Floating dreams and willow leaves. Y'know, the exact opposite of my personality. He/Him, 20. Unless otherwise marked, none of my stories are related to one another. THIS PAGE IS 18+
Hey! Name's Phoenix, I'm 20 and use he/him pronouns. I'm currently in college studying photography with the intention to work with/for non-profits and human rights orgs to tell the stories of people who have been harmed by the system in one way or another via photography. Photos describe stories far better than words, and I love leaning into that in my work.
So, why am I writing then?
This has been my coping mechanism and one of my primary creative outlets since high school! Most of my work from that time was primarily poetry, but I dabbled in my fair share of short stories. Istrucpolis is one of my brainchildren from that time. I started it during my senior year!
Current Projects (as of September 2024)
I'm permanently swimming in WIPs (*sigh*), but I love working on multiple projects at once, so here are all of my current brainchildren :) I've started drafting stories aimed for an 18+ audience so minors get out LMAO
Istrucpolis: Dystopian post-apocalypse city but if it was elven, because why not. Debating if I will continue this one (discontinued).
09/02/2075, 1500
Miles,
Welcome to Istrucpolis. I hope you’ve received this note, as I most likely will not be the one giving it to you. Thi
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IMPORTANT: Book sneak peek/intro
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Power & Inequality: A series of standalones inspired by songs, academic discussions I participate in, and my work in my internship. Making use of my background in song analysis, human rights/social justice, storytelling, and documentation. Continuing this throughout the summer and beyond as inspiration comes to me.
Take Back What's Yours - Includes song link
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Cozy: A series of standalones that I wrote on a whim either while sick or very tired. Enjoy my emotional half-delirious ramblings.
I think I like this little life.
This line will not leave my head. But it's true.
It's sickly sweet and soul crushing all at once and has
Never been this close to heaven.
I'm really excited for this year. I've already started planning out what I wanna do before 2024 ends. I kn
Cozy III (idk why tumblr is acting up)
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Flight: A deep dive into the life of one very angsty trans-man, Aaron.
A cloud of black smoke billowed into the air further down the trail as the wind picked up. My chest ached as I coughed and hacked in a feebl
I stared at the ceiling. Memories flooded my mind. I hadn't been home for long and I already missed him. His embrace. His soft smile as he r
There is something so beautiful about sharing trans joy with my partner. I get to see his transition in real time and his raw emotions as he
Needy (18+ age gate, connected to Flight)
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Little Things: A several-post series that is based on true events. Also a deep dive, but Silas instead! Poor gay boy is in for quite the journey.
Author's note: TW for the implication of self-harm, and mention of medication/overdose. Please read with caution. Necessary sections have be
I stared at my hands. Each racing heartbeat made them shake worse than the last. Blood rushed through my fingertips. Each vessel throbbed in
clang
smack
thud
Motherfucker. Asshole. Piece. Of. Shit.
Go get fucked with a rusty tailpipe.
I emotionally abused you? Bitch please. You bl
// Author's note: TW for some graphic descriptions & mention of alcohol.
Worthy.
What the fuck does that even mean anyway?
I never have
Pairing: Re2r Leon x barista!reader (ft. Chris, Claire, Jill and Carlos)
Genre: Non zombie AU, Chaotic friendship social media AU, romcom, friends to lovers
Warnings: None!
Plot: You and Leon work together at a chaotic little café owned by your disaster group of friends. Between failed latte art, petty flirting, leaked group chats, and customers constantly assuming you are already dating, the café turns into the place where you and Leon accidentally fall in love in the middle of complete chaos.
Calendar: Every Saturday and Sunday at 7pm (GMT +2)
A/N: Heyy! 'Little Kennedy' mini series is coming to an end tomorrow, and since I couldn't have enough of fluff, and I bet you neither, I come with an extra dose of cuteness with this smau! I'm really excited about this series because I LOVE making smaus, so I hope you enjoy it as much as I did ❤❤
P.S: Another little surprise for my Chris girlies coming next Thursday as well 🤭Taglist: let me know if you want to be added!)
Chapters.
We're just coworkers (sure) - May 30th.
Accidental flirting. - May 31st.
The group chat is losing it. - June 6th.
Late replies and overthinking. - June 7th.
Private chat mistakes. - June 13th.
Café night shift. - June 14th.
He almost said it? - June 20th.
Accidental confession (group chat disaster). - June 21st.
✮ synopsis: you thought ‘philosophy: yesterday and today’ was a useless gen-ed requirement you could coast through. after completely bombing the exam, your professor decides to prove just how wrong you are, determined to show you firsthand exactly how persuasive a philosopher’s rhetoric can truly be…
✮ warnings: female reader, professor/student relations, porn with plot, slow-burn, sexual/explicit content, dub-con/coercion, slight humiliation kink, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected penetration, hair pulling, overstimulation, creampie, semi-rough sex, lil fluff at the end
✮ word count: 10.6k (pls it's worth it)
being a college student was not for the weak of heart. endless exams, midnight study sessions that often turned into all-nighters, and not to mention, the cost. you've had your share of failures throughout the semester— being late to class after struggling to find parking, failing an exam you already knew you were going to fail, missing the deadline of an already closed submission portal for a stupid discussion board you could care less about... the list goes on.
and as if you didn't already have enough problems, another one slams straight down on front your desk, a huge 'F' plastered in red marker gracing the white exam paper, tainting the surface with its cruelty. you suck in a sharp breath, quickly folding the sides in and praying that no one saw. you nearly zone out completely before your eye catches a small, hand-written note below the raging red letter you so badly wanted to hide from.
‘see me after class to discuss your grade.’ it reads.
great, as if your week couldn't get any worse, you'd now have to sit and endure the embarrassment of being confronted about your (now failing) grade. you had prayed that it wouldn't get to this point, holding on to your sixty-five percent for dear-life as you struggled to keep up with the mind-boggling lectures. philosophy was a class you hated more than any frustrating math course, dry comp class, or confusing natural science lab in which you itched to snatch the annoying clunky goggles off your face.
no, philosophy was different. it was the bane of your existence, and not just because of the weird, jargon-heavy terminology, or the need to memorize every philosopher in existence from b.c. to today. although you could do with developing better study habits for the class, you weren't half as motivated to even spend more than thirty minutes on it since this wasn't even for your major. alas, colleges must find a way to drain your poor pockets even more, so why not make it a degree requirement? capitalism.
as if the hate you harbored for the content of the humanities course wasn't enough, only one thing could make it a living hell. professor leon kennedy, your instructor for the duration of the semester. after coming in late for one class and duly getting marked tardy, your professor took it upon himself to make a spectacle out of you in front of the entire class since then.
he'd call on you multiple times during a class period to answer a question, to which you'd frantically stutter out some generic, bullshit answer. he'd hum as if he'd considered your answer, only to turn back around to his desk with a simple, "not quite," and then proceed to make you look even dumber by spitting out words you'd never even heard before. it was an understatement to say that you didn't like him, you couldn't stand him.
after your professor had finished passing out the last few exams and outlined what was due for next class, you all but grimaced as he dismissed everyone, knowing you'd have to stay behind. you stayed glued to your seat, heart hammering in your chest at the quiet tension present in the nearly empty lecture hall.
professor kennedy didn't look up right away. he was behind his desk, filing away a stack of papers you could only assume would be the remaining exams he has yet to grade. you scowled at his calm demeanor, his presence almost mocking as you watched his deft hands close the file cabinet.
he was tall, broad, and annoyingly composed in that white compression shirt rolled to the apex of his veiny forearms. he wore pants that somehow never wrinkled, pressed with precision and fit his frame excellently. he was muscular, biceps nearly bulging out of the too-tight shirt he wore. he was also unbelievably handsome, his icy blue-grey eyes that were always focused, dark-brown hair that framed his stupidly sharp jawline you'd see tighten every now and then. you hated how undeniably attractive he was. it just made everything worse.
"door," he says, not sparing you a glance as he tidies the rest of his desk. "pull the blinds and close it on your way over." you roll your eyes at his curtness, but you walk down from your seat anyway. the sooner this was over, the better. you couldn't stand to look at his annoyingly handsome face anymore, even more so now that you were discussing your performance in his class.
when you make it back over to his desk, he leaned back in his chair, piercing eyes locking onto yours with that same stare he used in lectures. you stood at the end of his desk, nails digging into the fabric of your sweatshirt as you wait for him to say something.
"sit." he says curtly, nodding towards the desk in the first row that sat opposite from him. you dropped into it heavily, setting your bag onto the ground next to you as you settle into the uncomfortable desk. you turn your gaze to him, wide eyes staring into his as you shuffle uncomfortably.
"sixty-two percent," he starts, the words like a gunshot ringing through the air. "down three points from your already ambitious sixty-five. at this rate, you're looking at a solid F for the semester if the final doesn't miraculously save your grade."
you winced at his sarcastic tone, mouth running dry as you muster up a response, "i know, i'm... not really great with this stuff. philosophy isn't even my major, it's just--"
"a requirement?" he cuts you off, "yes, i've heard that one before." he says sharply, eyebrows pulling together as he folds his hands over the desk. internally, you could kill him. why do some professors make it their life mission to torture students who couldn't give a fuck about their useless class? despite your thoughts, you stay quiet, not daring to say another word.
"but you showed up late, half-ass the discussion posts, and give me these vague, surface-level answers instead of engaging with the material. that's not just "not great." that is a deliberate lack of effort." he says, the words cutting deep like a knife. you bit the inside of your cheek, agitation crossing your features as you take in his words.
heat rushed up your neck and blossomed on your cheeks, feeling exposed and ashamed. you exhale in a sigh, playing with your fingers absentmindedly as you think of a response. "you don't exactly make it easy," you muttered before you could stop yourself. "calling me out like i'm some kind of example." you say, frustration and embarrassment mixing into one ugly emotion.
his expression hardened slightly, raising a brow at your brazenness. "you are an example. you come in late and zone out during lectures while the rest of your classmates actively participate. and your grade is a reflection of that." he spits, leaning forward in his chair slightly, voice dropping as his gaze bored into you, unrelenting. "i don't enjoy humiliating students. but i also don't tolerate half-measures in my classroom. not when the material actually matters.” he pauses, letting the words soak in for a moment before he continues.
you grimace, part of you wanting to snap back and say nothing about plato or socrates fucking matters when you had other important classes kicking your ass and rent to pay. but you push the thought down, taking in his words silently as you fiddle with your fingers.
he sighs, he didn't like making students feel bad at all. contrary to what you thought, he just wanted you to actually put in the effort. he studied you for a moment, something unreadable flickering behind those sharp eyes.
"here's the deal," he started, "i will give you a chance to salvage this. twice a week, my classroom, four pm. starting today, if you want to pass. bring your readings, notes— if you even have any— and you come ready to work. i will walk you through the material, and challenge you until you can actually defend an argument with logic instead of hiding behind 'i don't know.' such as that, you stop the excuses, show up on time, and engage yourself in my class." he spiels, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits for your answer.
you stare dumbly at him, sitting in your seat like a statue as you consider his offer. at this rate, there's only one right answer, because you sure as hell were going to bomb the final if you didn't lock in right now.
he speaks up once more upon your silence, "if you accept, i expect you to be prepared. if not, then i suggest you make preparations to take this class again next fall." you swallowed hard, the thought of having to take this god-awful class again making something stir in your tummy. you refused to take philosophy again, that'd be like going from regular hell to the blue part of hell. you couldn't afford that, not with your schedule, not with your wallet, and certainly not with your sanity.
"okay," you muttered, voice quieter than you wanted it to be. you forced yourself to meet his eyes, even though you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. "i accept. i'll... try." you sigh, feeling your dignity being snatched from you with every syllable you uttered.
professor kennedy didn't smile, he simply gave you a quick nod and uncrossed his arms like he was expecting that to be your answer. damn him, you think. you glanced at the clock on the wall, it reads 3:36 pm. you hadn't eaten since this morning, your back-to-back classes not allowing for a quick stop to grab something to eat.
as if plato, socrates, and nietzsche were plotting together on your downfall for disregarding their rhetoric, your stomach makes an embarrassingly loud growl. you bite you lip and furrow your eyebrows, knowing the sound had echoed through the deathly quiet classroom. damn you nietzsche, you nihilist.
professor kennedy's eybrow twitched upwards, and for the first time, you felt like you saw something akin to amusement flicker across his otherwise stone-cold exterior.
"hungry?" he questions, voice low and dry. he didn't wait for your response. instead, he opens one of the drawers in his desk and pulls out a small, chocolate protein bar. it wasn't much, but it was something. he tossed it lightly to the desk in front of you, an unbothered expression on his face.
"eat. don't need you passing out mid-session. we have work to do." he says, nodding towards the packet in front of you. "now. plato. start talking. i'm listening." he commands, watching as you stare at him like a deer in headlights.
the protein bar sat between you like a test. your stomach growled again, quieter this time, as if it sensed food was in the vicinity. you were flushed, mortified, and now you had to explain plato while your brain was running on empty and your professor waited expectantly. you hesitated, fingers inching towards the protein bar but not quite grabbing it yet. your brain felt mushy, your nerves were shot, and the thought of diving straight into plato right now was terrifying.
instead, you cleared your throat softly and asked a question to buy yourself some more time. "um... before i explain it," you say, voice a little shaky, "can you tell me what you think is the most important part of the allegory? like, which part matters most?" you sputter out, a shy smile on your features as you swallow.
professor kennedy leaned back in his chair once more, one eyebrow arched slightly as he studied you. eyes piercing into your form as the faintest hit of a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, as if he saw right through your attempt to stall around.
"nice try," he said, voice dry but not entirely unkind. "buying time by turning the question on me." he hums, tilting his head slightly as you stare at him with wide eyes. shit, he caught on, you think, lips pursing together as you exhale softly in a defeated sigh.
he paused for a moment, watching as you look down at the desk in defeat knowing you were probably completely clueless. he taps his finger on the desk before continuing, "but fine. i'll indulge you— this time." you look up, not expecting him to agree to answer your question. he leans forward again, resting his forearms on the desk, sharp blue eyes staring into yours in a way that makes your stomach flip.
"the most important part is the the prisoner's journey out of the cave. how painful it was for him to adjust, the confusion," he starts, the words falling from his lips like honey as he speaks expertly on the narrative. "what plato intends to tell us is that real learning... real truth... hurts." his words almost feel personal as you swallow, eyes never leaving his as he continues.
"it's not gentle, it's brutal. it's something most people don't want to face. in order to grow, you must be uncomfortable." he says, words landing heavier than you expected. you feel your mouth grow dry as you mull over his words. well, shit. maybe philosophy was more important than you thought. it actually made sense.
professor kennedy takes in your thoughtful expression, tilting his head slightly as you reflect. "that's my take. now it's yours," he says, nodding once more towards the protein bar you'd neglected. "eat something first. your stomach has been announcing it's displeasure for the last five minutes." he leans back, giving you a little more space to gather your thoughts and actually say something coherent. however, his eyes stay fixed on you, expectant and unrelenting.
"whenever you're ready. tell me what the allegory means to you. not a textbook summary. not what you think i want to hear. be honest. just think." the classroom was too quiet, the faint tick of the wall clock and the distant hum of campus life outside the windows filling the silence. you swallowed, hesitating for half a second before reaching for the protein bar he'd tossed to you like a peace offering.
the paper crinkled loudly in the lecture hall as you opened it, taking two quick, generous bites before swallowing. it was something, at least. it was enough to stop your stomach from gurgling anymore and clear some of the fog in your head.
professor kennedy watched you the entire time, one eyebrow slightly raised, but he didn't comment. he simply waited, arms crossed across his broad chest with the same patient, composed expression on his face.
taking one more bite for quick measure, you swallow down the last little part you'd bitten before setting the rest on the desk. you let out a shaky breath and forced the words out before you chickened out completely. "okay, um." you started, voice softer than you wanted, "i get what you're saying about the pain part. like... the truth hurts sometimes, and change sucks." you say, shifting in your chair uncomfortably as you try and think of a more intelligent rebuttal.
"but... i think it's a little… cruel. like, why force him out of the cave if all that waits for him is pain? it seems a little pointless. if people want to stay in the dark, maybe they should just... stay there." you winced a little at your answer, knowing it probably sounded childish or lazy to him. at least it was honest.
"um, i guess that's my take. it feels kind of hopeless, going into something and literally being blind." you trailed, fingers twitching on the desk as you shrugged awkwardly. the room is silent for a moment. professor kennedy's eyes studied you, considering your response before shifting in his seat.
then he nodded once, slowly. "not bad." he hums, and your eyes widen, expecting a completely different response. not bad? you thought you sounded so naive, but luckily all that mattered to him was that it seemed genuine. "honest, at the very least. at least you're engaging with the discomfort instead of giving me usual surface-level drivel. but your reading is... limited. you're focusing on the wrong part. the real cruelty is ignorance itself." he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward slightly, resting a forearm on the desk. his gaze is focused, steady as he stares at you, unrelenting. you let his words sink in, accepting the feedback openly now that you're actually trying.
"you say it feels pointless to force the prisoner out when they prefer the dark. but the prisoners are not choosing the shadows. they don't even know the sun exists. they've spent their lives thinking the cave is all there is." his tone dropped half a fraction, still perfectly controlled, composed and calm. "and you... you are doing the exact same thing right now." your breath hitches ever so slightly, seeing how his analogy tied back to your effort in the classroom.
damn professors, always trying to turn things into a lesson. what's worse? he was right.
he tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes as they held your gaze. "you behave the way you do in my class because you think it's easier than admitting the material is actually important, not just a requirement." his voice stayed low, but there was a new edge to it, something heavier that made the air between you feel thicker. his fingers tap the desk again, slow and calculated as he assesses you.
"tell me, honestly," he starts, eyes scanning your figure, "when you think i'm calling you out in class, when you sit here all defensive and frustrated... is it really plato you're fighting? or is it the fact that i refuse to let you stay comfortable in your own little cave?" he paused, letting the question sit with you like a challenge wrapped in a lesson. his greyed eyes stay locked onto yours, intense and unblinking.
professor kennedy waited expectantly on your answer, broad shoulders settling back against his chair, arms still lazily crossed on his firm chest. his blue-grey eyes didn’t waver for a second as the question hung between you, heavy and deliberate, like another layer of the text you were supposed to be unpacking.
you blink dumbly, mouth opening and closing as you try to muster up a response, but you can’t will yourself to give him an answer. you only stare down at his desk in front of you, frozen in space as you reflect on his words.
"new method," he continued, tone measured and authoritative, like he was simply adjusting the lesson plan for better results. "since sitting here across from me isn’t forcing you to feel the vulnerability the prisoner experiences when he’s dragged out of the cave, we’re going to change your position. literally." he says, your brows furrowing in confusion. his gaze never leaves yours, eyes piercing as he continues. just what does he have planned…?
"get on your knees. right here. now." he nodded, gesturing towards the side of the desk not far from where he was seated. your eyes widen in disbelief, ears hot as your heart beats faster in your throat. no way, no way this asshole was going to embarrass you like this. but your grade was at stake… hell, your degree was at stake, so you decide to follow along with whatever insane methods he had planned.
after a few tense seconds, you finally muster up the courage to rise from your comfortable seat, lowering yourself onto the floor with a soft thud. the position immediately made you feel exposed, vulnerable, uncomfortable, one might say. the way professor kennedy was seated above you staring down with that same, passive expression made your cheeks burn in embarrassment.
you resented him for making you feel so embarrassed. you lower your gaze, the position too compromising for you to maintain direct eye contact with him. your cheeks burned as you stared down at your hands which trembled in your lap, biting your lip to calm your nerves while pretending you're invisible. even then, you could feel the way his eyes bore into your unmoving frame, could feel the heat of his stare as he watched you from his seat.
he studied you quietly, taking in the nervous way you shifted, your heavy breaths, and the way your shoulders were slightly tense. "good," he said quietly, voice low as his eyes rake over your form. "now, close your eyes." he commands, and your breath hitches, slightly panicked at his request. you sputter ever so slightly, wide eyes finally meeting his as you look at him with a confused expression. he raises a brow, almost mockingly, as if saying, are you really in a position to argue with me right now?
you sigh, hands nervously fiddling with the hem of your skirt as your eyes flutter shut. your heart is heavy and pounding in your chest as you wait for his next prompt anxiously, pulse racing as you attempt to calm yourself down. the room suddenly feels smaller with your eyes closed, every sound amplified in the darkness. you hear the way his chair creaks as he shifts, the rustle of fabric, the calm, controlled rhythm of his breathing and your shallow, uneven breaths... it all feels too much for you.
professor kennedy doesn't speak right away, only lets the silence drag on while you shift uncomfortably on the floor. your fingers twist tighter on the hem of your skirt, nails digging into the fabric as you suddenly feel so exposed. every movement you make felt magnified, spectacled. it was exactly how he made you feel in class.
"better," he says flatly, voice lower, almost intimate in the deathly quiet classroom. "this is closer to the prisoner's reality. stripped of comfort, control. forced to rely on senses other than sight... on the mercy of whoever is above you." he says, and your heart is beating so fast it feels like it's about to explode. the drawl in his voice was almost sultry, like honey dripping from his lips as your thighs pressed together self-consciously.
something about how you were completely at his will made you feel tingly. despite how embarrassed you were, you could feel yourself getting aroused from how uncertain things were. you feel the air shift in the classroom. everything felt hot— too hot to be appropriate. but, you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it even a little bit. it felt sensual, being at his mercy and hanging on to his every word.
you hear him move ever so slightly, your lashes fluttering with the nagging urge to peek. you feel his presence closer to your face as he speaks up once more, "keep them closed," he reminds you in his deep voice. there's a hint of amusement in his tone now, voice low and commanding. "tell me what you feel right now. the truth." he prompts, and you suck in a breath and shakily exhale from being so put on the spot. your heart hammered in your chest, the command lingering in the air as you shift in your spot on the floor.
he waits, patient as ever, the weight of his gaze heavy even without sight. you bite your lip, jaw quivering a bit as you struggle to speak. when you hesitate, he adds softly, almost coaxing you. "speak. or i will give you a more… immersive lesson." he warns, the threat hanging the air, quiet, but lingering.
you finally speak up, voice quieter than you liked it to be, "i.. feel embarrassed. like... like you're looking at me and... there's… nowhere i can hide." you stutter out, pursing your lips at how nervous you sounded. you couldn’t pull yourself together if you tried. his presence was too overwhelming, too much for you to handle. his commands were almost impossible for you to compute in your head, brain foggy as you tried your best to focus.
a low, approving hum escapes him, and the sound sends something straight to your tummy. "good girl," he says, the praise making you jolt ever so slightly and you nearly choke on your spit. "you're learning. 'tleast you're being honest now." the praise is foreign, but it feel so nice coming from him. you shudder, the feeling in your stomach twisting into something akin to arousal. you want to hear him call you that again, to hear him praise you for your responses. it felt way too good hearing him speak to you like that.
you hear the chair roll back slightly, then the sound of him standing. his footsteps are slow and deliberate as he circles around the desk and stops in front of you. you can sense his presence, the shadow of his body in front of you behind your closed eyelids.
"hands behind your back," he orders next, and you shakily exhale at his command, breath getting caught in your throat as you sit nervously below him. "and keep your eyes closed. no peeking." he reiterates, and you don't dare to open them now.
a part of you wants to rush out of the classroom and walk out forever. it was almost too embarrassing to be worth it. but, the other half of you is painfully aware of the growing ache between your thighs and the growing warmth in your belly, and you decide against the former.
you slide your hands behind you, fingers linking, the motion forcing your chest forward slightly, your posture straightening under his scrutiny. your compliance earns a quiet sound of satisfaction from him, and you think you might just explode from how humiliating the situation is.
"that's much better. now you see how it feels to be dragged into the light, blind to your own ignorance," he says, and you feel him step ever so slightly closer, the woodsy scent of his cologne clouding your senses. "but not to worry, i'm here to guide you..." he drawls, his voice low and dark. his fingers—warm and steady—push a strand of your hair behind your ear, the touch so light and unexpected it makes you jump a little. you inhale sharply, his touch like a thousand tiny needles piercing into your skin. he doesn't pull away, instead his knuckles cascade over your jaw for a brief second, a silent reminder of who's in control.
"tell me again," he whispers, voice like smoke curling around you. "what do you feel now?" he asks, and your breath catches in your throat at the question. it was like he was dedicating his entire life to torturing you, personally. but you can't deny the wetness in your panties, and the way they clung to you as you scramble to think of a response.
the touch of his knuckles on your jaw lingers like a brand, even though his hand has already pulled away. you're hyper-aware of everything now—the cool air on your exposed thighs, the way your skirt had ridden up from the position, the faint ache in between your legs that had been building for way too long now...
"i... i feel small," you whisper, words tumbling out before you could stop them. your mouth was dry, voice slightly strained as you hold back a whine. "i'm... my heart's racing and i can't stop it..." you stutter, and you feel like you could just about explode from how vulnerable you feel right now. a heavy silence fills the space between you after your whispered confession. you can hear the faint shift of his weight, the slow tap of his shoes on the floor as he processes your words.
professor kennedy exhales slowly, the sound low and deliberate, like he’s savoring the way your voice cracked on the last word. "small," he repeats, testing the word on his tongue. his voice is velvety, close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath brush your temple. "does it make you want to hide? hm? retreat back to your little cave?" he asks, footsteps heavy as he circles your form.
his hand returns, settling heavy on your shoulder, thumb pressing into the tense muscle there. the touch is firm, grounding, but it sends another pulse of heat straight between your legs. your soaked panties cling obscenely to your cunt, the wetness having seeped down your inner thighs now, making every tiny shift feel slick and humiliating. but you couldn’t deny how turned on you were right now.
"or maybe…" his lips are so close to your ear that his breath fans hot across the shell of it, voice dropping to a rough whisper that vibrates through you. "you want to confront it." you swallow hard, the sound loud in your own ears.
your fingers twist tighter behind your back, knuckles white, as a fresh wave of shame and want crashes over you. the ache between your thighs has turned into a deep, throbbing need, your clit pulsing in time with your racing heartbeat. you hate how right he is. hate how badly you want to lean back into him, to feel more than just the ghost of his touch.
"i... yes, i want to confront it. don't wanna hide anymore...." your confession hangs in the air like a surrender, soft and trembling, and the second the words leave your lips you feel him still completely behind you. his hand grips your shoulder a bit tighter, a satisfied sound leaving his mouth at your admission.
"fuck," he breathes against your ear, the single curse sounding almost reverent. "that’s it. that’s exactly what i wanted to hear." he breathes, hands sliding down from your shoulder to brush against your arm. goosebumps form in the wake of his touch, the light ghost of his fingertips like an ice cube running down your heated skin. his hands slide lower down your body, past your interlocked fingers and snaking around your front to smooth over your thigh.
his fingers brush under the thin material of your skirt, inching closer to your inner thigh to your wetness. you let out shaky breaths, chest rising and falling slightly faster at the tension surrounding you two. you let out a gargled whine as his fingers finally brush the ruined fabric of your panties. his fingers pause for a heartbeat against your panties, pressing just enough to feel the obscene heat and slickness soaking through. then he groans low in his throat, the sound raw and hungry, vibrating against your back as he drags two thick fingers up and down the drenched seam of your cunt.
"jesus fucking christ," he rasps, voice wrecked with barely concealed restraint, "fucking soaked." he rubs slow, firm circles over the soaked fabric, the wet sound of it obscene in the quiet room. your knees wobble, thighs trembling as you fight the urge to grind against his hand.
he doesn’t bother with teasing anymore. with a rough tug he yanks the soaked crotch of your panties aside, baring your slick, swollen pussy completely. the cool air hits your exposed folds and you shudder hard, a broken, gargled whine tearing from your throat as his fingers finally—finally—touch you skin to skin.
his thick fingers dip down to collect your slick, the wet sound obscene in the quiet classroom as you moan softly. bringing his fingers back up, the coated digits press firmly onto your clit, rubbing small, agonizing circles into the bundle of nerves as you twitch ever so slightly. the pressure is almost too much, too raw as the pads of his calloused fingers teasingly rub you.
his firm chest is pressed flush to your back at this point, thighs on the outside of your kneeling ones as he leans over your shoulder to watch the way your cunt clenches desperately around nothing.
"god, look at that," he murmurs, voice low and filthy against the side of your neck, breath hot on your skin. "'s like you're beggin' for me to fill you up." he whispers, fingers cascading down to your aching hole again. you choke out a moan, eyes finally fluttering open as you watch his movements. his finger prods at your slit, pushing in slowly as your cunt enthusiastically accommodates him.
a low, broken moan rips from your throat the moment he sinks the thick digit inside you, your walls fluttering and clenching greedily around the intrusion. the stretch is perfect—hot, deliberate, and so much better than the teasing circles on your clit had been. your eyes are drawn helplessly to the sight of his large hand disappearing under the bunched-up fabric of your skirt, a second thick digit pressing past your eager hole, pumping them in and out slowly.
professor kennedy lets out a dark, satisfied chuckle against your neck as you watch his fingers push into your pussy with ease. his free hand comes up to grip your jaw, tilting your head back against his shoulder so you’re forced to look up at him while he finger-fucks you.
"just had to get a peek, huh?" he murmurs, voice rough and amused, eyes drifting down to your lips as your eyes glaze over from the sheer pleasure of his fingers plunging inside you. your eyebrows pull together, lips falling open as you mewl from the way his thick fingers curl up inside you.
his grip on your jaw pulls you forward as he presses his lips against yours, fingers curling hard against that spongy spot inside your cunt on every slow, deliberate drag. professor kennedy’s mouth claims yours like he’s been starving for it, tongue sliding hot and possessive past your parted lips as you moan into him. his tongue strokes deep, tasting the desperate little noises you can’t hold back, while his fingers keep fucking into you with that same relentless rhythm—slow, thick drags that curl viciously against your g-spot on every thrust.
the wet, filthy sound of his fingers plunging into your soaked pussy mixes with the slick slide of his tongue against yours, and it’s almost too much. your hands twitch behind your back, fingers still interlocked exactly where he told you to keep them, even as your hips jerk helplessly against his hand. his thumb reaches up to draw firm, tight circles into your clit, amplifying your pleasure and making your cunt clench greedily around his fingers.
you're close, the intensity of being completely at his will so delicious you feel like you could cry. you loved it—loved the way he broke you down, made you feel so powerless, yet so incredibly ruined that you almost hated how much you enjoyed it.
leon feels it— the way your walls suddenly flutter and lock down around his thick fingers like a vice, the way your whole body starts to tremble uncontrollably against his chest. he groans deep into your mouth, the sound raw and triumphant, swallowing every desperate mewl as he kisses you harder, tongue fucking against yours in perfect filthy sync with his hand.
he pulls away to stare into your glossy eyes, small, high-pitched moans leaving your mouth as you crumble underneath his touch. "that's it... don't you dare hide from me. you gonna cum for me? gonna show me how much you need this?" his voice is low, filthy, and dripping with command. his fingers curl harder, faster, pounding that perfect spot inside you while his thumb presses down on your clit with ruthless, tight circles.
"oh, my god... professor, i'm—"
your whole body locks up. a sharp, broken cry rips from your throat as your orgasm finally crests, shocks of pleasure running up your spine as raspy moans fall from your lips. your back arches almost painfully at the pleasure, head falling back on professor's kennedy's shoulder as your cunt spasms around his thick fingers. your thighs shake uncontrollably, knees scraping against the cold floor as wave after wave crashes through you, slick soaking his hand and dripping messily down your thighs.
leon watches every second of it, eyes dark and burning, drinking in the way your face twists in pleasure, the way your mouth falls open as you moan prettily for him. "that's it... such a good fucking girl," he growls, never slowing his fingers, fucking you straight through the orgasm. "so fucking pretty, coming apart for me like that. my good little student." you whimper softly, eyebrows knitting together in pleasure-pain as you start to feel overstimulation creep up on you.
he keeps stroking you through every aftershock, drawing it out until you’re twitching and whimpering, oversensitive and gasping. only then does he slowly ease his fingers out of your fluttering cunt, leaving you empty and dripping. the sudden absence makes you whine, your pussy clenching uselessly around nothing, still pulsing with the remnants of your orgasm. a thick trail of your slick runs down your inner thighs, warm on your skin.
leon brings his glistening fingers to his own mouth first, licking them clean with a low, satisfied hum while holding your gaze. "taste so fuckin' sweet." he groans, voice rough and filthy as he wipes the remaining wetness on your bottom lip. he leans in and kisses you slowly and carefully, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. the kiss is deep and possessive, but gentler than before, almost tender in the aftermath of your orgasm.
when he pulls back, his eyes are still dark with hunger as they take in your fucked-out form. your skirt is flipped up around your waist, panties pulled to the side, and your hands rest lazily on his thighs for support. your vision is dazed and fuzzy, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, and your eyes gazed into his with dark desire.
"look at you, sweetheart," he murmurs, thumb brushing your lips as he takes in your expression. "you want me to fuck you, don't you? greedy little thing." he hums, low and pleased, the sound vibrating against your body. you have to bite your lip to hold back a whine, you were so fucking desperate for him. he watches the way you bite your lip, the desperate little struggle clear on your face, and his eyes darken even further with desire.
"don't you hide from me now, sweetheart," he says, thumb pulling your bottom lip from your teeth as he continues, "i want to hear every sound when i fucking wreck that tight little cunt."
the words hit you like a gust of wind, sending a shiver down your spine at his filth. a helpless whine finally escapes your throat, raw and needy, and professor kennedy’s lips curl into a dark, satisfied smile. "that's right... just like that." he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before rising to his feet as you remain on your knees.
professor kennedy towers over you, eyes burning with dark hunger as he looks down at your flushed, desperate face. his hand slides into your hair, gripping just tight enough to tilt your head back so you’re forced to keep looking up at him. "up," he orders, eyes staring into yours dangerously as you shift on your knees. you scramble to your feet on shaky legs, heart hammering wildly in your chest as you stand before him, skirt still bunched around your waist, thighs slick with your own arousal. your eyes stay locked on his, wide and eager, waiting for whatever comes next.
he doesn’t speak right away, instead, he lets the silence stretch, drinking in the sight of you — flushed, trembling, completely at his mercy. then, without warning, he grabs your wrist, leads you to his desk and spins you around in his grasp. he guides you down, pressing your front down onto the cool surface as your hips hit the hard edge. a firm hand between your shoulder blades pushes your chest down, pressing your covered breasts flat against the cool steel.
his hands slide down your body slowly, running down the line of your back until he reaches the plush of your ass. his hand flips your skirt up once more, impatiently kneading the flesh of your ass before delivering a harsh smack to the supple flesh. you jolt forward on the desk with a startled moan, the sting blooming hot across your skin.
his hand soothes over the spot before hooking into the band of your panties to slide them down your legs. they catch around your knees, but he doesn't bother pulling them all the way down, only focused on the delightful wetness between your thighs. his hands grip the fat of your ass rougher, spreading you open with his thumbs so he can see everything. a low, appreciative groan rumbles from his chest as he stares at your dripping, swollen pussy that clenches around nothing under his stare.
"fuck," he mutters under his breath, voice thick with lust. "god, you're so hungry for it. greedy little cunt's practically weeping for me." he says, almost strained. he presses his clothed hardness against your wet cunt, grinding into you as the rough fabric of his pants catches your clit in a way that feels so painfully delicious. you choke out a moan and look over your shoulder, eyes gazing into his pleadingly as he teases you.
leon meets your gaze, his own eyes dark and blown with lust, jaw tight with restraint. a low, strained groan escapes him as he feels how wet you are, how your slick is already soaking through the front of his pants. he keeps grinding against you, the thick ridge of his clothed cock sliding between your folds, catching your clit with every roll of his hips. each pass sends sparks shooting up your spine, making your thighs tremble and your fingers scrabble uselessly against the desk.
he smirks and bends over you, chest pressed firm against your back as his lips graze the shell of your ear. "you want it that badly, huh, sweetheart?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple as you shudder under him. "you want your professor to stop teasing and finally stuff this desperate pussy full of his cock?" you moan at his filthy words, eyebrows pulling together as you attempt to grind back against him. he grips your hip tightly, stopping any movement on your end.
he reaches between you, deft hand working expertly to unbuckle his belt as he shoves his slacks and boxers down his legs just enough to free himself. the heavy, thick length of his cock presses against your ass before he shifts and drags his length along your folds, head catching your clit with every forward push of his hips. you whine, legs nearly shaking as he teases you, almost giving you the tip of his cock before pulling back.
"tell me," he starts, the forearm that rested on the desk sneaking into your tresses and wrapping around the strands tightly. he angles your head to look back at him over your shoulder, eyes glossy as you wince slightly from the pain. "tell me what you want. i wanna hear you say it, sweetheart. no more hiding." the thick head of his cock nudges insistently at your entrance again, stretching you open just enough to make your cunt flutter desperately around nothing before he pulls back once more, leaving you empty and aching.
you're desperate to feel him, to have him holding you down as you take him, and you can't help the neediness in your voice as you beg for him to do something, anything. the words spill out of you before you can stop them, voice breathy, broken, and shameless, "god, please... professor, want your cock... so fucking bad. please just fuck me, need you to, can't take it anymore..." you whine, nearly drooling at the way his head presses in and out of your aching cunt.
a deep, guttural groan leaves his mouth at your plea, his hand leaving your hair to find purchase on your other hip. he leans back up, aligining his cock to your hole as he prepares to push in, "such a good girl..." he coos, and you can't stop the soft moan that leaves your mouth at his praise. professor kennedy doesn't tease anymore. he finally pushes his hips forward, hands gripping your hips tightly as he inches his way inside your tight cunt. the stretch is unlike any other. he's so deliciously girthy, and you swear you can feel every vein dragging along your sensitive walls, every thick inch claiming you.
he lets out a loud, strained groan, eyebrows pulling together as he pushes further inside your tightness. he keeps going slow, savoring every ridge and flutter of your spongy walls, until his hips finally press flush against your ass as he bottoms out completely. the head of his cock kisses the deepest part of you, so deep it feels like he’s pressing against your cervix. you’re so full it borders on too much, a delicious ache blooming low in your belly.
"christ, you're tight," he rasps, voice rough and wrecked. "grippin' me like a vice, sweetheart. so fucking perfect." he praises, rubbing small circles into your waist as he pulls out, only to snap his hips back into yours roughly. your mouth falls open, a broken moan leaving your throat as you jolt forward on the desk. he feels sinfully good against the spongy inside of your walls, and you can't help the way you flutter around his thick cock. his first few thrusts are slow and deep. long, dragging strokes that pull almost all the way out before sliding back in to the hilt, letting you feel every thick inch. the wet, obscene sound of your slick coating his cock fills the room with every movement.
but soon, his restraint snaps. his blunt nails dig into your waist harder, his breathing growing heavier as he feels every clench of your walls around his cock. with a low, animalistic groan, leon’s hips snap forward sharply, slamming into you with sudden, brutal force. the change is immediate and devastating. he starts fucking you hard with deep, punishing thrusts that make the desk jolt beneath you and your breasts press harder against the desk with every impact.
you're moaning uncontrollably at his change in pace, eyebrows pulling together as you press your forehead into the cold surface. your hands grip desperately at the ends of the desk to gain some control, face contorting in sheer pleasure with every drag of his cock against your walls. each powerful stroke punches the air from your lungs. the thick head of his cock kisses your cervix on every thrust, the stretch and fullness so intense it borders on overwhelming.
"fuck... that’s it," he growls, voice dark and filthy as he watches your body jolt forward with every snap of his hips. "take it. take every fucking inch like the greedy little student you are." he leans over you, chest pressing flush to your back, one hand sliding up to fist tightly in your hair. he yanks your head back, forcing your back to arch deeper as he drives into you even harder.
"listen to those pretty sounds," he rasps against your ear, breath hot and ragged. "sounds so filthy getting fucking wrecked by your professor. tight little cunt's creaming all over my cock, sweetheart. making such a mess." he coos almost mockingly, fucking you deeper into his desk as his grip on your hair tightens ever so slightly.
you let out a particularly loud moan, the head of his cock battering your g-spot with devastating precision. he chuckles breathily, keeping his bruising pace as you feel a knot begin to unravel in your stomach. "that the spot, sweetheart?" his voice is low, mocking, and dripping with desire as he feels your walls flutter wildly around him.
he angles his hips just a fraction more and starts slamming into that exact spot with ruthless, unrelenting force. each brutal thrust makes your legs shake violently and your moans turn into broken, high-pitched cries. "oh— god yes, right there!" you blabber out, gasping for breath as you feel your orgasm begin to close in on you.
with one particularly harsh drag of his hips, you cum around his cock hard, vision blurring as you clench uncontrollably around him. your hands grip the table, knuckles turning white as you writhe underneath him. your chest heaves up and down, each moan that leaves your mouth raspy and breathy. you gush around him, slick pulses of your release and dripping down your thighs in messy strings.
the filthy, wet sounds of him still drilling into your sloppy, creamy pussy grow even louder, downright obscene in the quiet room. professor kennedy lets out a deep, guttural groan at the feeling of you falling apart around him, but he doesn’t slow down for even a second. "shit... look at that..." he says, gazing down at the mess you'd made on his cock. "you’re making such a fucking mess, sweetheart. soaking my cock, dripping all over my desk like a dirty girl." he degrades, hand leaving your hair to slip under your hip and rub at your slippery clit. you can’t will yourself to care, the ecstasy of your orgasm still washing over you in violent waves.
he keeps pounding into you through your orgasm, hips snapping forward with ruthless force, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with every brutal thrust. his fingers stay pressed against your clit, rubbing tight, merciless circles that drag your orgasm out longer, forcing every last pulse out of your trembling body.
your legs shake violently, knees threatening to buckle, but his strong hands grip your hips tighter, holding you in place as he fucks you straight through it. you’re still cumming. or maybe it’s a second orgasm crashing on top of the first— you can’t even fucking tell anymore. all you know is that your vision is white, your mouth is open spilling continuous broken moans, and your cunt won’t stop spasming and gushing around his relentless cock.
professor kennedy leans over you again, chest pressed flush to your back, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as his fingers never stop working your swollen clit. "that’s it…" he growls, voice dark and possessive. "you’re doing so good, baby. such a perfect little student, cumming so hard all over my cock." he angles his hips slightly and drives into you even harder, the head of his cock grinding against that devastating spot deep inside with every brutal thrust.
the overstimulation is intense, but he doesn’t let you escape it, holding you down and forcing you to take every second of it. your moans turn into hoarse, raspy cries, tears of overwhelming pleasure leaking from the corners of your eyes as your body jerks and twitches uncontrollably beneath him.
he groans lowly, encouraging you to fall apart for him as his tip bruises your poor cervix, "i want one more," he growls, starting to build his pace again. "one more before i fill this pretty pussy up," his hand slides back between your legs, fingers teasing your clit once more as his thrusts grow steadily harder. "be a good girl and give it to me."
your body is already trembling, oversensitive and raw, but the way he talks to you makes your cunt clench hard around his thick cock despite the intensity. leon groans at the feeling, hips snapping forward with renewed force. he starts fucking you harder again, deep and relentless, the head of his cock hitting that sensitive spot inside you with every brutal thrust. his fingers press firmer against your swollen clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that send sharp, electric shocks of pleasure-pain shooting through your exhausted body.
you’re crying now, tears streaming down your flushed cheeks as hoarse, broken whimpers and raspy cries falling from your lips with every punishing stroke. your legs are shaking so violently you can barely stay upright, only his bruising grip on your hips and the weight of his body pinning you to the desk keeping you in place.
"oh.. my god… professor, it’s too much—!" you sob, voice cracked and desperate. the way he feels against you is painful, but so sinfully delicious that your can't stop your greedy walls from clamping down around him like you're trying to pull him in deeper.
"shh," he coos against your ear, never slowing his pace. "you can take it. you’re going to take it. one more, sweetheart. give me one more." his tone is deceptively sweet, almost apologetic, but the way he fucks you is anything but that. his hips keep snapping forward with that same ruthless, punishing rhythm, driving his thick cock deep into your oversensitive cunt over and over again. every brutal thrust forces another broken sob from your lips, your body jerking helplessly beneath him as tears continue to stream down your flushed cheeks.
"please, professor— i can’t.. i’m.. gonna—"
"cum," he growls, voice dropping into that commanding tone that sends a fresh wave of heat through you. "cum all over my cock like a good fucking girl. let me feel you." he slams into you particularly hard, fingers pinching your clit at the same time, and you shatter.
your third orgasm hits you hard, intense, and hot as you moan loudly into the desk. your cunt clamps down violently around his cock, pulsing and gushing around him in hot, wet waves. your vision whites out completely, body convulsing and jerking beneath him as the pleasure rips through you like lightning.
leon groans loudly, hips stuttering for a moment as your walls milk him with desperate, rhythmic squeezes. "good girl… fuck, that’s my good girl," he praises through gritted teeth, voice strained with his own pleasure. "taking me so well… cumming so fucking hard for me." he doesn’t stop moving, still buried deep inside your spasming cunt as you shake and sob beneath him, completely wrecked.
only when your cries start turning weak and broken does he finally slow his thrusts, grinding deep inside your fluttering, soaked cunt as you come down. he stays buried to the hilt, letting you feel every thick inch while you tremble and gasp for air. his hand strokes soothingly over your hip, the touch almost tender now, even as his cock continues to twitch inside you.
but the tenderness doesn’t last. leon’s breathing grows heavier, more ragged. his fingers dig into your hip again, no longer gentle. the slow, lazy grind turns sharper, more desperate. you can feel the shift in him, the way his cock swells even thicker inside your sensitive walls, the way his hips start to lose their controlled rhythm.
"god, you feel too good," he grunts, voice strained and rough. "so greedy, squeezing my cock so fucking tight." he pulls back slowly, only to slam back in with a deep, forceful thrust that makes you whimper. his pace starts building again more frantic than before as he chases his high. his hand leaves your hip and slides up your back, pressing you harder into the desk as he fucks you selfishly with need. his hips snap forward relentlessly, the wet slap of skin against skin growing louder and more urgent. every thrust is deep and punishing, the head of his cock bullying your cervix as he uses your spasming cunt to get himself off.
"shit, i'm so close," he growls, voice breaking with pleasure. "pretty little pussy's gonna make me cum." he leans over you completely, chest plastered to your back, one arm wrapping around your neck to hold you in place while the other braces on the desk beside your head. his thrusts turn shorter, faster, almost brutal as he chases his release.
"you’re going to take every drop," he rasps against your ear, breath hot and uneven. his voice is deep and possessive, his grip on your throat cutting off your breathing supply ever so slightly, but not enough to where you're gasping for air. "gonna fill this tight little cunt so deep with my cum you'll be dripping for days." his cock throbs violently inside you, swelling even more as he gets closer. his hips stutter, losing all rhythm now, slamming into you with desperate, erratic strokes.
"fuck, sweetheart— shit, i'm cumming..." with a deep, guttural groan that vibrates through his chest into yours, leon buries himself to the hilt one last time and cums hard. his cock pulses powerfully inside you, thick, hot ropes of cum flooding your already soaked pussy. he keeps grinding deep, hips twitching with every spurt as he empties himself completely, pumping load after load into you until you can feel the warmth spreading deep in your belly.
he stays buried inside you even after he’s finished, cock still twitching with aftershocks, pressing every last drop as far inside you as possible. his breathing is ragged against the back of your neck, body heavy on top of yours as he comes down from his high. for a long moment, the only sounds in the office are your shared panting and the faint, wet sound of his cum starting to leak out around his cock where he’s still buried deep.
finally, he lets out a low, satisfied hum and presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck. "good girl…" he murmurs, voice hoarse and sated. "took me so well, sweetheart." he says, kissing your cheek surprisingly soft and tender after the brutal way he just fucked you. his hand slides away from your throat, trailing down your spine in a gentle caress before he finally eases his hips back.
the moment he pulls out, a thick gush of his cum drips from your abused hole, running down your thighs in messy, obscene rivulets. you whimper softly at the sudden emptiness and the warm trickle, your cunt still fluttering weakly, clenching around nothing.
leon watches it with dark, hungry eyes, a low groan escaping him at the sight of his release leaking out of you. "shit, that's right..." he says quietly, voice slightly broken. one large hand reaches down to spread your cheeks again, thumb gently pushing some of his cum back inside your puffy entrance. you whine, arching away from his touch as you feel his hot cum leaking out of you.
he chuckles and helps you stand on shaky legs, turning you around to face him. your knees nearly buckle, but he catches you easily, pulling you against his chest. one arm wraps around your waist while his other hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up so he can look at you properly.
your cheeks are tear-streaked, lips swollen, eyes glassy and fucked-out. leon studies you for a long moment, his thumb brushing tenderly across your cheek to wipe away the last traces of tears. "god, you’re beautiful," he murmurs, voice rough, but softer than it’s been all evening. "you did so, so good for me."
you swallow, still trying to catch your breath, your voice coming out small and hoarse. "…i didn’t think i could… that i would…" you trail off, cheeks burning as you glance down, embarrassed by how wrecked you sound.
"could what? cum that much?" he says quietly, a hint of amusement in his tone. you wince in embarrassment, his words making you shy away from his gaze. he chuckles softly, the sound warm and low in his chest as he feels you hide your face against him. his arms tighten around you, one hand coming to stroke your hair while the other rubs slow, soothing circles along your back.
"i feel… a little embarrassed now." your cheeks burning hotter as you mumble against his chest. you couldn’t believe your situation right now. it was so wrong, but maybe that’s what made it so good.
"because no one’s ever taken the time to push you properly," he says gently. he tilts your chin up again so you’re looking at him. "you’re smarter than you think. just needed a bit of… guidance. someone willing to push you out of that comfortable little cave and show you how bright it can be when you finally step into the light." he says, raising his brows as he stares down at you.
your cheeks burn even hotter at his words. you squirm a little in his arms, an awkward cough escaping you as you think about how this situation started in the first place. "don't try to tie this back to plato..." you say teasingly, eyes narrowing at him as you feel more of his cum drip down the side of your thigh.
he lets out a low, genuine laugh at your teasing words, the sound warm and rumbling through his chest. his eyes sparkle with amusement as he looks down at you. "oh, sweetheart," he says, voice dripping with fond mischief, "i’m a professor. tying everything back to plato is basically in my job description." he says, a playful expression gracing his face as he gauges your expression.
you scoff, not believing how nonchalant he can be about it after doing something so intimate with you, "whatever..." you say, half-laughing, half-embarrassed, lightly smacking his chest with your palm. "you're not real."
he catches your hand easily, bringing it up to his lips to press a soft kiss to your knuckles, his gaze never leaving yours. "i'm very real, sweetheart. there's proof of me between your legs right now." he smirks, tilting his head to the side as he grips your hand to his chest.
your eyes widen and you let out a mortified little squeak, trying to pull your hand back as fresh heat floods your face. "you’re the worst professor ever." you lie, rolling your eyes as you hold back a laugh at his boldness.
leaning down, his lips graze the shell of his ear as he whispers sultrily, "and yet," he starts, pressing a short kiss to your earlobe, "you let this worst professor bend you over his desk and fuck you until you were crying. so, maybe i’m not that bad." he purrs, pulling back from your ear to watch your reaction.
you bite your lip, trying (and failing) to fight the shy smile spreading across your face. "…you’re... not that bad," you admit softly, almost reluctantly. you sigh, giving in to his irresistible charms and voice as you stare into his eyes.
he smiles softly, tilting his head as he gazes into your eyes with that amused, knowing look., "don't forget you have a reading due next week."
your jaw drops in genuine disbelief, and you let out a scandalized little laugh, lightly shoving his chest again. "you did not just say that," you gasp, eyes wide. "after everything, you’re seriously bringing up the reading assignment right now?" you say, a little embarrassed as you think about the reading you’ve yet to start on.
professor kennedy’s smirk only widens, clearly enjoying your reaction far too much. he gently pulls you back against him, voice dropping into that smooth, authoritative tone you’re becoming dangerously familiar with. "i’m still your professor, sweetheart," he says, lips brushing your ear. "and you’re still my student. plato doesn’t grade himself." he drawls, chuckling deeply.
you groan dramatically, letting your head fall forward against his chest. you bite your lip, smiling shyly as you whisper, "okay, i get it." you say, tone changing as you start to feel appreciative. "thank you… for pushing me." you say shyly, mumbling into his chest as you smile softly at the comforting smell of his cologne.
his expression melts into something tender. "don't mention it," he murmurs. "my door’s open for you. whether you're questioning your existence or simply need someone to talk to, i'll be here." he says sincerely, rubbing soothing circles into the small of your back as he holds you.
you smile at that, pulling away to press a shy kiss to his lips before pulling your drenched panties up and over your hips. he helps you pull your skirt down over your waist, straightening out the material as best he could before gazing down at you, hands resting on the small of your waist.
"go home and get some rest. you need it," he pauses, then adds with a small, playful glint in his eye, "but don’t forget that reading for next week. i expect your full attention in class… even if you are still sore." he teases, kissing you one last time with quiet affection. he murmurs against your lips, the words half-teasing, half-warning.
you roll your eyes as you grab your bag that had long since been abandoned by the desk across from his, slinging it over your shoulder as he walks you to the door. "yeah, yeah. i get it." you say, adjusting the strap of your bag so it sits comfortably against your slumped shoulders.
professor kennedy chuckles softly, his arm wrapping securely around your waist to keep your shaky legs steady. he leans down, lips brushing your temple as you both reach the door. "you say that now," he teases, voice low and warm, "but i know you. get it done." he reiterates, narrowing his eyes at you teasingly, a soft smile present on his features.
you let out an exaggerated groan at his persistent nagging, tilting your head back dramatically against his shoulder. "yes, professor," you reply in a mockingly sweet voice, batting your lashes up at him. "i’ll do the reading. i promise." you mock, voice raised a few registers higher as you gaze up at him.
"good," he murmurs, clearly pleased with your playful obedience. "that’s all i ask." he says, brushing a finger over your cheek to push a stray hair behind your ear.
you smile at him, pressing one last kiss to his lips before turning on your heel and stepping into the hallway. you steal one glance back at him, and he’s still there — leaning against the doorframe with that amused, satisfied look on his face, muscular arms crossed casually over his chest. he raises his hand in a small, lazy goodbye. you do the same, giving him a little wave and a shy smile before turning the corner.
you smile to yourself as you walk down the hallway with shaky legs, anticipation brewing in your chest as you think about when you’ll meet again next wednesday in his classroom. you sigh, biting your lip as you think back to the point he was trying to get across to you. maybe philosophy wasn’t so bad after all.
as much as it pains you to admit it, you actually did learn something valuable today in his class. not just about plato.
that vulnerability wasn't a weakness... maybe it was just your ticket to something better.
nier’s note 🗒️: right so…. i really hope im not the only one that’s thirsting over this leon mod because he looks DAMN GOOD. i mean he does anyways but he somehow got even hotter. also lowkey this was a self indulgent af cuz *cough cough* i have finals coming up soon and needed to… take the edge off. also lowkey fibbed a bit cuz i took phil last semester and it was easy peasy but for the sake of the plot i made it seem like reader was lost af. anyways, i hope you all enjoyed, and thank you for waiting ever so patiently for this blog update! probs gonna make a masterlist soon too bcus my fics are kinda getting lost with everything else on my blog. anyways, thank you for reading, as always! ♡
Do you have any evidence in canon of Aventurine being suicidal? Genuinely curious! This is a fascinating headcanon and id love to sink my teeth into it 🤔
Aventurine is very special to me—for MANY reasons—but for his struggle with suicide especially. Suicide is an issue I center pretty much my entire career around I care about it so much. My upcoming YA novel is centered around it, my entire freelance writing business is mental health centered, and I ofc have my own personal history with it as well. Also, it's suicide prevention week, so it makes sense to bring attention to a character who struggles with this today.
So, here's my essay !!
Aventurine Is, and Always Has Been, Blatantly Suicidal
I'm sure this isn't new information to the majority of you, but maybe it'll be a fun read nonetheless. And if nothing else, you can use this essay as a way to depress yourself further about this sad blond man !! I hope this doesn't get flagged considering I said the word suicide 1000 times, but...we shall see !!
I'm going to touch on: defining and identifying psychological terms and behaviors, active and passive attempts + gestures + ideation, nihilism, depression, and self worth. This will be another long one (aprox 5.5k words)
Let's dive in, shall we ??
First of all, I want to talk about an issue that isn’t just relevant here, but to how society views mental health as a whole— and that’s the lack of understanding around suicidal ideation, gestures, and attempts, as well as the tendency to invalidate suicidal struggles if there isn’t a visible attempt to “prove” them. Someone is considered suicidal if they are thinking about suicide, making active plans, or attempting to end their life. They do not have to actually attempt suicide to be considered suicidal. Let’s get this part very clear, since I’ll be returning to it frequently.
People often discount someone else’s struggles if they cannot physically see them. For instance, no visible attempt or external “evidence.” So, I want to define a few terms first, just to ensure everyone is on the same page:
Suicidal ideation: thoughts or ideas centered around death or suicide. These can manifest as either active or passive.
Active suicidal ideation: specific thoughts, plans, or intentions to end one’s own life. This may involve detailed planning, acquiring means, or expressing urgency. For example: “I’ve been researching ways to overdose on pills.”
Passive suicidal ideation: a wish for death without a clear plan or intent. This may sound like: “I wish I could just disappear,” or “I don’t see the point in living anymore.” Passive ideation often overlaps with suicidal gestures (a term I personally find problematic, but will use here for clarity), which can include attempted suicide or self-destructive behaviors where the risk of death is low.
Both active and passive ideation indicate a person is at risk for suicide. Neither is more “valid” than the other, they are simply different manifestations of the same underlying struggle.
Aventurine actually exhibits all of these throughout the main story quest. For this essay, I’ve organized my analysis into three parts— attempts, gestures, and ideation— with some bonus observations at the end.
Attempts:
First up on the list of instances where Aventurine displays obvious suicidal behavior, would be the time he literally says it in plain english:
I mean… the guy flat out says he has attempted more than once. It doesn’t really get much clearer than that. The only argument someone could make against this being evidence of suicidal tendencies is to say, “Well, it’s in Penacony, so he wasn’t actually going to die.”
First of all, there would be no way he'd truly know that unless it was tested, which if we assume he already had his plan in place by the time he arrived in Penacony, then “testing” death was already on the table, and with Acheron, no less. Not only would that gamble give him his answer, it would push him into the deepest end of the pool. There was no reason to test it before hand, and he didn’t just test it once. He tested it multiple times. The game literally bolds this statement so players don’t miss it, and yet… 😭
So I beg the question: why test death multiple times? Just to be sure? Because he had nothing better to do? Because he wanted to film a TikTok about it? Let’s be serious. There was no reason to test it once, let alone more than once— and that’s the sinister part. He wasn’t just curious. He wasn’t just gathering data. He was torturing himself, skating the razor-thin line between life and death over and over again.
This is why I brought up those definitions in the last section. Because If someone isn't shown literally hanging from the ceiling, many people will discount their struggle and claim they aren't suicidal. It's terrible, but it's true. Not looking "sick" enough is a legitimate issue that drives people with mental health issues deeper into their suffering, because they're convinced they aren't valid and their issues "aren't bad enough". I know some of yall rn are probably like "rory, it's not that deep," but it is. It is that deep. This is why people like Aventurine skirt under the radar all the time. He can literally say to Ratio’s face, “I’ve attempted several times,” and because he’s charming and put-together, players brush it off as a joke. I’ve watched multiple playthroughs where streamers laugh at this line— at least five, which is five too many. People don’t take you seriously unless they can see the pain.
To be clear, I’ve never actually heard someone argue this, and I’m not saying the person who asked me the question thinks this way. I’m playing devil’s advocate because it’s the only counter-argument I can think of. But to dismiss Aventurine’s “attempts” just because they happened in Penacony would be incredibly ghoulish. It’s the same logic as saying, “If someone jumped off a bridge but it wasn’t high enough, were they really suicidal?” Obviously, yes. The intent is what matters. Writing off an attempt just because it didn’t “work” is how we end up with that toxic idea that suicidal people are just “seeking attention.”
So if Aventurine “tested” death in Penacony, knowing he might survive because of the dreamscape— does that make it any less suicidal? No. He wasn’t testing it just for curiosity’s sake. He was explicitly testing whether it would kill him. That’s suicidal behavior. Point blank. Period. If you want to downplay it, then at minimum it qualifies as a suicidal gesture.
Personally, I think this moment— Aventurine casually admitting he “tested it”— works on two levels. On the surface, he delivers it with the same tone he’d use telling Ratio about last night’s lottery numbers. But underneath, it reads as a cry for help, even if he doesn’t consciously recognize it. He does this a lot: casually dropping alarming statements without ever fully confronting them. People who blurt out their pain like that are often hoping someone will notice, even when they can’t bring themselves to ask outright. And Ratio does notice, ofc. He recognizes Aventurine’s pain and responds with genuine concern (and even advice). But the fact that Aventurine defaults to masking it in jokes or “offhand” comments shows how badly he wants to be seen without ever having to admit how much he’s suffering.
The other attempt we are shown during the main story quest, is the Penacony plan !!
First, let’s get it straight: the IPC’s primary goal in sending Aventurine to Penacony was not to investigate “death” specifically, but to regain control of the planet itself. Investigating death was Aventurine’s idea. Yes, he uses it as a legitimate excuse when negotiating with Robin, and yes, his plan does succeed in that he delivers what he promises. But it would be obtuse to write this off as “he was just there on business.” Clearly, there’s a personal reason for his obsession with death and dying, and it makes sense that he would build his strategy around it.
And by all logic, his plan doesn’t make sense for someone in his role. Remember, his official title is Aventurine of Stratagems, Executive Director of the Strategic Investment Department. He’s a strategist. His role is to manipulate, negotiate, and most importantly, stay alive so he can continue pulling strings. A strategist faced with a theory as big as “death exists in Penacony” would normally test it indirectly— send proxies, gather data, force the Family to reveal contradictions. He would prioritize survival because his leverage and reputation depend on being the one to control the board.
Instead, Aventurine stakes his own life as the litmus test. No control group, no safe experiment, no nothing. He provokes a fight with Acheron, the one opponent he has no chance of defeating, fully aware of what could happen. (Obviously, the irony here is intentional — the man named of Stratagems is also the most reckless man alive. But that irony sharpens the point: his recklessness isn’t a flaw of intelligence, it’s an expression of self-destruction.)
What Aventurine shows in Penacony is that his gamble isn’t really about IPC leverage at all. It’s personal. He wants to be the coin tossed by Death, and he isn’t weighing contingencies at all. His “strategic plan” is really a disguised suicide attempt— one he can frame as genius maneuvering if he lives, but which also conveniently delivers the release he craves if he dies. His shadow-self in the Penacony maze calls him out on this several times, hammering home that Aventurine knows exactly what he’s doing.
He’s also aware of the possible outcomes once Acheron lifts her blade. His options are:
A. Survive the blow (unlikely).
B. “Die” in the dreamscape and discover some unknown truth.
C. Die outright, whether in dream or reality.
D. Something stranger— slipping into Nihility’s void, a kind of purgatory-adjacent realm where he might continue briefly before dissolving anyway.
His alter ego even suggests he might be trying to “slip the leash” of the IPC and finally be free. And while no one takes this literally, the implication is clear: the only escape from a position as high as Aventurine’s is death. Whether that means real death, or an escape into a liminal “nowhere,” both end in the same conclusion: annihilation.
If Acheron had followed through, Aventurine’s death could have played out in several ways, all shaped by Nihility’s mercilessness. The most immediate outcome would be a clean end: one strike, reducing him to nothing before he could reconsider. But Nihility might also unravel him, dissolving his very being into silence— a fitting fate for someone who has fantasized about vanishing without a trace. Or it could have been slower, forcing him to feel his fear and despair as his body and identity came apart. In every possible version, the core is the same: Aventurine embraces erasure, knowing full well he cannot predict what will happen. And crucially, he is planning for death. The entire Penacony maze repeats this message over and over. As he's leaving, his shadow self even tells Aventurine—
From a writing standpoint, hoyo wanted his boss fight to feel like a potential death sentence. That tension—that he might die for real, even in a dream—is what makes the scene dramatic. It's why the fandom was so up in arms about it back when it was happening in real time. Nobody really knew for sure if he was alive or not. The aventurine stone lost its light for a while, not even the other Stonehearts knew if he was alive.
And Aventurine himself was fully prepared to let Nihility take him. The only reason he didn’t was because of the wisdom Ratio and Acheron offered him, pulling him back from the brink.
Plus, just as a little bonus, nobody ever really talks about this part, but it was also a massive red flag to me:
He says more after this, but the point is that he starts randomly trauma dumping out of nowhere. This is extremely out of character for Aventurine. You couldn't get this man to tell you how he's feeling if you begged him on your hands and knees. He had to swindle the trailblazer into playing a dice game with him post Penacony just so he had an excuse to mention how poorly he's been doing, and if the trailblazer refuses to play, he just apologizes for being a bother and says nothing at all. He needs to literally plot and scheme just so he has an excuse to tell his friend he's been having nightmares. And before Penacony? Good fucking luck getting this guy to tell you anything genuine about himself. Which is why it's so interesting that he does it here- while it's literally televised, AND he shares one of the most vulnerable parts of his life. Granted, people probably know he was enslaved considering the brand on his neck, but it's still a massive power move to SAY that, publicly, in front of everyone, how much he's suffered. This just reads to me as him knowing full well that he might not make it out of this alive, so he wants to try and set the record straight on how much he suffered just to get here. I personally just can't imagine him telling everybody these intimate details if he was planning on ever seeing them again.
He also already has scheduled messages to send out after the fact, since he doesn't know if he's ever coming back:
All in all, Aventurine’s Penacony gambit can be read as more than a clever strategy; it resembles a disguised suicide attempt. On the surface, he frames the duel with Acheron as a calculated risk, a spectacle where the IPC would benefit no matter the outcome. Yet his choice of method reveals something darker: he deliberately places himself in the most lethal position possible, wagering his life against an Emanator’s blade when safer alternatives existed. In this light, his “test” of whether death exists in the dreamscape becomes a mask for self-destruction. Even if he expected to survive, the fact that death remained a viable outcome suggests that the plan was not only a gamble for control, but also an opportunity to finally stop playing the endless game of survival.
But, someone could argue that Aventurine’s gamble was not truly suicidal, since he would probably survive. A strategist of his caliber would not have risked his life recklessly unless he had calculated his odds of survival to be high. From this perspective, his confrontation with Acheron was simply another display of his confidence and cunning— proof of his ability to manipulate even death into a winning hand. Yet this objection misses the crucial point: suicidality does not always manifest as certainty of death. I've said it 100 times so far, and I'll probably say it 100 more times. This argument is based on the assumption that someone isn't "actually suicidal" unless they have a fool proof plan in place, and this just is not always the case. Often, it appears in the form of reckless indifference, where survival and self-destruction are treated as equally acceptable outcomes. Aventurine may have anticipated living, but he was also prepared— perhaps even quietly hoping— for the alternative. It is this willingness to collapse his survival into a wager that betrays the depressive impulse behind the spectacle.
Gestures:
Here's a question: what's another way to define someone who is not suicidal? I'd argue that it's a person who acts like they want to be alive. You know who doesn't act like they wanna be alive? Mr. Aventurine of Stratagems, everybody !! ^_^
This is one of, if not the very first thing we're told about his character: he's a reckless gambler that uses his life as a poker chip. One example being his first encounter with Jade:
He is literally constantly betting his life or talking about betting his life. We've seen him bet his life more often than he's bet those stupid custom poker chips he had made. He actually bullies himself for this in the Penacony maze (among other things):
From the very beginning, Aventurine’s defining trait is clear: he is a reckless gambler, and his life is the first— and most valuable— stake he’s willing to put on the table. Every plan, every maneuver, every calculated risk carries an undercurrent of self-destruction, because he doesn’t truly value his own survival. His willingness to wager himself first shows just how deeply his obsession with death and nihilism runs, bleeding into every action he takes.
Another iconic gesture would ofc be the Final Victor lightcone:
This is just wild. Imagine meeting someone for the first time and you're like "oh I know, let's play Russian roulette." Mind you, he's not JUST playing Russian roulette: he's playing alone, and taking back to back to back turns. He fires it three times!
Now, at a certain point you just have to start looking at situations like this a bit deeper. Could we write it off as "he's just a crazy man who's extremely lucky and he did this just to show ratio how lucky he is and how he's always in control?" Sure, if we want a lukewarm analysis. Personally, I'm not interested in those, and I don't think the people who wrote this character are, either. Literally in any situation on earth, firing a loaded gun into your chest three times is a suicidal gesture at the VERY least. But, sure, Aventurine is lucky. He know's he'll never lose a gamble.
Right?
That's why his hands shake every time he makes one? That's why he's always clutching onto his last chip under the table? That's why the game went so far to bring attention to the fact that he perpetually views himself as a loser? Aventurine is so, so much more than a crazy man who bumbles around and bets his life over and over again just as a fun party trick to flex his luck.
Then, of course, we have: the smashing of his cornerstone-
I absolutely consider this to be a suicidal gesture. It is reiterated over and over again that for the Stonehearts, their cornerstones are the most valuable thing they have. Their entire being is incapsulated in that stone—it's their core identity, manifested into an object that is literally a piece of themselves. They honor to respect and value it more than they would their lives. Which, Aventurine does, to be fair. He doesn't value himself or his life at all, which is why he had no issue smashing it.
Upon mentioning the cornerstone, his alter ego says:
Aventurine "has an impulse for self destruction," which we of course know. He then continues to belittle himself by saying:
Again, bullying himself for not valuing his own life. There really is no other conclusion that can be drawn here—nobody in their right mind would EVER think to break a cornerstone, idk if that has ever even happened before. Ofc Aventurine frames this as a strategic act, saying its just a part of his plan and framing it as this smart and heroic plan, but his alter ego is literally roasting him for this bc its not true !! Aventurine knows there's more to it than that, and anybody who can't see that is literally falling for his bluff !! That’s the gambler’s excuse for what is, essentially, self-harm.
The consistency of this pattern is telling. A man who truly feared death would not stake his life so casually, so often. Aventurine’s eagerness to use his body as collateral shows a deeper yearning to be rid of it, masked as strategy or bravado. His obsession with high-stakes risk is not simply thrill-seeking, but an ongoing rehearsal of self-destruction. Each gamble is an invitation to death: a test of whether this time his luck will finally run out.
Ideation:
Aventurine’s story in Penacony cannot be understood without addressing his suicidal ideation. It is one of the most consistent undercurrents in his arc, woven not only into his dialogue but into the very structure of his encounters.
This remark, “Good luck makes one powerful, but destiny? Inherently unjust,” reveals a core truth about how he views his life: he sees himself as trapped in a pattern of inevitable suffering. Good luck can be claimed, leveraged, and manipulated. Destiny, however, is beyond his control— and to him, it is cruel. This belief underpins much of his reckless behavior and obsession with death. If the universe is rigged against him, then survival, success, and happiness feel like illusions; the only certainty is that suffering awaits.
That sense of injustice fuels his suicidal ideation. Aventurine doesn’t just flirt with death for thrill— he flirts with it because, in his mind, it might be the only way to escape the relentless unfairness of his existence. He approaches life as a series of tests, experiments, and gambles, but there’s always an undertone of resignation: no matter what he wins, no matter what he accomplishes, destiny will eventually punish him. He's been obsessed with this since he was a child:
He always questioned the concept of suffering, the concept of "luck", the point of being born into a world when all that was waiting for him was, eventually, death (even in this section, when he went back to retrieve his sister's necklace and made a bet, the bet being "who will die first, me or this bird", meaning he spent god even knows how long just staring at this bird waiting for it to die tragically).
Even in the Penacony maze, this belief colors his choices. By courting Acheron and engaging with Nihility, he is actively engaging with a force that represents the ultimate expression of destiny’s cruelty: erasure, nothingness, and the finality he has long imagined. He doesn’t fully expect a “fair” outcome— he expects the universe to follow its inherent injustice. And yet, the very act of pushing toward it is evidence of how deeply this philosophy saturates his thoughts. His life is a constant negotiation between chance, luck, and the inevitability of suffering, and his obsession with death is both a reflection of and a response to that perceived injustice.
Let me, for one second, draw attention to what he says once you beat him in his boss fight:
This is one of my favorite lines of his. “Everybody’s like that down to the last player, so why can’t I be happy too? Why can’t I feel that free?” UGH its so good !!! He sees others around him living, succeeding, and finding joy in the game of life, while he feels perpetually bound by circumstances, expectations, and the weight of his own fate. To Aventurine, life feels inherently unfair— destiny, as he often says, is “inherently unjust.”
This line demonstrates why his obsession with death isn’t just reckless thrill-seeking; it’s a direct response to the despair of feeling trapped in a life that refuses to grant him the freedom and happiness he observes in others. Despite how much he tries and how much he has succeeded thus far, he feels literally imprisoned by life. The tension between observing others’ liberation and experiencing his own confinement drives both his mental preoccupation with death and the extreme gambles he takes with his life.
Next, I want to focus on Nihility: From his earliest interactions with Acheron, Aventurine positions himself in relation to Nihility, the Path that promises nothingness, release, and an end to suffering. And his fixation on death doesn’t just appear in the moments where he courts it directly. It seeps into nearly everything he does. His mind circles the idea constantly. Death is not just an outcome to him, but a concept he keeps testing and rehearsing in his thoughts until it bleeds into his actions.
The duel with Acheron is where this becomes impossible to ignore. She embodies the Path of Nihility, and Aventurine all but begs her to erase him. He frames it as an experiment— a “strategic” move to test whether death exists in Penacony— but the truth is plainer: Aventurine wants to see if she can finally give him the release he has been circling for so long. Even his role as “Aventurine of Stratagems” folds into this; the great gambler of the IPC, master of survival, deliberately engineers a scenario where survival is almost impossible.
Speaking of Acheron, let's look at their convo in Nihility for a second:
First, as they discuss, she mentions even if Aventurine wishes to be rid of life, she can't promise one way or another, since now he's clearly in limbo. But, before she leaves, Aventurine asks the question he's been dwelling on this entire time:
There's his obsession again with the meaning of life / inherently cruel justice that's out of his control. This further underscores his fixation on death and his ambivalence toward survival. When he tells Acheron that he sometimes wonders if it would be better to simply disappear, it echoes the very structure of suicidal ideation— not always a decisive desire for death, but a weariness, a constant consideration of whether continued existence is worth the effort. His hesitation in the Nihility shows that his obsession with death is not theoretical or symbolic alone, but deeply personal, a depressive calculus he rehearses privately long before he ever steps onto the stage to test it with Acheron’s blade.
And, of course, I have to mention Doctor's Advice, because I'm an aventio truther who needs to push their agenda:
Before he reads Ratio’s note, Aventurine has nothing anchoring him in the Nihility except the bleakness of his own thoughts. His dialogue circles the same depressive contradictions that mark suicidal ideation: an exhaustion with life’s endless repetition, a longing for release, and the haunting uncertainty of what lies beyond. In fact, the conversation with Acheron crystallizes his ambivalence— he cannot say for sure that he wants to die, but he also cannot say with conviction that he wants to live.
I can't find the screenshot rn, but when Aventurine says, “Every night is practice for the end. … And ‘Death’ … will surface in our dreams,” he reveals how he conceptualizes life itself as a rehearsal for dying. To him, sleep is not rest or renewal, but a nightly simulation of annihilation. This perspective is the purest articulation of his suicidal ideation: he is so accustomed to longing for oblivion that he reinterprets the most universal human experience of rest as practice for disappearing. His entire worldview is structured around waiting for Death to finally arrive, and every gamble with his life becomes another spin of the wheel to see if this time his luck has run out.
Ratio’s note interrupts that logic with a radically different framing. In it, Ratio writes that sleep isn’t a rehearsal for death, but a chance to keep living: a pause that allows the body to repair, and the mind to dream. Where Aventurine sees only endings, Ratio insists there are beginnings hidden inside the very same act. The note becomes a reminder that even the smallest continuations, like closing one’s eyes and waking again, matter. This is why the note inspires him to keep living. Aventurine has spent his entire life treating luck as his only anchor, but Ratio gives him something more enduring: a reason to wake, not just a reprieve from dying. (it's one of the many reasons they fit together so well, you've got a guy who has no will to live who cannot see the value in his life, and a guy whose life mission is to value life. i wanna fuckin MUSH THEMMMMM I WANNA PUT THEM IN A BLENDER)
Nods and Bonuses:
If you needed more canon evidence, here's some fun bonus bits to chew on bc i have several english degrees and clearly was the kid in AP english who got too excited to read old dusty poems:
The words that pop up in Aventurine's Penacony maze are not just random words, they are stanzas from T.S Eliot's "The Waste Land." It's a poem which famously depicts a sterile, dying world, haunted by characters who long for an end, whether through death, apocalyptic fire, or drowning. The poem fixates on the idea that modern existence is a kind of half-death, a walking corpse state. Eliot’s poem is deliberately fragmented, chaotic, and bleak—just like Aventurine’s worldview, where life is reduced to random chance and unjust destiny. There's also some achievements in-game that are from this poem as well:
I mean...getting an achievement called "She Replied, I Want to Die" after you defeat Aventurine + right before Acheron slices him is pretttyyy on the nose lol but I'm including it anyway
There's also an achievement during Aventurine and Ratio's side quest called Waiting for Godot—
—named after a very famous play by Samuel Beckett that tells of two characters, Vladimir and Estragon, wait endlessly for a figure named Godot, who never arrives. While waiting, they pass the time with repetitive conversations, absurd actions, and reflections on suffering. Godot, of course, represents salvation, purpose, or death— anything that would “end” their endless uncertainty. The characters talk about hanging themselves to escape their misery, but can’t bring themselves to act. Each day repeats; nothing changes. The suffering continues, and Godot never comes.
This ties in absolutely perfectly into not only the Penacony quest, but Aventurine's character as a whole. Much like Vladimir and Estragon long for release yet remain trapped in absurd repetition, Aventurine waits for death while remaining trapped in a role he cant get out of. He sits in his 'unjust destiny', searching for a release in his gambles and reckless self-endangerment, waiting for a "Godot" who may never come.
In Conclusion:
In the end, Aventurine is not merely a reckless and dramatic man— he is someone whose thoughts, fears, and obsessions with death shape every move he makes. Aventurine has always been suicidal, from the second his character was introduced. From his constant mental rehearsals of mortality to his deliberate gambles in Penacony, his life is a careful negotiation with the inevitable, a test of whether the void will claim him or spare him once again. His ideology is that destiny is inherently unjust, that survival is dictated by chance rather than fairness. He flaunts risk and confidence to hide the truth: that he is a man drowning in envy, sadness, and a deep rooted obsession with ending his own suffering.
Aventurine’s story reminds us that suicidal ideation is not always loud or dramatic (despite his own flashy appearance). It often lives quietly in thoughts, plans, and the relentless weighing of life against the pull of death. To watch him navigate Penacony is to witness the tension between the desire to vanish and the will to persist, and ultimately, to see how even the most self-destructive minds can be pulled back from the edge by understanding, care, and the quiet insistence that life, however unfair, is worth living.
This Suicide Awareness Week, we can take these lessons to heart: noticing the quiet signs of struggle, validating someone’s pain even when it’s not visible, and offering care without judgment can make the difference between isolation and hope. Just as Aventurine needed someone to recognize the depth of his suffering, the people around us can help anchor those silently battling their own darkness.
Thank you for reading, and thank you, asker—for giving me an excuse to yap about my favorite guy. I hope I answered your question thoroughly enough.
