even more unsettling. You can see the pure infatuation for you in his eyes. “But what you need to realize is that we don’t always play fair here in Wonderland, especially if it means getting what we want.”
You almost cut your hand on the glass while trying to piece it back together, but there was no hope. Now the White Rabbit would never take you home.
Exactly as Aventurine wanted. He places your hand on his kitty ears, and helps you move your hand so you’re petting him. You’re too weak and crying too much to pull away.
“Don’t look so sad, Alice.” He says, pulling you into a kiss, a real one this time. When he pulls away, he’s rubbing at your bottom lip with his thumb in an intimate fashion. “Now we can play together forever.”
What We Want (Yandere!Blade x Reader x Yandere!Kafka)
[Second Part of this]
This time from Blade’s perspective, he finally has the chance to get closer to you.
Fandom: Honkai Star Rail
Pairings: Yandere!Blade x GN!Reader x Yandere!Kafka
Warnings: Yandere, Dub-/Non-Con touches/kisses, Hints at kidnapping/owning reader, Soft yandere, Possessiveness, Obsession, Infatuation, Failed Escape, Hypnose
After that, Kafka went to great lengths to keep you away from Blade.
It drove him mad.
He didn’t know why she did it, but every time he tried to ignore the agonizing hole that your absence left in his chest, his mind was flooded with more memories of you. Even though he only held you for mere minutes, Blade couldn’t forget the feeling of your body squeezed against his, pure softness grasped in his palm, nor the fear glistening in your eyes or the shudder of your tense muscles. He had never felt this way before about someone else—or perhaps, he had, and like so many things, forgotten it for the better. He couldn’t forget you, though, no matter how much he tried.
Regardless, these memories brought forth a flurry of unwelcome symptoms he had to endure daily. They were things that tired him. Angered him. Long moments of complete stillness where Blade would remember the warmth emanating from you. Heat that would seep through his clothes and lay down on the wounds edged into his body, soothing the pain he barely felt unless he was with you. Then, every pain and hurt wanted to be caressed by you, healed and comforted. He’d snap out eventually, having completely missed instructions or conversations, his mind crowded with your features. Your hair, eyes, and lips were all that came to mind when someone spoke to him. As if the gasp you made when Kafka kissed you was the answer as to why he’d pick a fight with anyone daring to draw close to him. Because he needed some kind of relief from these feelings holding him in a tight grip.
Maybe Blade should have hated you for how much you consumed him. Parts of you were mixing with his until he thought you were next to him at the most inconvenient times. Moments that decided about life and death, but all he could think about was smelling your shampoo in the waft of air as he cut yet another enemy down. He could hear your voice whenever the world turned quiet. Frightful but defiant, ringing in his ears, whispering sweet nothings that Blade wouldn’t let anyone else say to him. But if it was you, he’d bite his tongue and steel himself while every word of yours crawled into him like a parasite—one he was solely at fault for.
Because the longer he refused to face these gnawing feelings, the more desperate they became when he couldn’t see you again. Of course, Blade’s gaze lingered a bit too long on Kafka every time she passed by him, but he never reached out to her, never asked about you. She was the key to a lock he didn’t even know where to look for, and even if he asked about something mundane like how you were doing, would she open the door to you? Blade doubted it. Seeing him distraught gave her great joy, and he saw it in the sparkling in her eyes. It was very unlike him, and Kafka’s excitement about it was like a sore bruise to his ego, one he had no one there to calm and mend.
He couldn’t imagine a life with but neither without you anymore.
Not when he thought he regularly caught a glimpse of your hair from the corner of his eyes. Or when his mind teased him with an idea of your laugh and how it would sound if you stood behind him. Of course, you were never there when he looked, yet he had been so sure of your presence. Blade was truly going mad over it, patrolling the same hallways and rooms where he met you before as if possessed by the need to find you again. All while he knew that, unless Kafka had a good reason for it, she’d never let him catch you. Blade would never have you, and it was tearing apart his sanity in the most miserable ways. Knowing he’d never get to be around you again was turning him into an unlikeable version of himself. He recognized that if he couldn’t bring himself to stop his infatuation, he’d eventually be consumed by it. You were worse than any illness, worse than how Blade imagined his own ruin. And yet, you were a thought so breathtaking he accepted defeat.
Coming to a halt in the semi-darkness, he thought that maybe, this time, if he reached out his hand, it would connect to the illusion of you he saw in front of him. Your breath hitched as he let your well-kept hair spill over his gloves, his palm resting over your cheek. Blade’s eyes widened as warmth spread through his hand, familiar, soothing, and he couldn’t help but lick his lips when you flinched away, your reactions so honest and real.
“No– No, I don’t have time for this!” you gasped, exasperated and out of breath. This time, the words didn’t hurt, even if the distance you were creating as you turned around and ran in the opposite direction he came from, was positively gut-wrenching. He only just got you back, and now you were leaving again? You sounded panicky, your breath wearing thin. As if you were hunted—but not by Blade.
writing blade in character is hard ;-; wdym he isn't my bbygrl (projecting) trying to capture his sexiness ... writing hard. we are going canon blade to extremely ooc bladie to fit my niche of wanting pathetic men god i wanna fuck him so bad
after months of dodging me i got bronya at the 300 standard pulls …. & hit trailblaze 70 two months ago. we will be pulling for jingliu & her lightcone … can’t wait to put her on the same team as imbibitor lunae and my e6 s5 blade … how does my audience feel about a yan! high cloud quintet series? (ㆀ˘･з･˘) i’m feeling very motivated to write so expect some posts in the next couple of weeks … a certain female harbinger has dragged me back into genshin so expect something about father soon ( ^ω^ )
tagging!!!! @watch-out-for-them, @the-fandom-pandemonium, @monstrouslyobsessed, @mirdance, @khaenruin and uhhhh all the rest of my friends whom i love and whose urls are not coming to me atm
thank you for tagging….this summoned me back to tumblr (๑>◡<๑) me & my bf bladie
tagging @merakiui @yestrday @yandere-romanticaa and @notsodivininglover (only if you’re comfortable….please let me know if you don’t wanna be tagged in the future!!) + anyone else who’d like to join!!
Content warning: yandere themes, polyamorous relationship, reader is gender-neutral.
It starts with a chase.
It always starts with a chase.
You run through the cold, deep snow. Dried leaves and twigs hiding under the snowy blanket crunch beneath your boots, and the little cracking noises they cause makes you want to cry painful, heaving sobs that shake through your frame.
The moon hangs high in the sky, your singular source of light. You are so deep within this frozen wasteland, not even Belebog's lights show on the horizon.
A perfect place for them to hunt you. But hunt truly is too kind of a word; a prey has at least a singular, sliver chance of survival. You are merely a toy between their clutches, ever so often placed in a new playground for their amusement, but at the end-
You will be back with them. It is, after all, part of the script. Always, always, always-
You stumble and fall on your hands and knees with a painful gasp, foot catching within viney branches that dig into your boots and pants. You'd been running so much, for so long, you hadn't even realised just how out of breath your poor lungs were.
In, and out. In, and out. In, and out.
You take in one, last big breath before finally looking back to get your foot out of the vines and hopefully, with the mercy of Qlipoth the Preservation and any Aeon that will listen, escape from this hellhole-
Only to meet two red piercing eyes staring at you from such darkness, not even the moon could disperse it. Peering, watching, waiting.
"No!" The frightened scream tears itself out of your throat, and your lack of breath and aching foot are forgotten entirely. In the distance, among the flying crows and skittering spiders, you heard the tinkling laugh of a woman.
Everything is dangerous. Everything is dangerous. Everything is dangerous-
He tells you everything is dangerous as he sharpens a sword, cracks going through its cold blade like broken glass. His voice is low, but his eyes are staring straight at you. Gazing, scrutinizing, waiting.
How many days, weeks, and months have you spent with them now? With him? You know his past by now, something he'd confided in you in the lonely, dead hours of the night, where you craved interaction even from someone like him. When he would crave interaction from you, would seek you out and hoard your time with the excuse that Kafka demanded he needed you to heal him and soothe his mara-struck mind with your singing, nimble fingers unwillingly going through his hair.
Everything is dangerous, Bǎo bèi. You will stay here with us.
She tells you everything is dangerous without telling you. You are on her lap, so shamefully naked and exposed yet she lounges against the tub as if the world is her oyster to pick, hands on your waist and nails slightly dragging against your skin until there are raised goosebumps trailing up your body.
It might as well be her world to rule.
You will not leave, my darling. She says with the softest laugh, burying her pretty face in your tender throat and kissing your skin. Her perfume still clings to her skin, leaving your mind hazy and muddled- all thoughts of your burning homeland they took you from washing away until all you can think of is her, her, her. She's a devil and a devil hunter; she is a spider that has spun into a web you can see neither the start nor end of, demands your songs as if you, your songs and voice all belong to her.
Everything is dangerous, my lovely. You will not leave, not now nor ever.
You run and run, boots so torn every twig and rock digs into your delicate skin. You are crying, too, stumbling against trees and branches. The noise that comes out of your throat is half-sob, half-prayer. Mercy, oh Aeon, grant me mercy.
You speed past the forest. It does not matter where you are, only that you leave. There are so many snapping noises, but all of it is from your running so you- you are sure you are safe-
No more trees, and the lights from Belebog now shine like the very stars of hope. So close now, and freedom tastes so unbelievably sweet on your tongue. You reach a hand out-
And fall down again, staring up at the star-less sky with wide eyes and a frantic heart.
No twig or branch made you fall.
Spider webs did.
The moon is so beautiful.
"The moon is so beautiful, isn't it, my darling?"
Kafka looks down on you, kneeling down by your side. Her pretty eyes gleam in the encroaching darkness, mouth stretched into a small smile that is anything but kind.
Yet her touch is so very gentle when she cups your face, wipes away the lone tear trickling down your cheek. She is even gentler when she leans down to kiss the corner of your lips, this time tasting your second tear.
It makes her sigh, so awfully fond. The spider web clings to your body, crawling up your limbs. You are unaware of Blade slowly coming out of the woods, your focus entirely on Kafka.
"You tried your very best," she croons, voice low and soft. Her smile widens, thumb swiping across your chapped lips, smoothing out the furrowed lines between your brows. "But it wasn't enough, was it? It will never be enough, either. But, oh, how beautiful you looked as you ran and ran, so fully convinced you even had a small chance of success… like a frightened rabbit. Isn't that right, Bladie?"
Blade's silence is unsurprising, and you are glad for it as you finally descend into sobs, turning your head away from her even as her hand chases your face. All of it… was just an illusion? All of it?
"Carry them, Bladie." Kafka orders, chuckling. She plays with your hair for a few seconds, humming before she kisses you, kisses under your lashes, one last time and gets up. "Carry them home, where they belong."
post your drafts please 🥹 i will shower them all with love
☁️
oh my god this makes me so happy ... give me a day to touch up the grammar for all of them, i was reading some of my old stuff on 99-nct and i cringe a little (╥﹏╥)
it's mostly some old genshin stuff and some hsr drabbles that i wanted to make longer but couldn't finish, i've been working on two longer very indulgent fics, one of blade & kafka and one for just kafka,
the kafka one is more psychological & needs a ton of editing...and the kafka & blade one is just smut 😭 we'll see where they go & if i end up posting them, the kafka one is dark...
will redownload for fontaine, but yes. just because i stopped playing doesn't mean i won't write for genshin anymore either! i've been ar60 for a really long time now and have explored everything and maxxed out all my characters, the game just isn't interesting enough right now to justify the amount of space it takes up on my phone. my c6 miko raiden and wanderer are crying and collecting dust, but i've found something else to pour my paychecks into.
phew it's been a while since i've answered anything on tumblr, mostly have just been lurking & liking my mutuals posts on @/99-nct but i'm finally motivated to post after getting e6 s5 kafka & blade ;) the stellaron hunter brainrot is terribly strong :)
yeah ... the hyper fixation is just a little strong (･ω<)☆
i've never been this invested in a game ( not even with genshin ) and i absolutely adore sci-fi games! i really enjoy turn-based games and the characters are appealing to me. i've been playing nonstop since launch and i've mostly gotten the exp from continuously grinding simulated universe! the relic farming is painful but i'm so picky about gearing my characters, everything needs to be gold!!! i've done most of the available content save for some quests but i don't feel bored yet. truly the honeymoon phase of the game. i didn't beta test but i had several friends who did & they gave me some advice before i started. i might pull for jingyuan, i'm afraid hoyoverse's advertisements are god-tier, absolutely adored his trailers!!
if you ever need advice i'm more than happy to help!! ʚ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎
