#let's wait until the next patch

[victorluvsalice]

-->Fortunately, Smiler already had some medicine on them, so all I had to do was give some to Victor and have him down it. ...Along with Smiler, as apparently THEY were sick too, just in a somewhat less visible way. Sheesh, poor things... Anyway, Alice got the camera set back up as Rory went to go play in the spilled trash by the front porch (making me go "if you ruin this shot Rory so help me Will Wright") --

And THEN we got some good trio pictures! :D I made sure to take a variety of picture sizes and orientations to go with their various poses. I definitely love some of the goofier ones you can do -- I just wish the third person wasn't standing off to the side like that so much! Bunch in a little closer there, please!

-->With the photos taken, and the main goal fulfilled, all that was left to do was to fulfill Talk Like A Pirate Day by chatting to their friends! Rory and Clement were both jamming by the phonograph, so the trio joined them, Smiler showing off their sweet moves while Alice talked with Rory and Victor with Clement. Weirdly enough, while Smiler had managed to fulfill the "talk like a pirate" traditions at the dinner table, and Victor managed to fulfill them with a bit of hand-holding with Alice (not sure WHY that counts, but okay game), Alice just could not complete that golden check no matter what she did. The party eventually wound down before she could do so, and she dragged herself off to bed as the guests left and Victor and Smiler took some time to squeal over how adorable the kittens were --

And as it turns out, going to sleep is what finally fulfilled the tradition for her. Because both the "sleep" and "nap" options were written in pirate-speak and thus counted. Okay, game. XD

-->However, fulfilling Talk Like A Pirate Day was definitely not my main goal today -- throwing a gold-level family reunion was! And with my love of taking pictures in the game, I easily succeeded in that goal. So, as the guests headed out, I claimed my prize --

New picture frame collages! :D Yes, if you have a good family reunion, you unlock some new collage frames that you can use for all your various photos! And you guys know that I need my collage frames, given how many freaking photos are hanging around the Valicer farmhouse. XD I already knew I wanted to use the "one large, three little, all landscape" collage for some of the wedding shots -- specifically the three of them standing together looking super romantic and the three selfie shots -- and I decided that the other two could be used for the actual family reunion snaps! The stacked trio for the various selfies they'd taken with their friends, and the group of four for my favorite shots from their porch photo shoot. Plus one bonus medium-sized picture just because. XD You guys all know I can't resist a good Van Liddelton shot!

-->And so the day ended with me rearranging all their pictures and photographs to find wall space for the new frames; Smiler deactivating the bots in the greenhouse and making sure the chickens were well-fed before putting some hatchable eggs in the coop to incubate; and Victor playing with Surprise before kicking some creepy hands apart in the barn. *nods* A good Saturday for the OT3! But next week, it's time to start working on the store again, as I am SO CLOSE to getting all those damn shelves filled...

[squipa]

let me shatter into you

— aka jason knows better than to let anyone get away with hurting you

———

your eyes trace the brown-yellow bruise forming on your wrist, the consequence of some asshole on the street too drunk to remember it isn’t polite to grab pretty girls. you would’ve let it go, really, it’s gotham, this kind of thing happens. unfortunately for the poor bastard, he had the misfortune of forgetting his sense in front of jason todd.

you try to hide the bruise before your boyfriend can see it, sliding the tarnished patch of skin under the sleeve of your jacket with haste— but he catches it anyways. of course he does. you can faintly see shocks of green lightning crackling in his ocean blue eyes, a precursor to the white hot rage stemming from his chest to the rest of his body.

you gently squeeze his arm, noting how tense the muscles in his bicep are. you know jason. you know he loves you differently— like you’re something fragile. he worships you, taking care of you like you’re a marble statue and he’s terrified of finding cracks. so something as small as a bruise, no matter how tiny or how minor, it makes him lose control.

he gently removes your hand from his arm, pressing a chaste kiss against your bruise. “why don’t you go back to that café, yeah? i’ll join you in a minute.” he says, looking down at you with a soft smile. if you didn’t know him any better, you’d think he’d completely gotten over the situation, happy as a clam.

but you do know him, and you know that the way his shoulders are tensed and his free hand is fisted in the pocket of his jacket means that he’s enraged.

“jay—“

he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, giving you a gentle smile. “please, baby. i don’t want you to see this.”

you should stop it. you should try. but he’s looking at you like that and your morals suddenly become incredibly loose. you hesitate, remembering the waves of repulsion you felt moments ago when that idiot bastard yanked you towards him. “just… don’t hurt him bad.”

jason nods, turning you around and guiding you forward, watching until you turn towards the cafe before he focuses his attention on the man, who is still too piss drunk to comprehend how badly he had fucked up. you hear jason before the door fully closes behind you, an echo of “so you think that’s how you should treat a woman?”

he’s terrifying. that drunk idiot must be terrified.

and he’s yours. scary dog privileges and all that. it makes you feel warm, safe, loved, protected— you’re irrevocably in love with that. with him.

he comes back in a few minutes, maybe fifteen? the wait stretched on for hours in your mind. his knuckles are bloody, but none of it is his. he cleans up in the bathroom before sliding next to you on the cushioned side of your half-booth, wrapping an arm and your shoulder, breathing you in like a man starved.

“he’s fine.” he says quietly, so only you can hear it. “just made sure he learned to keep his hands to himself.”

you close your eyes, leaning into him, into his warmth. you don’t say anything— you don’t have to, the way you bury yourself against him is admission enough. his arms wrap around you and the bruise fades back into your skin. your heart beats with more love than you thought it capable of producing, your chest swelling like it’s about to burst.

you press a gentle kiss against his chest and everything makes sense again.

———

it’s always when i say i’m not gonna write that inspiration strikes

[cherrygirlfriend]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ heart-shaped cut-out

pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader synopsis: reader shows rafe her new lingerie warnings: smut, masturbation (f), sexting MDNI! wc: 700 a/n; i saw the new skims heart cut-out lingerie and it was so cute i had to write something about it!! anyway it’s another completely new fic, my neighbors are partying on a tuesday but this is for my nerd!rafe girls.

masterlist ♡ pervert!reader masterlist

you opened the package you'd ordered a week before, your eyes widening in glee when you got a peek of the baby pink fabric. you clapped your hands together, carefully lifting the bralette, admiring the little heart cut-out in the middle. when you'd seen it, you immediately knew you had to have it.

it took about five minutes until you were out of your clothes and changed into the adorable lingerie set, laying on your bed as you twirled your hair biting down on your lower lip as you sent a text to rafe.

YOU: i know we're supposed to meet up in a few minutes for tutoring, but i wanted to ask if you wanted to see some new clothes i got 🥰

you rubbed yourself through the pink fabric of your thong as you waited for him to reply, looking through pictures of rafe, the fabric forming a slight wet spot while your breathing got more erratic, especially when you landed on a picture you'd sneakily taken of his hand while he had been writing down notes. but when your phone finally pinged and the notification came up, you couldn't help the mischievous grin that took over your lips.

RAFE: Sure 😊

you opened the camera app on your phone, starting to record a video. you looked at the camera, biting down on your lip with a smile, before bringing it down to your chest, cupping and squeezing your breasts. your nipples were hard and pebbled through the fabric, and you let out a soft laugh.

you slowly panned it down to the thong you were wearing, showing off the damp patch on it, but now, instead of rubbing yourself through the fabric, you slipped your finger through the heart-shaped cut-out until it met your clit, causing you to let out a slight gasp. you circled and rubbed your clit, letting out small moans for the camera, your thoughts on rafe and the reaction the video would get from him.

after a few minutes had gone by, you dipped your fingers inside of you, gathering some of your arousal and taking your hand out of your thong, showing your fingers off to the camera.

"fuck, 'm so wet..." you moaned, before stopping the video. grinning, you pulled on a sweatshirt that was lounging next to your bed, taking a picture of yourself wearing it.

you went to your messages with rafe, proceeding to send the video you'd taken, keeping your eyes on the screen, waiting for the little 'read' receipt to appear, and it took a few minutes, but once the little grey text appeared, you sent the picture of you in the sweatshirt.

YOU: oops, i sent you the wrong thing, meant to show you the sweatshirt 😅 i'll be in the library soon!

you pulled on a pair of low-waisted jeans, making sure they showed off a sliver of the pink fabric, and even though it took you ten minutes to get to the library, rafe's face was still flushed, and there was still a bulge in his chinos.

"hope i didn't take too long." you said with a coy smile, pulling back the chair and sitting down next to him, more than pleased with his reaction.

"n-no... it's all good..." rafe mumbled, looking down at his textbook. you stretched your arms over your head, letting out a feigned yawn, rafe's eyes zeroing in on the small amount of skin peeking out under your sweatshirt, the boy letting out a breath before clearing his throat, and you immediately knew he'd seen the thong you were wearing, the soaked thong you’d rubbed yourself through.

"so." you turn to him with a bright, casual smile, biting down on your lower lip in the same way you had done in the video, acting like you weren't getting off on knowing how much he wanted you as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before bringing your hand down to rest on the table, touching his just a tiny bit, and even the minimal contact caused his eyes to widen.

"what are you gonna teach me today, rafey?

[seranextdoor]

tw. dark content, brief gory descriptions, smut, size difference.

pairing. mr. crawling x fem! reader. 1k words.

- i wish there was more on blissful love life end route, wish i couldve fuck this cute little shyt until he blabberin' :p i love this gameeeeeee! sorry for suddenly writing about homicipher after months of ghosting u guys.. hehe...

The smell of death lingers in the air ever since you brought along the certain entity to the overworld. It's faint enough to let you know that he was watching.

Not that you mind, he practically latched onto you like a barnacle the first time he met you at that strange hallway. Mr. Crawling, despite the oddities that comes along his unique charms, was a pleasant companion. Maybe it's the fact that you'd noticed the dark figure, slouching at the corner of your room, or the fact that you'd woke up with him next to you, the high-pitched giggling causing you to stir awake at the darkest hour.

You wonder if Mr. Crawling gets bored at times. You can't blame him, the underworld where he is from an endless maze with sharp corners here and there, not to mention the occasional earthquakes that change the layout of the map. Comparing his world to your little apartment was laughable. Maybe that's why you started feeling his cold fingertips running underneath the thin fabric of your clothes. Not that you'd stop him, Not that you want him to anyway. You taught him a few things, mainly how humans express their love. It's nice to have someone dote on you for bringing them a bowl of fresh human flesh.

'It's better to be with Mr. Crawling,' you thought.

Being with a human means it'll increase the chance of you getting caught and you wouldn't be able to go on another killing spree. At least Mr. Crawling accepts you for who you are.

"You... like?" his croaky voice puts your running thoughts to the side as you tilt your head, your eyes looking at him before they avert down to his wandering hand. His fingers are abnormally slender with a grayish tint as he slowly brushed them on your stomach before they went lower and lower until his fingers practically hovered over your lower body. He gives you a look, "need you." he points down at your clothed pussy, your cheeks quickly warms up at his words.

"Can touch?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. His fingers trembled the more he waited for your response like he itched to touch you. "Can." you give him a brief nod as his fingers slowly slipped under your shorts, spreading your folds before he pressed down on your clit causing your breath to hitches. You watched with staggered breathing as his hand moved in a circular motion, rubbing your clit slowly as your sopping hole clenched around nothing. "Good? Enjoyable?" he asked, giggling when you gasped and nodded at his words while he traced your slit, getting your juices all over his nimble digits.

His kisses are sloppy, and the metallic taste of blood from the flesh he consumed for dinner comes in as the aftertaste when you pull back for some air. Mr Crawling quickly chases after your lips, pressing his cracked and cold ones on yours as his tongue shamelessly swirls around yours. With enough juices coating his fingers, he easily slipped it into your entrance as it squelches, his other hand holding your thigh to keep your legs spreading. “Look down,” he pulled his fingers out with a small pop, proudly showing his wet and pruney fingers to you before he slipped them into his mouth. “heh, good. Me happy!” he giggled, moving on top of you as you rested your legs on each side of his body.

“Mr. Crawling...” you whined, watching him with blurry vision as he pulled the black clothing up, just enough for his cock to peek through. It's almost as if the entity wants you to see it, wants you to see how desperate he is. His pre-cum glistens and gather at the tip of his cock, bulging vein runs on the side of his shaft as your eyes shifts to the patch of dark hair on his pelvis. His knees dig into the mattress, his hand aligning the tip of his cock into your entrance. “Me... go into you slow.” he gently prods your hole with the tip of his cock, shifting his eyes on your face and down to your pussy as he pushes his thick cock past the ring of muscles.

You wince, the girth of his cock is stretching you to the maximum. "Hurt? Pain? Desire me go out?" he asked, looking down at you before you shook your head at his question, "I'm glad." he smiled at your reaction. Your fingers holding onto his biceps as your nails left crescent marks on his skin. "Pat, pat." he rubs your head, cupping your cheek as his cock throbs inside of you when your velvety walls flutters to adjust to his size. "Pretty." he whispers, leaning down to peck your lips. He lets you roll your hips, slowly fucking yourself into his fat cock while he holds your hip. "Like this? Happy?" he asked, his hips stuttering as he thrust back into you, matching your slow rhythm.

"Like it..." you replied, breathless as he began to pick up his pace. He was consistent, the tip of his cock brushing against the spot that sends you seeing stars on your ceilings with every single thrust, your nails raking down on his back, leaving claw marks which heals up as quickly as it came. The sound of skin slapping reverberates around the walls as Mr. Crawling gasps and pants in your ear each time he desperately slammed his cock into you. His long, black locks falling over your face, tangling with your hair and sticking to your forehead and chest. “Like you... Like this..." he chants, sharp teeth nibbling on your neck and down to your collarbones, leaving a trail of dark bruises in his wake.

“Close... me close,” his thick cock throbs inside of you, rubbing furiously against your walls as he holds your hips. His breath brushing against your lips as he gasped, “Come? Need you come," he begged, slobbery tongue poking out to flicks your swollen lips as he coaxed you into cumming on his cock by sharply rutting his cock inside of you as the lewd squelches from taking his cock deeper and deeper increases.

He pushes his hips into you when you came all over his cock, he quickly pushes his cock as deep as he can before his hot seeds spill into your womb, spilling out of your whole when he pulled out to rest his cock on your pelvis. He's still cumming, spurting the strings of loads on your stomach as you panted, your chest heaving up and down as he lazily kisses your neck and up to your flushed face,

"...Pretty."

[cinnammonfairy]

⌗ hybrids – f! cat x doberman ghost! + heat + virginity loss + squirting + implied pregnancy/breeding ⋆˙⟡

where you go into heat, and your not-so-new friend simon helps you.

when price finally brought simon home, you did not take it all too kindly. only familiar with the presence of price and few other hybrids (being a house cat and all, always preferring to stay home), you grew uptight at the new imposing presence at your home. you knew price was only trying to look out for you by gifting you a companion, someone you could cling to when he was away, yet he also knew how shy you were too which could translate to unwelcoming behaviour towards those who are unacquainted with you.

simon having been briefed by price of your shy tendencies played along, preferring to wait until you grew accustomed to his presence around the house. which admittedly took... quite a while. price having been home for the start of simon's stay to get you on friendly terms did little to help, only making you ever so clingier.

when it came to just the both of you within the confines of your home, you avoided him with an admirable amount of effort. he knew it wasn't that you disliked him, you just haven't gotten to know him and how could you when you'd scramble if he walked into a room you were currently in? or if he'd be leaning on the doorframe of your shared bathroom waiting for you to finish your lengthy baths, the scent of your bathbomb wafting through the crack of the doorway your humming gleefully at the warmth of the water clear to his impeccable hearing, doberman hybrid and all does little to quell his ever growing fascination in you.

the week leading up to your heat (not that he knew), was filled with uncommon behaviour from you, once an early riser now you woke later into the day, your sweet scent heightened keeping him alert of your whereabouts throughout the house. your usually energetic self, that always found a way to keep busy around the house also grew tired easier, which was how he found you sprawled out on the couch late at night, a show you were keen on running on the tv. gathering your weak form in his arms, he lifted you up bridal style making sure to cradle your head in his arm.

your eyes opened briefly, jolting awake as you realized who was currently holding you and walking you towards your bedroom, before you gave in to the lethargy that seemed to engulf your body. letting him carry you up the stairs, his scent overwhelming your senses leaving your body the slightest bit feverish.

"i don't feel so good." your words coming out barely more than a whisper into the chilly night air, lights dimmed out due to the hour.

"i can see that, let me take care of you yeah? " his arms wrapping tighter around your form as he rounds the corner to your bedroom, tucking you in, and closing the door softly behind him before placing a call to price.

"...the date of her heats are usually irregular, but she's probably going into one soon." price's voice crackles through the phone speaker, as simon's brow furrows.

"what can i do to help her?" simon's reply earns a small huff from price, who's answer has simon's cock growing hard in his trousers imagining you begging for him.

"you can help her but only if she asks, she probably will though. god knows you feel much better than her dildo does."

the next morning he was greeted with the overwhelming scent of your slick, your warm body atop him, bare tits pressed against his chest, his blanket pushed aside so your wet little pussy could rub on his still covered hard on. every pass of his cock spreading open your pretty pussy, his tip catching onto your clit creating pleasurable friction.

"what's all this about angel? where did my shy girl go hm?"

"m' sorry si, need you..." his hands go to guiding your hips, as they grew sloppier. your wetness creating a patch on his boxers outlining his hard cock.

"s' alright pretty, i've got you." tipping your chin up to meet his gaze as he connects your lips to his, softly pecking them as a form of reassurance. price said to take things slow and he promised to try, you had no qualms kissing him back so sweetly as he cradled your cheek in his palm. with your pussy still rubbing on his cock, he moved you to lay below him lifting his body enough to peel his boxers off.

spreading your legs to expose your wet cunt, little hole twitching and leaking slick. your little clit glistening in the early morning sunrise, as he circles it softly with the head of his cock, dragging it down to your pool of slick and up to nudge against your clit, swiping it back and forth as you writhed on the bed moaning for him to,

"put it in now please si."

"so wet angel, i could just slip right in yeah?"

"'mhm! s' wet for you."

"such a good girl, so pretty for like this for me."

he positions the head of his cock on your hole, the both of you gasping as it enters. all the while rubbing your clit softly with his thumb, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, cheeks and lips. your pussy halfway enveloping his fat cock as your legs tremble softly, your hole clenching rhythmically at his intrusion. your hands go to his biceps as you feel the knot in your stomach growing ever so tighter, just from him putting his cock in. you've had a dildo and a couple pleasurable vibrators before to help you through your heat but never an actual cock, the feeling of his big cock entering your practically virgin hole was too much to bear, even more so as he rubbed at your clit so sweetly to build enough pleasure and wetness to take his cock. before you knew it, you were cumming hard on his cock a soft gasp left you as he worked you through your strong orgasm, clenching hard on his fat cock.

"so pretty... that was a nice one hm lovie, that feel good for your little pussy sweetheart yeah? y' love my fat cock stretching out your hole so much you can't help it huh."

"s' too big si..." you sobbed out as his fingers kept strumming your clit, prolonging your orgasm.

"you're taking it so well though sweetheart, i'm almost there baby. you can cum as much as you want angel."

your orgasm which left you wetter than before made it easier for him to ease his cock inside, groaning at your warmth as he bottomed out. he zoned in on where your eyes were currently resting, the filthy sight of your pussy plugged full of his cock as he took a testing shallow thrust, a mewl leaving your lips.

"your pussy's so pretty full of my cock sweetheart, you're taking it so well, 'm so proud baby."

"what do you say sweetheart?" he says, pulling his cock out halfway, watching as his cock slips out coated in your slick and cum.

"thank you si-i!" he slammed his hips once, again filling your pussy up full and catching you off guard.

his thrusts left you breathless as you looked into his eyes, pleading for anything and everything at all once. your current state of heat left your cheeks perpetually flushed which he found charming, your eyes fluttering, for someone who was practically begging to be fucked just this morning, he loved your sweet, shy and soft little mewls. slotting your lips together to meet for a kiss, one that you so kindly and eagerly return, he knows he's found your spot as a sweet little gasp leaves your lips. he rests his forehead to yours as you lock your feet on his back, your pussy clenching erratically as a telltale sign that you were approaching your orgasm.

"wanna cum si!"

"go ahead baby."

pulling out most of the way, he thrusts in to be met by a spurt of clear liquid splashing and splattering onto your stomach, his pelvis and abs. every time he pulls out the slightest bit to slam his cock back in to your tight squirting heat, he earns another splash of clear liquid that's prompted by his thrusts. the hot sight of you squirting uncontrollably whilst crying softly on his cock prompts his own orgasm, and pumping his load into you.

"made such a cute mess on my cock baby hm? my shy angel's a squirter huh?" he says as he pulls his cock out fully, rubbing his cock fast over your clit to be met by more messy squirts, his thick load now seeping out of your little hole.

"m s-sorry si, it's embarrasing." you choke out amidst sobs where he gathers you in his arms, sitting up and places you on top of him. opening your legs to scoop up his leaking cum and shoving back into your hole, which makes you squeal.

"no need to be sorry sweetheart, 'm so glad i made you feel so good."

you hid your face in his neck as you sunk back down on his hard cock, seeing his cum leaking out of your pussy was an extremely erotic sight to him. your heat making you insatiable for the need of another orgasm.

"go ahead sweet girl, ride me baby, use me all you want."

and you do, if it wasn't evident enough with the protruding bump on your belly with a possessive hand resting over it upon price's return wasn't clear enough, you were having simon's pups.

☆ hi omg um this was just like something i spewed out from my brain deliriously over the course of a couple midnights i acc kinda wanna continue it or make a couple parts of it ... haven't rlly made an intro post but i'm planning to soon .ᐟ ♡ also reqs are open but i'm having midterms rn so if you do plan to leave anything on there might not get around to it for a while :(

ᡣ𐭩 header by cafekitsune .

[sparrows4bats]

If Damian realises how he feels about Jon first, that man is a storm of romantic gestures, just not conventional ones.

Everything he knows about romance comes from Shojo Manga and Talia Al Ghul.

Damian doesn't realise he has fallen in love with his childhood friend until they are both adults, and he is patching him up after an mission gone wrong.

Jon has a gash on his forehead, and when Damian goes to stitch it, Jon flinches back from the kryptonite infused needle. He grabs Damian and falls back against the bed he is sitting on, essentially pulling the young doctor onto his lap.

Damian is there sitting on top of his best friend when he realises that maybe what they had wasn't entirely platonic. At least on Damian's end.

Thank God Jon is too tired to listen to his heartbeat.

Damian flushes bright red at the position but moves back. He continues to do his job, like a professional, even if he calls Jon a crybaby when the man flinches.

Afterwards, when he is alone, Damian allows himself to replay the moment and realises he's in love with with his best friend.

He imagines Jons smile, the warmth of his arms and his wit. Damian has to sit a moment when his legs shake.

The revelation feels life changing, but at the same time completely normal. A natural progression, as if loving Jonathan Kent was always inevitable.

He doesn't know when he started falling, but he is sure there's no going back now. Damian is his mothers son. Love this deep is a lifetime affliction.

The question becomes what will he do about it?

If Damian does nothing, he gets to keep what they have, and he gets to be Jons' best friend. It's a treasured title. But is it enough?

Can Damian stomach watching Jon fall in love with someone else? Is he good enough to content himself with being close but never what he wishes in Jons life?

Damian, at heart, has always been a little selfish. And he has never wanted anything as much as he wants Jon.

He knows himself well enough to understand that being just Jons friend will never be enough, not when Jon is his everything.

So it's an easy choice. He is going to the court Jonathan Kent. He is going to succeed no matter the cost. It is the most important thing he will ever do.

So, Damian starts to plan.

He considers approaching his siblings for help but quickly discards the idea. He is playing for keeps, and his family has a questionable track record with long-term romantic relationships.

They'd also probably tease him mercilessly.

So Damian decides to do this by himself.

He starts by sending gifts, a new camera, and new clothing that Damian would love to see Jon wearing, one one memorable occasion a special watch Damian designed that patches Jon into the Watchtower and earth phone networks instantly even in outer space.

Jon is grateful and starts giving gifts back, particularly pretty gems and weapons he finds on his travels. Damian hoards each trinket covetously.

Next, Damian initates private time between them. Dinners at restaurants Jon loves and quiet nights in that let Damian imagine a future of domesticity and safety. He goes so far as to make Jon a key to his apartment and delights every time he arrives home to find Jon waiting for him.

Jon stays over most nights, and Damian makes him sleep in his bed with him after he complains about the couch.

Damian ends up in his arms by morning. Jon having lifted him onto his chest during the night. It leaves Damian with butterflies and a sense of rightness. Jons arms become his favourite place to be.

He defends Jon honour, at a gala a socialite starts to flirt with his Farmboy while he is wearing the tux Damian bought him. It is unacceptable behaviour.

So Damian casually gets the woman to leave them alone. (She cried and ran out after Damian deduces her affair with a married man.)

It has the added bonus of he and Jon leaving afterwards for takeout on a nearby rooftop.

Finally, Damian decides to try and touch him more. Carefully at first, just little brushes and faint little touches here and there.

Damian lays in the kryptonitians lap and hugs him more. He holds his hand as they walk together and leans against him during movie nights.

Jon blushes and smiles. He even reciprocates the affection, and it is difficult not to kiss him, but all the best romances develop slowly, so Damian must be patient.

He wants Jon forever, not a quick fizzle of desire.

The choice, however, is taken out of his hands when Damian walks into his apartment to find Jonathan Kent blushing and pacing with his head in his hands.

He stops suddenly when he notices Damians presence.

"You!" Jon is striding over to him.

"Me?" Damian is very confused, and Jon is so close, face mere inches from his own.

"I can't take this anymore!"

"Take what?" Damian fears the worst that Jon is here to tell him that he has been too forward. That he doesn't feel the same. That he is going to leave, and Damian feels dread like he has never known before.

"The Teasing! You keep acting so sweet and touching me all the time!, and it's all I can do not to bend you over the kitchen table or get down on one knee!"

Damian, for possibly the first time in his life, has no words.

"It's not fair! Damian, you are so gorgeous and smart and funny it's so frustrating, so I need you to give it to me straight. I will never bring this up again, but do you want more? Will you let me date you and love you?"

Jon looks nervous now, but Damian can see the earnestness in his eyes.

"Yes," Damian brings his hand up to Jons face with reverence. "I love you, Jonathan Kent, but I have to warn you if we date. If we take this step, I may never be able to give you up. You are a part of me, I couldn't change that even if i wanted to, and I'm yours in anyway you want me."

Jon smiles at him, his blue eyes gleeful, and he pulls Damian closer until he can rest their heads together. "Mine."

Then Jon finally kisses him, it's full of passion and Jons desperation, Damian only pulls back because he needs to breathe.

"Just for the record, I love you too, and if you think there is any world where I'm leaving you, you're crazier than I thought. I listen to your heartbeat every day. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

Damians heart soars. "So I know you said something about the kitchen table, but I think the bed will be much more comfortable."

Jon growls and lifts him off the ground. Damian laughs as he is carried through to the bedroom they now share most of the time.

Success has never tasted sweeter.

[beloveds-embrace]

Neglected omega reader who got taken care of by someone else. Nikolai or Konig. The drama ✨✨

I hope i did KorTac justice, I’ve never written them before except König lol @nightunite pspspsps i have nikto crumbs 🙏🏻

Neglected omega reader p1 + p2

KorTac had always liked you.

From the very first moment they’d met you, they’d been drawn in- pulled by the quiet gravity of your presence and the sharp edge of your competence. You were quick on your feet, sharp with a knife, steady under pressure. Smart and resourceful in a way that demanded respect.

But more than that?

You had heart.

You’d been assigned to their unit during a joint operation months ago. Just a temporary deployment, only meant to last a few weeks, but it had been long enough for them to notice things- little things they hadn’t been able to forget.

The way you’d patched König up without hesitation after a mission went sideways, hands steady even as blood slicked your fingers. The way you’d shared your rations with Horangi after a supply drop came in light, brushing off his protests with a stubborn glare. The way you’d sat quietly beside Nikto on watch, not asking questions when he didn’t feel like talking but always ready to listen when he did.

They noticed you, and they liked what they saw.

Liked the way you worked. Liked the way you took care of your team without ever expecting anything in return. Liked the way you carried yourself- confident but kind. Fierce but soft.

But you weren’t theirs. Couldn’t be.

You belonged to 141, and KorTac had backed off, unwilling to overstep boundaries when you already had a pack waiting for you at home. They’d told themselves it was fine- they were fine- watching from a distance.

But then you came back.

Alone.

Hollow-eyed and sharp-edged, moving like a ghost through the halls of the base, and suddenly?

All bets were off.

The first time König sees you in such a state, it’s in the corridor outside the mess hall.

You don’t look up when he walks by, don’t even seem to notice the sheer weight of his presence as he slows, lingering just long enough to let his shadow stretch over you. You’re leaning against the wall like you’re trying to hold yourself together, arms wrapped tight around your middle, shoulders curled inward. Small. Smaller than he’s ever seen you look before. Smaller than he’d ever thought he’d ever see you.

His instincts itch- Omega, alone, hurting- but you’re not his. And still…

His eyes track the tired slump of your shoulders, the way your clothes hang loose, like you’ve been skipping meals. He scents the air. Picks up the faded traces of peach and rose, but there’s something sour underneath- bitter and wrong, like spoiled fruit. König’s stomach twists.

It’s the scent of neglect.

You should never have looked like this. You should have never smelled like this.

Not you. Not the Omega who had once dragged him out of the line of fire without hesitation, barking orders and holding the line until reinforcements arrived. Not the Omega who had once laughed with him under a tin roof during a monsoon, eyes bright.

The smell lingers after he walks away, clinging to the back of his throat like smoke. But it’s the emptiness of it- the hollowness- that keeps him awake that night, staring at the ceiling and wondering which one of those 141 bastards let their Omega rot like this.

The next time König sees you, it’s in the armory.

You’re cataloging weapons, checking and re-checking the tags with mechanical precision, but your hands shake when you reach for the next one. Just a little. Just enough for him to notice.

König moves closer. Quiet, but not too quiet- he doesn’t want to startle you. You don’t look up until his shadow stretches over your workbench, and when you do, the look in your eyes hits him like a gut-punch.

Flat. Guarded. Resigned.

Like you’re expecting him to scold you.

König’s heart cracks wide open. He grips the edge of the table just to keep from reaching out.

“Doing good work.” He says softly, and you just blink.

It’s such a small thing- barely even a compliment- but your throat bobs like you’re swallowing something down. Then you duck your head and go back to your task, not looking at him again.

But you don’t flinch.

Not this time.

Nikto is next, and he doesn’t hesitate.

He remembers you. Remembers the way you’d stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the rain, eyes scanning the horizon with sharp focus as you both waited for the enemy to make their move.

You hadn’t been scared. Not even a little.

And now?

He catches you outside the rec room, sitting on the stairs with your knees drawn up to your chest. You don’t even react when he approaches, just keep staring at the floor like it might swallow you whole.

Now, you look like you’re drowning.

So Nikto doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t say anything. Just crouches down beside you and sets a cup of coffee at your feet before walking away.

You stare at it for almost five minutes before finally picking it up.

The next morning, he does it again. Same cup. Same coffee. Same wordless offering.

It becomes a routine- something quiet and steady, something you can rely on when everything else feels too heavy.

And then there’s Horangi, who pushes the hardest.

He pushes, because he knows you can take it.

You had before- back when you’d yelled at him for ignoring orders and running off alone, eyes blazing as you shoved him back toward the evac point. He’d liked your fire back then, liked the way you didn’t back down even when he towered over you.

But now?

Now your fire’s gone out, and there’s only one group to blame.

So Horangi pushes. Tests the waters, pokes at the edges, trying to find the spark he knows is still there. He is the loudest of the three, sharp and quick with his words, but he also knows when to keep them soft. He finds you cleaning your gear one night and sits down beside you without asking.

“You missed dinner.” He says casually, pulling out a protein bar and tossing it onto your lap. Pushing past the bubble you’ve wrapped around yourself, yet not being overbearing or too much.

You open your mouth to argue, but he cuts you off.

“I’m not your Alpha,” he says with a shrug. “You don’t have to listen to me.”

You close your mouth. Look down at the protein bar. Then, without a word, you tear it open and take a bite.

Horangi grins. And just like that, he’s in.

And when you finally- finally- smile at one of his jokes?

He knows he’s got you.

141 starts noticing the shift almost immediately. Soap catches König lingering near you in the gym, eyes following the curve of your spine as you stretch, and something inside him snaps.

Ghost sees Nikto brush his fingers against yours when he hands you something, and his jaw clenches so tight he can hear his teeth grind.

Price overhears Horangi making you laugh- a real, honest-to-God laugh, a sound he can’t hear any longer even in his dreams- and has to excuse himself before he says something he can’t take back.

It gets worse when your scent starts to change; the bitterness fades first, then the sourness.

The first time Price catches a hint of warmth blooming underneath, it stops him dead in his tracks.

Because it isn’t for him. It isn’t for them.

It’s even worse to know that they drove you to it, and have no one to blame but themselves.

They let you fall through the cracks. Let the weight of their own issues and distractions leave you stranded in the dark, too far away for them to pull you back when they finally noticed you were gone.

And now? Now KorTac is picking up the pieces, with no hesitation.

König steadies you. Makes sure you eat, makes sure you rest, makes sure you feel safe even when the world outside is crumbling. Doesn’t push you away when you, big hand lingering on the curve of your spine until his scent is left there.

Nikto grounds you. Offers quiet comfort without demands, without expectations. Makes sure you know he’s there, always there, steady and unshakable. A lighthouse in the stormy seas, the hand that pulls you out of the swirling ocean.

Horangi pushes and pushes. Draws out smiles and laughter, reminds you what it feels like to be wanted. Finds excuses to bump shoulders or brush against you when you pass, just to see if you’ll let him.

And you do. You let all of them, slowly greeting them with the quietest little purr (cat activation noise).

Because it’s easier to be wanted by them than it is to be unwanted by your own pack.

And slowly- so slowly it hurts- you start to come back to life; your scent changes. Softens. Warms. The bitterness fades and the sourness disappears.

And all they can do is only watch as König takes the space they abandoned. As Nikto feeds the hunger they ignored. As Horangi brings back the fire they let burn out.

And they can’t do a damn thing about it.

Because the truth is- KorTac wanted you from the start, and now that they’ve got you?

They’re never letting go.

[chrisstvrns]

𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐬: 𝐜.𝐬.

now playing: GUESS - charli xcx & billie eilish

warnings: rough sex, dom!chris, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, oral (f receiving), light choking, spanking (once)

word count: 1.7k

chris hums, staring at you sitting on the bed in front of him. “the pink ones?” he asks, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head as if he could see through the oversized t-shirt you were wearing.

“nope!” you giggle, hugging your legs tighter to your chest, your grin smug.

he sighs dramatically and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. “hmm… the white ones with the lace trim?”

you shake your head, biting your lip as his eyes drop to your bare thighs. “wrong again.”

chris pouts, reaching out to tug at the hem of your shirt playfully. “c’mon, baby, give me a hint.”

you arch a brow. “what do i get if you lose?”

he smirks. “what do you want?”

you crawl toward him just a little, voice dropping lower, teasing. “something rough.”

his eyes flicker, jaw tightening slightly. “then i hope i get it wrong again,” he murmurs, but then he pauses. tilts his head. grins. “oh, wait.. i just remembered. i don’t have to guess.”

you blink. “huh?”

he leans in close, his voice soft but wicked. “i don’t have to guess, baby. i saw it. it’s the lacy black pair with the little bows… the ones i picked out for you when i was in milan.” he murmurs, his voice deep, eyes darkening as he stares at you

your eyes widen slightly.

he nods, smug. “yeah. i saw them when you sat down on the couch before. the were peeking out juuust a little bit.” his hands suddenly wrap around your calves, dragging you closer until you’re between his legs, staring up at him. “you think i wouldn’t notice that pair? god, they’re all ive been thinking about.”

you try to keep up the innocent act, but he’s already tugging the shirt up over your hips, exposing the exact panties he described.

“thought i bought these for you,” he murmurs, running a finger just under the waistband, “but now i think i bought them for me.”

you open your mouth, maybe to tease him back, but the words don’t come. his lips crash against yours with no warning, all teeth and tongue and want. he presses you back onto the mattress, hands slipping under your thighs, pulling them apart without hesitation.

“you said you wanted something rough,” chris growls, kneeling between your legs, eyes fixed on the wet patch darkening the delicate lace. “then don’t you dare act shy now.”

your breath hitches.

he smirks again, lowering his mouth to your stomach. “these are coming off,” he mutters, teeth hooking in the waistband. “and you’re not leaving this bed until i say so.”

he pulls them down your legs with his teeth, carefully putting them on display right next to you. 

he presses a kiss to your soaked clit, licking his lips in satisfaction. he pushes your shirt all the way up, exposing your chest to the cool air, and to him. 

chris lets out a quiet, reverent breath as his palms slide slowly up your sides, rough thumbs brushing just beneath your breasts before he finally cups them, kneading gently, like he’s taking his time to commit every inch of you to memory.

"perfect," he mutters, dragging his tongue from the center of your waist, up to right between your tits. “mine.”

you gasp when he takes one nipple into his mouth, sucking just hard enough to make your back arch off the bed. his free hand trails down your stomach, teasing just above where you want him most.

“look at you,” he breathes against your skin. “so worked up already, and i’ve barely touched you.”

you whimper, hips lifting instinctively as his fingers finally dip between your legs, brushing lightly over your soaked folds. he hums in approval, smirking at the way your breath stutters.

“you like those panties, huh?” he teases, sliding one finger inside you with agonizing slowness. “you gotta wear 'em more often, if this is the reaction i get.”

you manage a shaky laugh, but it turns into a moan when he adds another finger, curling them just right. he watches your face closely, his expression dark with focus and desire.

then he leans in again, voice low and rough at your ear. “still want it rough, baby??”

you whimper, looking up at him as your eyes flutter. “still want it.”

“good.”

and just like that, his fingers are gone. you barely have time to protest before he's flipping you over onto your stomach. he stands, pulling off his tshirt, tossing it aside. he pulls down his sweatpants and boxers, staring at you look back at him. 

he lines himself up with you, dragging his tip through your sopping folds. he brings a hand to cup your chin, tapping your cheek. “spit.” he commands, and you allow saliva to drop from your lips, drooling down your chin and into his palm. 

he strokes himself with your saliva, then lining himself up with you. 

“you started this,” chris growls, one hand pressing into the small of your back, the other resting on your ass. “now i’m gonna finish it.”

he slams his hips into you, causing you to let out a deep moan. his thrusts are deep and relentless from the start, like he’s got something to prove. to you, to himself, to the way you looked at him with that teasing smirk earlier. your hands fist the sheets, your breath catching with every powerful snap of his hips.

“fuck” chris groans, voice wrecked and low as he watches himself disappear inside you over and over. “you feel so good. so tight. always so perfect for me.”

you can only whimper in response, overwhelmed, your body trembling beneath him. he leans over you, his chest brushing your back, hand wrapping around your throat from behind. not choking, just holding, anchoring, controlling. “you wanted it like this,” he grits out, lips right against your ear. “don’t you dare forget that.”

he shifts his angle, hips slamming up against the sweet spot inside you with brutal precision. your cry is instant, high and needy, legs spreading wider as your body arches into him involuntarily.

he chuckles darkly. “yeah, there. right fuckin' there. that’s the spot, huh?”

you nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the intensity, your fingers scrabbling for anything to hold onto. he grabs your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, his other still firm at your lower back, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

“you look so pretty like this,” chris growls. “fucked out and ruined. mine.”

his pace doesn’t falter, and neither does his grip. the only sounds in the room are the slap of skin against skin, your moans, his grunts, rough, raw, and needy. you can feel your orgasm building fast, coiling hot and tight in your belly, threatening to snap with every deep thrust.

he notices. of course he does. he can feel it. see it in the way your body shakes, hear it in your whimpering gasps.

“you gonna cum for me, baby?” he pants, hips driving harder. “gonna let me feel you lose it all over my cock?”

“yes! please, i’m so close-” you sob, voice broken.

his grip on your wrists tightens. “then give it to me.”

and when you do, when your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, tearing a cry from your throat and making your vision blur, chris doesn’t let up. if anything, he fucks you harder through it, chasing his own release.

he brings his hand up from your lower back, slamming it down onto your right ass cheek, then rubbing over the spot with his palm. you sob, moaning.

“fuck- fuck, i’m gonna..” he groans, pulling out just in time to pump himself to the edge. he cums with a deep growl, hot and thick against your lower back, his hand stroking himself through the high. his breathing is ragged, uneven, as he finally slows down, bending over you to kiss the back of your shoulder gently.

“fuck,” he mutters, still catching his breath. he sits next to you on the bed, rubbing your upper back. “you okay?”

you nod weakly, lips curling into a satisfied smile. “perfect.”

he chuckles, brushing your hair away from your face and kissing the side of your temple. “you better be,” he murmurs, shifting you to lay on your back, positioning his face between your legs. “because we’re not done yet.”

he hooks your knees over his shoulders, spreading you open again with gentle but unrelenting hands. your thighs are still trembling, your body oversensitive, but he doesn’t hesitate. just flattens his tongue against your soaked folds and groans like he’s starving for it.

your back arches off the bed as he laps at your clit, slow and deliberate at first, savoring every shudder, every twitch of your hips.

“chris” you gasp, voice shaky, fingers threading into his hair.

“mm?” he hums against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure rolling through your core. “too much?”

you shake your head desperately, even as your legs try to close around his head. “n-no, just… fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

he pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, chin soaked with your arousal. “nah, baby. i’m gonna make you live for this.”

and then he dives back in, his tongue flicking and circling your clit in perfect rhythm, one hand snaking down to slide two fingers inside you again. fast, deep, practiced. he curls them just right, right where he knows you need it, and your hips buck hard against his face.

“that’s it,” he growls, voice muffled against your cunt. “give me another, pretty girl.”

you’re already unraveling, already close to the edge, and the moment he sucks your clit into his mouth, hard, it tips you straight over. your orgasm hits like lightning, sharp and overwhelming, and you cry out, your thighs clenching around his head.

chris doesn’t stop.

not even when your legs shake violently, not even when your voice cracks. he keeps licking you through it, slowing only when your hand tugs sharply at his hair in overstimulation.

finally, he pulls back, kissing the inside of your thigh before crawling up your body and collapsing beside you, breathing just as hard as you are.

you’re absolutely wrecked, spread out on his sheets and barely coherent, but your fingers still find his jaw, pulling him in for a kiss. he kisses you slow this time, reverent, like he’s saying thank you with every brush of his lips.

“still think you won that game?” you whisper, smiling

he grins, wide and proud. “baby, i never lose.”

────────────୨ৎ────────────

aurora's notes: for my lilah girl <3 @delilahsturniolo

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧₊˚

to be added to my taglist, comment on this post!

[weeping-treee]

A Desperate Man- Part 1

Simon is so desperate for you, and he can't bring himself to care.

All parts here

Simon’s never noticed women. Even with the way they flaunt and throw themselves at him, he’s never given them the time of day. In his mind, it’s just the job— and getting it finished. When he needs to loosen up? His hand works perfectly fine.

Until you show up. The perky new trauma surgeon he first noticed in the base medbay.

It started a month ago. Thirty whole days. God, only thirty days—and he feels like a teenager.

He hears your voice as he’s sitting with Soap, waiting for him to get patched up after a mission. Something about the soft, reassuring sound makes his head turn. It almost reminds him of his mother..

Maybe that’s why he noticed.

Maybe that’s why he looked.

But he froze when he saw your face, dark eyes were staring— trailing your every move, for reasons he didn’t yet understand.

But god help him, the one thing he knew in that moment was that he wanted you to speak to him like that.

Soap's voice snapped him out of it, the Scot chuckling and shaking his head.

“See somethin' ya like, Lt?”

The Scot's tease is only met with narrowed eyes as he stares back down at the knife in his hands.

Over the next few months, Ghost goes out of his way to be noticed by you. To really meet you.

Even managing to "accidentally" get a knife to the shoulder on the most recent mission.

It’s not his first stab wound, and it won’t be the last. In his head, the pain was worth it— worth being close to you. Worth having a reason to stare. To hear your voice as you reassured him.

So there he sits, arms crossed against his chest. Silent. Brooding. Waiting for his name to be called—to be noticed. There are men who have worse injuries, so he'll wait hours if it means he'll feel your soft hands on him, with your softer voice to top it off. Even if the smell of blood and antiseptic mixing assaults his sinuses.

That’s when he hears it. Your voice—sharp but solicitous—calling out his name. His real name.

“Riley? Simon Riley?” you say, checking over the clipboard, then looking up from it.

He shot to his feet—too fast. Like a rookie—making him look like an eager puppy. But fuck it, he’s waited long enough.

“It’s Ghost.“ he corrects. Plain and simple.

“Noted.” You smile softly, nodding as you jot it down on the chart.

That smile. His fingers twitch against his thigh. His shoulders tense. He's gone, and he knows it.

He’s nervous...

Actually nervous.

He’s sitting on the bed, watching you prep the tools and bandages before he manages to say something.

“You’re new.” He grumbles—it’s more of a statement than a question. He mentally grimaces at how much of a jerk he probably sounds like.

“Mhm, I am. Been here about a month now... you?” You retort sweetly, slipping on latex gloves and setting up the suture kit.

If he weren’t sitting, he’s sure his knees would give out. God, that voice. He could get drunk on it.

“Years now. You lose track when you’re facing death every other day,” He manages to joke—and you laugh. You actually laugh, and his heart skips a beat.

He made you laugh.

“I bet,” you say with a chuckle, gently examining his shoulder, fingers lightly pressing around the wound.

His heart races as you touch him. Your hands are warm. Careful. Gentle.

God, he’s falling, and he doesn’t care if anything catches him.

“It’s superficial.. I take it this isn’t your first rodeo with a stab wound?” You ask, applying antiseptic around the area.

He lets out a low chuckle—that raspy sound that makes you glance up at him.

“No. Not my first rodeo. Don’t be afraid to hurt me, love.”

The endearment rolls off his tongue so smoothly, and you blush—just a little. He sees it. He takes it as a win.

“I vowed to do no harm, Ghost.” You chuckle softly, irrigating the wound with saline..

“But I will give you the choice.. numbing or no numbing?” You ask, your eyes meet his, steady and professional.

“Don’t need numbing for a few stitches.” He says without hesitation, which makes your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Got it. I’ve got a tough guy on my table.” You tease, wiping saline away and rinsing your hands of it.

He shakes his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. There's a subtle shift beneath the balaclava—just enough to know he's smiling.

You know he’s smiling behind the mask—and he knows that you know.

[nosyp]

Care For Another Game?

Warning = smut🔞, gambling(?), destroying food, small spoilers, dubious consent

Pairing = Salesman (squid game) x fem! reader

Summary = A simple game of ddakji turns into something much more when he shows up at your door with a proposition. The stakes are higher, and this time, it’s not just about winning. Now it’s about control and desire.

Word count = 2.8k

Part 2

A/N = I'm genuinely so horny for this man please forgive me

“Excuse me, ma’am, would you like to play ddakji?” 

You turned to face the voice, unsure if it was meant for you or someone else. A man stood just a few feet away, a small, polite smile on his face. You were sitting on the bench in the subway, waiting to catch the next one. 

“M-me?” you muttered out.

“Yes.” he replied, very quickly. Damn, he’s so certain. How could I possibly reject it?

“Ehh? Sure I guess…” you mumbled, your words almost inaudible.

“Excellent,” he said, his smile widening just a fraction. He stepped closer, lowering himself to your level. Up close, you noticed how sharp his features were, it was like he was carved out so carefully. His suit didn’t even have a single wrinkle, and his posture was impossibly composed, as if he was used to winning in life.

He then knelt on the dusty subway floor and placed two folded paper squares in front of you. “The rules are simple,” he explained. “You use your tile to flip mine. If you succeed, you win.” You started to roll your eyes as he was explaining the preface of the game… well that was until he held up the stack of cash. Oh you’re not losing now.

“And if I lose?” you asked cautiously.

“Then…” His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t quite name. “You owe me.”

You blinked, your unease growing. “Owe you what?”

“Let’s not worry about that just yet.” His voice was calm, almost reassuring, but it only made you more aware of the trap you might be stepping into.

Your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your coat. You were unsure whether to back out now or follow through.

“Well?” he prompted, tilting his head slightly. “Which colour do you want?”

“Red please.” you responded, evoking a small smile from him.

You hesitated, then picked up one of the paper tiles. Its edges were surprisingly crisp, as though it had been folded just moments ago. Taking a deep breath, you crouched down to face him.

“Okay,” you said, steadying your hand. “Let’s do this.”

You both immediately got up and started playing. He seemed like an innocent guy from the outside but in the game, he seemed like a completely different person. The force he put into flipping the stupid tiles was so strong you swore you heard the ground shake beneath you.

Somehow, miraculously, you won most of the rounds and earned 500k won. You’d expect him to be a bit better if he was spending a bunch of time running around asking to play. You saw him a few days prior doing the same thing he did with you with other people. Though, they didn’t win much, mostly slaps to the face.

“Thank you,” you say, holding the stack of cash in both of your hands. 

He still had that stupid smile plastered on his face. It never disappeared. How annoying.

“Mm. You’re welcome.” he responds, his face quickly darkening. And he walked away, without saying anything else. He also left the red paper tile with you.

With a satisfied hum, you skipped your way into the arriving subway. 

—

Somehow, that didn’t end up being your last meeting with him.

A week later, you were strolling through the park, enjoying the rare peaceful silence. The chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves accompanied the sounds, but something disrupted the serene atmosphere. A sharp, rhythmic sound.

It was… stomping? And yelling? What the fuck?

Curious, you followed the noise, rounding a corner near the fountain. There, in the middle of an open patch of grass, stood the man from the subway—the Ddakji guy. He was dressed just as sharply as before, though his once-pristine shoes were now caked with crumbs.

You froze, watching in disbelief as he stomped repeatedly on a pile of bread scattered on the ground. It was like a massacre of carbs. He was literally stomping on it while screaming “this is your guys' fault” or some shit like that, in the middle of the park. Holy shit.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath while walking closer to him. 

He looked up, pausing mid-stomp as if he’d heard you. His eyes locked onto yours, and that familiar polite smile spread across his face.

“Ah,” he said, straightening his posture as if he hadn’t just been waging war on baked goods. “We meet again.”

You blinked, pointing at the corpses of the bread. “What… are you doing?”

He glanced down, brushing a speck of flour off his pants. “An experiment,” he said simply.

“An experiment?” you echoed, incredulous. “In what? Angering pigeons?”

He chuckled softly, stepping away from the pile. “You wouldn’t understand. But it’s good to see you again, ma’am.”

“Okay, no.” You held up a hand, as if to stop whatever strange explanation he was about to give. “First, why are you stepping on bread? Second, why are you here, in this park, at the exact same time as me?”

His smile didn’t falter, but something in his gaze shifted. It became more calculated, as though he was about to beat you up– okay maybe not literally. 

“Coincidence, perhaps,” he said, though the tone of his voice suggested otherwise. “Or maybe it’s fate.”

You took a step back, your instincts telling you that fate wasn’t the right answer. “You’re not stalking me, are you?”

“Stalking is such an ugly word.” He tilted his head, his expression almost amused. “Let’s just say… I find you interesting.”

Your stomach flipped, and not in a romantic way at all. “Right. Well, maybe don’t ‘find me’ again, okay?” you say, giving emphasis to the ‘find me’ with your two index and middle fingers on both hands.

He took a step closer, and you immediately regretted not leaving sooner. “I have a proposition,” he said smoothly, ignoring your obvious discomfort.

“Another game?” you guessed.

“Not quite.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out something that made your heart race—a single piece of folded paper. Ddakji.

“Nope, no way,” you said, backing away. “I’m not doing this again.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his smile widening. “This time, the stakes are higher.”

Then you stopped. Halted in your position. “You really wanna try again after losing? You’ve got guts. Or maybe you’re just dumb. Who knows?”

He rolled his eyes at you and pulled out the same two tiles. 

“Oh! You’ve got another one,” you mentioned, reminding him of the night.

“Yea yea… let’s start,” he demanded.

To your surprise, you won again. Well, won most of the rounds. He seemed a bit frustrated at the outcome. 

“What? You upset?” you tease.

“...” 

He didn’t respond. 

You flipped the tile in your hands again, a smug grin plastered on your face. “You know, for someone who’s so insistent on playing, you’re really not that good at this.”

His jaw tightened, but the polite smile stayed in place. “Luck doesn’t last forever, ma’am.”

“Maybe not, but it sure seems to be holding up today,” you say while stuffing your winnings into your pocket. “Thanks for the cash, by the way. It’s not everyday someone bankrolls my coffee addiction.”

He didn’t respond right away, instead adjusting his cuffs with an almost mechanical precision. You could tell he was trying not to let your teasing get to him.

“So,” you continued, leaning against a nearby tree, “is this what you do for fun? Wander around challenging strangers to games you’re bad at?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. “I wouldn’t say I’m bad.”

“Oh? The scoreboard says otherwise,” you shot back, gesturing to the imaginary tally in the air. “I’m up by, what, a hundred rounds?”

His smile faltered for the shortest moment, and you felt a spark of triumph. “You’re quite the character,” he said finally, his tone more measured.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said, shrugging. “Anyway, thanks for the game. I’ll be sure to tell my friends about the weird guy in the park who hands out money for getting owned at ddakji.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You won’t have to. They’ll find out for themselves.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer, instead stepping closer and plucking the tile from your hand with surprising speed. You blinked at the empty space where it had been.

“Hey! That’s mine!” you protested.

“Consider it a rematch token,” he said, tucking the tile neatly into his pocket. “When you’re ready to lose, find me.”

“Lose? You’re delusional,” you scoffed.

He gave you a slight bow, his polished demeanor back in full force. “Until next time, ma’am.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving you with a mix of irritation and amusement.

“Next time, I’m taking your shoes too!” you called after him.

He raised a hand in a lazy wave but didn’t look back.

You shook your head, letting out a breathy laugh. “What a weirdo.”

Still, as you walked back to your bench, you found yourself wondering if there really would be a next time. And if there was, you weren’t planning to lose.

—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three consecutive knocks at your door. You wondered who it was. You hesitated for a moment, eyeing the door warily. It was late, and you hadn’t been expecting anyone. You didn’t have many visitors… well, actually, you had no visitors, except for the occasional delivery or perhaps a neighbor. The knocks repeated again, a bit harsher this time.

"Who the hell is it?" you muttered under your breath before rising from the couch and moving cautiously towards the door. Then you peeked through the peephole, but the hallway was empty.

A chill ran down your spine, and for a moment, you considered not answering. Maybe it was just some mistake, or a knock meant for someone else. But then the thoughts of being too paranoid crept in, and you didn’t want to seem like an idiot ignoring a visitor.

You pulled the door open a bit, just enough to see who was there.

And behold, there he was—the ddakji guy. Of course. How the heck did he dodge the peephole? He’s quite tall.

His smile was as unnerving as always, that same polite grin he always wore that never failed to send a shiver through you. He was standing there, holding a small black briefcase in his right hand. His suit, crisp as always, was illuminated by the light, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something about his presence wasn’t exactly… safe. 

“Ah, I knew you were home,” he said, as if he’d known the entire time you were debating whether or not to open the door.

“Are you… stalking me?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, trying to maintain your composure despite the strange situation.

“Stalking is such a harsh word,” he said smoothly, giving his usual tilt of the head. “I still much prefer… coincidence… or fate,”

You crossed your arms, still not entirely convinced. “Fate? That sounds like a line you use on people before you scam them into some ridiculous deal.”

He chuckled lightly. “I assure you, no deals. Just a proposition.” He took a step closer, his presence suddenly more intimidating than before. “I’ve come to finish what we started.”

You frowned, the memory of your last meeting flashing through your mind. From the look on his face after you won the game, and the way he seemed so nonchalant about everything.

“I’m pretty sure I already finished it,” you shot back, trying to sound unaffected. “I won. You lost. End of story.”

He didn’t seem fazed by your resistance. “Maybe. But I don’t think it’s over just yet. You see, I have another game in mind. One you might find… more interesting.”

You were about to shut the door, but then he grabbed hold of the side to stop you.

“Just wait a second,” he said, his strength much overpowering yours.

What the hell was this guy’s deal?

You frowned, the memory of your last meeting flashing through your mind. From the look on his face after you won the game, and the way he seemed so nonchalant about everything. But now... there was something in his eyes. Something darker. And it made your breath catch in your throat.

"How many times do I have to say it?I’m pretty sure I already finished it," you shot back, trying to sound as mean as possible to shoo him away, but you couldn’t silence the sound of your heart pounding loudly in your chest. "I won. You lost. End of story."

He didn’t seem fazed by your resistance. In fact, his smile only widened, an almost predatory glint in his eyes.

"Maybe. But I don’t think it’s over just yet. You see, I have another game in mind. One you might find… much more interesting."

Your breath hitched as he stepped closer. Too close. The air around you suddenly felt thick and heavy. Before you could react, he reached up, his fingers lightly brushing against your arm as he held the door open just a little wider, his grip surprisingly strong.

“Just wait a second,” he said in that low, smooth voice, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "This time, there’s no escape."

You swallowed hard, a mix of confusion and arousal swirling inside you. Why was he doing this? Why were you still standing there? Why was your body betraying you, craving something you couldn’t quite put into words?

You tried to back away, but he was already pressing himself into the doorway, the scent of his cologne filling your senses. He leaned in closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off his body. His hand reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering a little too long.

“I told you,” he whispered, his voice low and rough now. “I don’t lose.”

Before you could say anything, he closed the distance completely and pressed his lips into yours. It was fierce, demanding, his hands on your waist pulling you closer, the pressure of his body sending shockwaves through you. You gasped into the kiss, feeling the heat intensify as he deepened it, his tongue sweeping into your mouth.

Your hands, on instinct, found their way to his chest, but he was already guiding you back into your apartment, the door falling closed behind him with a soft thud. You barely noticed it as your body reacted to him. Instinctively, your hands were pulling him closer, your legs weak with need.

He paused only for a moment, pulling back just enough to look at you. The lust in his eyes made your pulse race. “You wanted a challenge, right?” he said, his voice husky. “Let’s see how far you’re willing to go now.”

And then, with a swift motion, he pushed you back against the wall, and his hands started to explore your body, touching every part of you. You let out a breathless laugh, caught between the strange tension and the undeniable pull between you two. You felt the weight of him press against you, the tent unmistakable in his pants.

“I think you’ve already won,” you said, breathless, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Is that so?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement. He pulled back slightly, giving you a look that sent a jolt of desire straight to your core. “Then let’s see if you’re ready to finish this game.”

His lips gradually moved to your neck, kissing and biting softly as his hands slid beneath your clothes, feeling the smoothness of your skin. Every touch made you shiver, every kiss igniting a fire within you. You gasped as his hands worked their way down, finding the heat between your legs, making you ache for him even more.

Without another word, he slowly undid your clothing, his movements deliberate and controlled, yet full of hunger. His lips trailed down your body, each touch, each caress, sending you into a spiral. By the time his hands found their way to your most sensitive spots, you were already a mess, your body aching for more.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice dark and velvety, as he hovered above you, his fingers teasing just at the edge of what you needed. You nodded, too far gone to hold back any longer.

"Then let's finish what we started," he says. 

The game is much simpler now. The only rule being… the first to cum loses.

[chrattho1]

bsf!chris x reader

“what took you so long?”

summary: chris is in love with you more or less,he never made a move on you though, always scared that might ruin your friendship. but now that you’re taken—he wants you even more. in your grey set that he loves so much, you come around for a movie night and he is painfully hard the moment he sees you walk in.

warnings: male masturbation, pet names(?) idk what else to put in, not proofread

a/n: this is a blurb for my bsf! chris au,find more of it here

“we’re not watching cars for the third movie night in a row chris!” you snatch the remote from his hands and settle down next to him on the bed.

too close for his liking.

dont get him wrong, being close to you only makes him happy, the way you smell, the way your hair smells and sometimes tickles his face when you move. but right now he is focused on covering the lower half of his body with the covers, to say that he has a raging boner is an understatement.

“do whatever kid, and can you move i feel nauseated by your perfume” he puts his head on the headboard, trying to act like he is not in excruciating pain.

“woah there, whats got you all riled up?” you ask, tilting your face so its closer to his.

chris’s breath hitches the moment he feels your pretty features come close to his flushed ones. your long lashes fluttering as you blink at him in question, your plump lips sitting ideally waiting for an answer, a small strand of hair falling in between your eyes—right above your nose. god you’re beautiful.

“nothing im just snacky, mind getting me some snacks from downstairs?” he asks with a sincere smile.

you nod thinking nothing suspicious of it, he does get hangry alot so this was nothing new.

you walk out the room telling him to pick a movie before you come back.

chris watches you walk out, your ass swaying in perfect sync in that soft material that sticks to you, his thoughts not helping him one bit. he quickly puts a hand under the covers,reaching his hand down to adjust himself just a little bit before you come in again. that slight friction from his hands making him bite his lips.

“okay..i got you skittles and pepsi, thank you for restocking redbull before i come, you’re the best” the comment earning you a wink from chris to which you smile, his cheeky behaviour is not-not normal to you, thats how he has always been.

you both settle on watching “how to lose a guy in 10 days” , because , well chris lost the rock-paper-scissors game.

not even halfway through the movie, you notice chris moving every few moments, shifting and stirring next to you.

“motherfucker, could you stay still for a moment im trying watch the movie!” you yell lowly at him clearly not aware of the agony he is in right now.

“my allergies are making me itchy” chris whines and speaks softly knowing you’re too focused on the movie currently to actually pay attention or listen to him.

and then he realised it. you are too distracted.

“im going to go to the bathroom” he finally decides he’s going to do something about it or else he might come in his pants just by looking at you for so long (he has been staring this entire time, ofcourse).

you nod in response watching him go up to the bathroom attached to his room.

“turn the volume up will you? i wanna hear whats happening in the movie” he says standing by the doorframe of the bathroom, his oversized hoodie kind of covering the tent in his sweats.

“i can just pause it until you come back weirdo” you shrug at him with a mouth full of skittles.

“nah, i might take a little while” he smiles at your disgusted face, watching as you turn the volume up.

he closes the bathroom door behind him and lets out a huge sigh,he looks at himself in the mirror not believing what he is about to do with you sitting right outside.

he pulls his sweats down, looking down at his boxers which have a dark patch growing on them.

he cups his dick through them, biting his lips to prevent letting out any sounds.

he strokes himself a couple of times over his boxers before pulling them down,his cock springing up—desperate for touch more than ever, his tip swollen and leaking.

his thumb spreads the bead of pre-cum leaking from the tip, making him groan softly, his hand drags from there to the base of his dick, slowly starting to pump his slick cock in his hand.

“fuck” he curses softly, thinking about you— who is in his room right now, sitting on his bed, the bed that he has imagined doing the most unimaginable things to you on.

“oh—shiiit” his strokes get faster,the contact of his hand with his dick making wet sounds, but the movie playing outside is still louder.

“chris!” he hears you call him, but he doesn’t respond, scared his voice might betray him and let out a moan.

hearing your voice only made him feel closer, closer to cumming, cumming on your face, cumming in you, cumming in your mouth, these are all the things he thinks about, that grey set stained with his release.

“fuck-f-fuck-oh—-fuck ma- im-gon” his voice breaks apart with whimpers.

“ah—shit” with that, hot, white ropes of cum spray all over his hoodie.

his legs quiver when he looks down at the mess he’s made.

he quickly gets rid of the hoodie, balls it up and throws it into the laundry basket that he started keeping in the bathroom after nick told him too, thanks nick-he thinks.

he was still wearing a black tee under so he wasn’t walking out shirtless, its not like you’ve never seen him shirtless but he wanted to be decent (?)

he cleans himself up and walks out of the bathroom in a record of 6 mins. yes .

he sat down next to you,now comfortably snuggling close.

“what took you so long? and wheres your hoodie?” you ask him,noticing that his hoodie is not on him anymore

“had some bad food for dinner last night, and the hoodie was making me hot and itchy” he smiles at you when you reply with an “ew” not questioning his response.

taglist: @espressqe @ginswife @nononononshahsbba @sturnsburna @carolina454 @hope2244 @hotgirlbl0gger @violetstxrniolo777 @riggysworld @verycoolmiyah @kier-with-a-k @fadedstvrn @purpledreamertyphoon @mattsplaything @numberonekiddie @whore4chris @chris-hallelujah @sl4ttformattsturniolo @annsx03 @mattsdemi @chrisslittleslut @chrislittleslut @poolover123 @luvvnai @chrissturniolossidehoe @pompomprrin @idkwhatthisis2009 @harmonysturniolo @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @soph-loren @ccsturns @lovesturni0l0s @chriss-slutt @wysmols @sturniolosluttt @mattsdillion @alyssa-sturn @herewegoagain-b @bilssturns @sturnobessed @mxnsonn @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosymphony @chrissturnioloswife88 @sxphiee3 @purpledreamertyphoon @whoreforchrissturnniolo

[neeeooon]

bllk characters when we randomly kiss them (and engulf them in a bear bug) out of nowhere, it could be a very soft and sweet kiss or we kiss them like it’s the end of the world :3

maybe with isagi, rin, sae, chigiri, reo, and nagi?

cuteee thank you for the req!! 💛

when you’re randomly affectionate

bf bllk x gn!reader. fluff

isagi yoichi

-> you can’t help it. his outfit had a wrinkle that gave him a little fabric belly, he had a star-shaped pimple patch beneath his right eye, and his sprout grew a friend

-> suddenly you’re launching yourself at your unsuspecting boyfriend, pinning his arms to his sides as you encase him in a bear hug

-> “wh—y/n?! can’t.. breathe…” you squeeze harder until you feel a crack and release him, isagi going dramatically limp against you

-> “please tell me that was your back and not your neck.” “owwww.”

itoshi rin

-> he was focused on analyzing a professional soccer match, and you know better than to interrupt his “me time” but you can’t stop the urges

-> “rin?” he blinks. you wait a couple seconds until a commercial break comes on, then try again. “rin?” “yes?”

-> you don’t remember crawling over to him but suddenly your arms are looped around his neck and shoulders, pulling him against you as you kiss him like your life depends on it

-> rin takes a second to process what’s happening before sneaking his hand into your hair and tugging you closer, kissing you harder. when you finally part, you’re a blushing mess. “sorry. i just really wanted to kiss you.” “uh-huh..”

itoshi sae

-> he’s in the kitchen cooking eggs because “protein, y/n. you need it.” when you approach from behind

-> you aren’t exactly trying to be stealthy as you wrap your arms around his waist. sae glances briefly over his shoulder, and you take that moment to place a collection of soft, almost shy kisses against his cheek, jaw, and the corner of his lips

-> he hums as he plates the eggs, moving slow so you can follow without having to let go of his waist. “feeling clingy?” you kiss his clothed shoulder in reply, smiling when his chuckle rumbles through you. “i’ll take that as a yes.”

chigiri hyoma

-> chigiri steps out of the bathroom, towel ruffling his damp hair, and you’re overcome with the urge to hug

-> “hyoma,” you drawl as you stumble off the bed and flop against him, nestling your face against the crook of his neck and kissing whatever your lips come in contact with. “you smell good.”

-> “i just got out of the shower—y/n, where are you, oh god.” he blurts as you walk him back to the bed, pushing all your weight on him so you fall into the mattress together. “i have to dry my hair.”

-> “stay,” you hum as you innocently lay against him, arms still hugging him tight. “just for a minute. i need this.” “… fine. one minute.”

mikage reo

-> it’s the end of the world. your boyfriend stepped away to take a phone call fifteen minutes ago. who takes phone calls for fifteen minutes?

-> when he returns, ready to apologize for making you wait, he instead screams when you jump off the bed and directly onto him. caught off guard, he doesn’t have time to catch you properly, and you both come crashing to the ground

-> “ow,” he moans as you lay on top of him, smothering him with your body as you decorate his face with your desperate kisses. “i almost died, reo!” “i was gone ten minutes..” “fifteen, actually, and that’s fourteen more than usual!”

-> he chuckles into your hair and kisses you back. “sorry, sweetheart. next time, i’ll tell them my partner is chronically clingy and needs my full attention.” “thank you!”

nagi seishiro

-> you don’t know why you’re suddenly desperate to attach yourself to your boyfriend, but you aren’t going to resist

-> “y/n—oh.” nagi doesn’t stand a chance as you roll over and wrap your limbs around him like he’s a tree. you bury your face against his chest and squeeze, trying to get as close as possible. “need hugs?”

-> he feels you nod against him and somehow manages to slip his arms from your demon grip. nagi lazily hugs you back and places a kiss to your head. “mmm. comfy?” “yeah.” “good.”

[nekonaps0]

Excuse me… SIR?! Pt3

✦part1 part2

✦characters: first years

✦gn!reader

✦the boys suddenly cracked a naughty, suggestive joke

✦you guys really loved the “You are NAUGHTY!!” Series so what if we switch it up and the boys gonna surprise you this time!?👀

Ace Trappola

You were sitting together on the couch in ramshackle, and you reached for the popcorn in his lap. His voice was calm, smug even:

“Careful where you reach, babe. Unless you’re trying to grab something other than popcorn.”

You freeze. Arm extended. Soul leaving your body.

“Ace! WTF?!”

He grins wide, clearly loving the way your face goes up in flames.

“What? Can’t a guy have a little fun? You're the one digging around down there~”

You throw a cushion at him. He cackles and dodges.

“You are unbelievable!”

“Aw, come on, It was a joke! You’re cute when you’re all shy like that. I should say stuff like this more often.”

Help. He will say worse next time!!

Deuce Spade

You were patching up a small scrape on his arm, being all sweet and gentle, when he accidentally dropped this line:

“I think I’m developing a condition. Every time you touch me, my heart does… weird things. Like—like I’m overheating. Down there.”

You paused. He paused.

“W-WAIT! NOT—NOT LIKE THAT—!! I MEANT—MY STOMACH—NO—MY LEGS—WAIT—!!”

You stared in shock. He was melting. Blue hair fluffing up in panic.

“I-I’m not trying to be weird I SWEAR!!”

You burst into laughter, and he just buried his face in his hands.

“Please forget I said that. Or kill me. Either works.”

Jack Howl

You were play-wrestling with him, something you always did, until this time he pinned you down and said, dead serious:

“You keep letting me win like that and I’m gonna start thinking you like being underneath me.”

BOOM.

Silence. You stared at him, wide-eyed. He blinked.

“...What?”

You just kept staring.

“Wait. Did that sound… oh. Oh.”

He stood up immediately, face red, ears flattened in embarrassment.

“That came out wrong. I meant in a battle sense—! I wasn’t—!!”

You started laughing.

He groaned and covered his face.

“Stop laughing—! I didn’t mean it like that!!”

Now you’re both flustered idiots.

Epel Felmier

You were helping him fix his uniform collar after he’d come back from spelldrive training, all windblown and flushed. He grumbled, face pink but still trying to act cool.

“You’re fussin’ over me like we are married…”

You laughed. “Well, someone’s gotta take care of you.”

Then he smirked. That dangerous, Epel-is-up-to-something smirk.

“If I say I want a reward for lettin’ you baby me… would you sit in my lap or would you ride it?”

You choked.

“EPEL! WHAT THE HELL?!”

He grinned, clearly proud of himself.

“Heh~ I knew I’d get that look outta you. Who’s blushin’ now, huh?”

You tried to scold him, but he was too proud of himself.

Sebek Zigvolt

You were helping him clean his sword when you jokingly called him your “knight in shining armor.” He turned dead serious, chest puffed with pride, and declared:

“If I were truly your knight, then I would ravish you like in the human romance stories!! Wait—NO—I MEANT—!!”

You choked.

“RAVISH?!!”

Sebek turned red all the way to his neck. He started waving his arms like a malfunctioning NPC.

“I meant protect!! Protect!! CURSE THESE HUMAN WORDS!!”

Lilia was laughing so hard in the background you could hear it through the walls. You were wheezing. Sebek was panicking.

“DISREGARD THAT STATEMENT! I AM STILL A CHASTE AND LOYAL KNIGHT!!”

He will never live it down. You’ll quote it back to him every time he tries to scold you.

..............................................................................................................................

[applepiiex]

HOUSE A HOME ! ! !

Toji Fushiguro x Male!Reader

Toji Fushiguro’s apartment has never known softness, until you. In a home that reeks of old regrets and fresh bruises, you scrub the floors, patch the holes, and feed his boy like he’s yours. Toji should kick you out before you see too much. Before you make it too easy to believe he deserves warmth. But tonight, for once, he lets himself stay where it’s clean and quiet...and calls it home.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆ ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Toji Fushiguro lets the door slam shut behind him. It rattles in the frame, like everything in this half-rotten apartment, the hinges need fixing. He’s halfway through cracking his neck when the quiet catches him first: no crying, no rustle of a restless baby, no faint radio hum from some neighbor’s tinny speakers. Just… clean silence.

His eyes drag over the room as he kicks off his boots. The stack of takeout boxes he left in the corner is gone. The sticky coffee table he never wipes down doesn’t have the sheen of dried beer anymore. There’s a faint scent of soap and… something warm, something homey. Curry maybe.

He pads further in. The bedroom door is ajar. Inside, his boy, his tiny, suspicious-eyed Megumi, is dead asleep in his crib. The blankets are new, soft blue with cartoon dogs. Toji frowns at that, he didn’t buy those. He didn’t do any of this.

The answer’s on the couch.

You’re there, half-curled up under a ragged old blanket that barely covers your shoulders. Your hair’s mussed from dozing, one arm draped off the edge. Next to you on the scratched coffee table sits a steaming bowl with foil over it and a folded napkin. For him.

Toji rubs a hand over his jaw, eyes lingering on the neat little sight you make so stupidly domestic, like you belong here with all the grime and half-finished fixes and the kid you didn’t make but keep caring for anyway.

He ought to wake you up. Ought to grumble at you for wasting your time scrubbing floors that’ll be dirty again tomorrow. Ought to remind you you’re not his wife, not Megumi’s mother, not anything that should be shackled to this shit-stained place.

But instead, he sits down on the floor beside your sleeping form, back against the couch. Reaches up, tucks that slipping blanket back around your shoulders.

“‘S too good for me,” he mutters to nobody, maybe to the cracked ceiling, maybe to the ghosts that like to whisper at him when it’s this quiet.

And then he just listens to the soft, steady sound of your breathing.

Tomorrow he’ll ruin it again. He always does. But tonight, for this breath, for this heartbeat, Toji Fushiguro lets himself feel like he’s got a home.

Toji shifts carefully off the floor, not wanting to wake you. He peels back the foil on the bowl you left. It’s curry, just like he guessed, thick and rich with chunks of carrot and potato. It’s hot too, you must’ve timed it so it’d be fresh when he walked in. He grunts under his breath, the lump in his throat as unwelcome as it is unfamiliar.

He sits on the coffee table, spoon scraping gently against the ceramic. First bite burns his tongue but he barely cares. He eats fast, like a man who doesn’t know when the next good meal’s coming. Which, for him, is mostly true.

Behind him, there’s a tiny rustle.

“Pa…?”

Toji twists halfway around, spoon still in his mouth. There’s Megumi in the bedroom doorway, cheeks flushed from sleep, hair sticking up in all directions. He’s clutching that stupid little dog blanket you got him, the one you fussed about because Toji never bothered to buy his kid decent sheets.

“What’re you doin’ up, brat?” Toji asks around a mouthful.

Megumi scuffs his bare toes against the floor. “‘M hungry.”

Toji huffs out a short laugh that’s more air than humor. “Ain’t got any food for you. Wait ‘til tomorrow—”

Megumi shakes his head, scowling just like him. “No. He put food in the fridge.” He points a tiny finger at you, still knocked out cold on the couch. “‘S for me. He said.”

Toji frowns. He pushes himself up with a grunt, walks to the fridge with the curry still steaming in his hand. Sure enough, containers stacked neatly on the top shelf. Labeled, too: ‘Megumi — mild curry’, ‘Megumi — chicken soup’, ‘Megumi — rice, soft veggies’.

“Fuck…” Toji mutters under his breath, so quiet Megumi won’t repeat it.

He pops open a container, nukes it in the microwave. Megumi watches him with big, tired eyes, blanket dragged behind him like a tail. When Toji sets the warm bowl and tiny spoon on the table, Megumi clambers onto the couch next to you and digs in without a word.

Toji just stands there, curry in one hand, watching his son eat food he didn’t cook in a house he never really made a home, but you did. You, asleep with a tiny smile flickering on your lips, even now.

He catches Megumi’s quiet voice between mouthfuls: “Thank you, Papa.”

Toji looks down at the half-empty bowl in his hand. Swallows the knot.

“…Yeah. ‘S nothing.”

But he glances at you when he says it, and knows it’s not nothing at all.

Megumi finishes his little bowl of curry with sleepy, determined bites, blinking owlishly up at Toji in the dim kitchen light. He tries so hard not to yawn, but his eyes water anyway. Toji smirks, ruffling that messy black hair with his big palm.

“Come on, brat. Bedtime again.”

Megumi grumbles but obeys, trailing after Toji as he pads down the short hall to the bathroom. Toji flips the light on and pauses.

For a second he just stands there, curry still warm in his belly, watching the quiet proof of you in every corner. The cracked old sink has new toothbrushes lined up in a cup. One for him, one little one for Megumi, and one he figures must be yours. Tiny kid toothpaste sits beside real shampoo instead of the shitty all-in-one bottle he used to rinse Megumi’s hair.

Megumi tugs at the hem of Toji’s sweats, wanting to be lifted up. Toji obliges, perching him on the counter so he can help with brushing.

“Open up. Lemme see those fangs,” Toji mutters, pretending to growl, and Megumi giggles around the brush.

When he’s done, Toji wipes the toothpaste from his son’s chin with surprising care. He flicks the light off and steers Megumi back to the bedroom, but Megumi stops at the door, pointing.

“Look.”

Toji already saw it, but his throat tightens anyway. The dusty old futon is made up with new baby-blue sheets, a matching blanket. Beside it, stacked neat, are three or four slim storybooks with big bright pictures, and a battered stuffed bear you must have found at some thrift store.

Toji swipes a palm over his jaw, too rough for how soft he’s feeling. “Hn. Lucky kid, huh?”

Megumi nods solemnly, already crawling onto the fresh sheets. He hugs the bear tight. Toji tucks him in, big hands oddly gentle for someone who’s usually all scars and violence.

Before he turns off the light, Megumi pipes up, voice small in the night:

“Will he stay?”

Toji freezes in the doorway, staring at the lump under the covers. “…Who?”

“‘Im. The one who cooks. He’s nice.”

Toji thinks about you, passed out on the couch, bunny-soft and warm even in sleep, still here when he should’ve scared you off ages ago.

“Yeah,” he grunts, low enough that Megumi’s probably half asleep before he hears it. “He’ll stay.”

He flicks the light off, closing the door with the softest click he can manage.

And when he pads back out to the main room, he pauses by the couch, just watching you breathe, the soft rise and fall under the ratty blanket.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” he mutters. But his hand drifts down anyway, brushing a stray hair from your forehead.

Maybe he’ll tell you tomorrow. That you’re family now, whether you meant to be or not.

You stir awake to the familiar weight of someone big shifting near the couch. The scratch of stubble against your temple makes you smile even before your eyes open. Toji’s sitting on the battered coffee table, elbows on his knees, watching you like he’s been doing it for a while.

“Mornin’,,” he grunts, voice low but not unkind.

You blink sleepily, rubbing your eyes. “You eat the food?”

Toji snorts. “Yeah. Quit fussin’.” But his hand drifts to your hair again, fingers carding through it with the same rough gentleness you’ve grown addicted to.

You shift to sit up and immediately start rattling off plans. “Okay, I gotta pick up more detergent, the lightbulb in Megumi’s room is about to blow, and I should grab more milk—”

Toji scowls, cutting you off with a sharp look. “Why the fuck do you care? Sit your ass down. This ain’t your house. I get sick of you, you’re gone. That easy.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it, , that bluff, that threat. But you don’t flinch. You just smile, sleepy and stubborn, and lean into his palm when he tries to push you back down.

“Maybe,” you murmur, catching his wrist. “But I love Megumi. And I love you. So I care.”

His jaw ticks. He hates when you say it so casually like it’s obvious, like it doesn’t scare him shitless.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot.”

You grin. “Yeah, but I’m your idiot. Now move. I gotta grab fresh sheets for your bed too. These ones are a crime.”

He tries to argue, tries to bark that you’re wasting your time but when you stand, warm and half rumpled from sleep, pressing a soft kiss to his stubbled cheek, the fight leaves him all at once.

“…Fine. But you’re takin’ my card.” He growls, pressing the old beat-up credit card into your palm. “You’re not wastin’ your own cash on my mess.”

You beam at him. “Yes, sir.”

And he can’t help it, he grabs your chin, kisses you hard enough to make you breathless, muttering against your lips, “Hurry the fuck back. Megumi’ll ask for you first thing.”

You whisper back, soft and sure, “I always do.”

It’s late when Toji drags himself up the dingy stairwell, boots muddy, hoodie smelling like stale sweat and cheap whiskey. Another dirty job done. Another handful of bills shoved deep in his pocket. He fully expects to find the apartment dark, the hall cluttered, the air stale and heavy.

Instead, when he unlocks the door, he’s met by soft light flickering from a corner of the living room.

A brand-new little TV, not fancy, but bright and clear, hums gently on the rickety stand. Megumi is sprawled on a clean rug right in front of it, eyes wide and glued to some colorful cartoon, a little bowl of sliced fruit beside him.

Toji’s tired eyes drag up and around the room. There’s fresh paint on the old walls nothing fancy, but enough to cover the worst water stains and scribbles. Even that big hole he punched near the bedroom door last year is patched up, sanded smooth and painted over.

The place doesn’t smell like dust and cigarettes anymore. It smells like clean laundry, something sweet bubbling faintly in the kitchen.

Megumi notices him, tiny mouth forming a sleepy grin. “Papa!”

Toji huffs a soft laugh, crouching to ruffle his hair. “Hey, brat. Who let you watch TV this late?”

Megumi giggles, points toward the hallway. “He did!”

Toji glances up just in time to see you step out of the bedroom, sleeves rolled, hands dusted with a bit of paint. You freeze mid-step, caught, a sheepish smile tugging at your lips.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You’re back early.”

Toji just stares for a heartbeat at the fresh walls, the tiny TV, the giggling kid, the clean floor that doesn’t stick to his boots anymore.

“…You painted.”

You nod, wiping your palms on your sweatpants. “Yeah. And patched up the holes. Figured it’s about time Megumi has a real place to grow up in.”

His throat tightens, unfamiliar and annoying. “You… bought a TV?”

“Secondhand. Good deal. He likes cartoons before bed, it keeps him calm.” You tilt your head, eyes softening when you see how hard he’s blinking, fists clenching like he doesn’t know where to put them. “Go shower. I’ll heat up some stew. Then maybe you can sit here and watch a show with your son for once, hm?”

Toji scoffs but it’s weak, easily swallowed by the lump in his chest. He drags a hand through Megumi’s messy hair again, eyes fixed on you like you’re some vision he still can’t believe he gets to keep.

“…Keep spoilin’ my kid, huh?” he mutters.

You grin back. “Only because he deserves it. And so do you.”

Toji drags himself through a quick shower, hot water pounding the grime and blood from his skin until the steam fogs the tiny mirror. When he steps out, he catches himself in the glass scarred, tired, someone who looks half-feral and yet still has that stupid soft tug in his chest at the thought of finding you waiting in his crumbling apartment.

Toji wakes up later than he means to, body sore from weeks of bad beds and worse jobs, but for once the ache feels like it’s softened under the warmth of clean sheets and the faint scent of coffee drifting from the cramped kitchen.

He drags on sweatpants, rakes a hand through his messy hair, and follows the sound of giggling.

You’re there exactly where you always end up, barefoot in front of the tiny stove, humming to yourself while a stack of cartoon-shaped pancakes grows on a chipped plate. Megumi’s perched at the table in his booster seat, still in his too-big sleep shirt, chubby hands clapping delightedly at the mess of syrup and fruit on his plate.

Each pancake is its own goofy clown face: strawberry noses, whipped cream hair, chocolate chip eyes. The toddler squeals when you plop another onto his plate and give it a silly voice, “Hello, Mister Giggle Belly! Eat me up!”, before you pretend to make it talk to Megumi’s delighted laughter.

Toji watches from the doorway, one shoulder propped against the frame. Something in his chest twists, tight and unfamiliar, when he sees the sticky syrup on Megumi’s cheeks and the way you glance back over your shoulder, beaming at him like he’s the whole damn sunrise.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” You grin, spatula still in hand. “Hungry? Or do you want a clown pancake too?”

Megumi turns, cheeks puffed with food. He shoves his fork out in offering half his pancake, proudly mangled. “Papa! Eat clown!” he chirps, and Toji swears his heart nearly caves in.

He crosses the little kitchen in three steps, ruffles Megumi’s messy hair, and leans down to steal a sticky kiss from your lips.

“You’re spoilin’ him, y’know that?” he mutters against your mouth, but he’s smiling, so soft it’s barely recognizable on him.

You just kiss him again, sweeter than syrup. “Good. He deserves it. So do you.”

Toji huffs a laugh, low in his throat, then grabs a fork, sits down beside Megumi, and lets himself eat clown pancakes too. Just for a while, the world outside doesn’t exist.

You’ve settled Megumi back on the rug, now curled up against Toji’s thigh while a cartoon plays too loud in the background. You press a steaming bowl into Toji’s big palm, nudging him until he sits back against the battered couch. Then you squeeze into the little sliver of space left at his side, blanket draped over your own shoulders but spreading it to cover him too, like he’d ever admit he wants that warmth.

Megumi’s already dozing, small head resting heavy on Toji’s knee. The show drones on in soft colors and squeaky voices, but Toji doesn’t watch it, not really. He watches you instead: the way you sneak glances at him when you think he won’t notice, the tired softness in your eyes, the way you lean closer without asking.It’s quiet enough he almost misses it. Your voice, whisper-quiet against the screen’s flicker, “I know…” You hesitate, like you’re afraid the words will break him if they land wrong. “I know I can’t ever… replace her. I’d never try to, Toji. She was… she’s Megumi’s mama. Yours too, in a way I can’t be. I know that.”

Toji’s jaw tenses. He wants to snap at you, tell you to shut up, but you keep going before he can find the words.

“But I can still try to… to give him what she’d want for him. A clean place. Warm food. Toys. And I can try to give you… a family again. If you want it.”

Your hand brushes his under the blanket, timid, waiting for him to pull away. Toji doesn’t pull away. He grips your hand instead, rough fingers wrapping around yours tight enough to hurt.

He doesn’t say much, never does, but when you risk a glance at him, you see it all there in the way his eyes have gone suspiciously shiny, the line of his throat bobbing with a wordless swallow.

“Dumbass,” he rasps, voice hoarse. “Don’t say shit like that. You already are.”

Before you can ask what he means, he tugs you closer. So close your side is pressed to his, so close you feel Megumi’s sleepy breaths against your leg, so close you feel the quiet tremble when Toji lowers his head just enough to brush his forehead against your temple.

“…’s good,” he murmurs, rough but softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Stay. Keep doin’ it. ‘S good for him. Good for me.”

And for the first time, you believe he means it.

[riricatria]

Hi, hi~

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

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

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

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

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

S-FW

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NS-FW

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

It’s… a bit multifaceted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bondage

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

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

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

Toys, toys, even more toys, and overstimulation

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Banging you in his boss form

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… among other things

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A/N

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

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

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

Extra Special A/N

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

@yourfavouritecitizen

[bluetimeombre]

-* Strawberries

There are some things Joel misses after the end of times, he didn’t think something as sweet as strawberries would be one

- [thank you so much for 2,000 followers, insane, he’s something sweet while you wait. There’s making out and fruit involved but nothing to explicit. Smutty]

When discussing what you missed most in the end of times you thought of anything practical. Easy supply of period products, bread, hot showers.

You hadn't thought about fruit until you were faced with it.

You and Ellie decided to let Joel take his time in the shower and raiding the house that had once belonged to his 'friends' - Bill and Frank.

You'd only come on this job for the kid, apparently an immune with the ability of a cure. You didn't care for Joel, never had but you cared for getting to an end.

That was how you and her ended up lingering over a garden patch labelled with different vegetables and fruits. One stood out to you the most.

"Holy shit."

"Shit- what?" Ellie whipped around in every direction, looking for trouble. But you had already thrown your pack aside and practically dug into the ground to get to the sweet nectar.

As soon as you found one, whole, round red with flickering seeds, you held it up to the sun. It was whole. It was healthy. It was like nothing else in the world.

And it tasted better than you'd remembered. You moan around the juice on your lips and the taste that fell on your tongue.

At that moment the taste of forbidden fruit was the best thing in the world.

Ellie looked at you and at the ground before following suit, plucking one she assumed was alright. "What? It's a fruit."

"It's so much more than a fucking fruit," you licked your lips, looking around the yard. There were loads, enough to get buckets full. Bill and Frank must have been great people.

You were already checking around bushes and your pack.

"Should we take some back for Joel?" asked Ellie. For a kid faced with a lot of grim, she sure had manners.

You grumbled and said nothing. Instead, you pulled out scissors and begun.

✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°

By the time you and Ellie got back to the house, Joel had showered, even put on a nice checked shirt. He'd even combed back his hair.

When the door slammed he stood up, speaking in that familiar gruff voice. "Where have you been?"

Ellie grinned. "Well don't you look pretty!"

Joel shook his head. "Shut up," he looked back to you. You were older than Ellie, but still much younger than him. Still, easier to make sense of. "Where have you been?"

Ellie rolled her eyes as she couldn't miss how his voice softened for you.

You adjusted your pack, glaring at him.

He took a quick survey of you- a new habit of his. Your pants were mud stained at the knees, mud under your nails and... something sweeter about you.

Joel looked at your lips and he swore they'd never looked so inviting before. Never had they had such a sweetness to their look, or so glossed over. Or so red. "Why are your lips like that?"

Your fingers brushed your lips. "Like what?"

Kissable. Glossy. Delectable. He suddenly wished he hadn't said anything as you wiped away the beauty.

"We went strawberry picking!" said Ellie happily.

"You went what?" Joel's brows furrowed.

You huffed. "Are we done here?"

✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°ʚ🍓ɞ♡ ✧˖°

Only days later did Joel realise the new sweetness to your lips- when you and him were sitting across from each other, each making home on a tree while Ellie slept.

He'd invited you to sleep but you were to on edge. And that put him on edge. When you were on edge you became un-predictable and Joel didn't like unpredictable. He lived in fear when he couldn't work out your next move.

Like that night, when you laid out a cloth of the little red fruits out to him.

For a moment, Joel stared confused.

You shrug, taking your own pack of strawberries out. "They were gonna go bad."

Joel had a share of five.

"Strawberries?" he prodded them. He knew they still existed, he was the one who traded the pack of seeds to Frank. He just hadn't thought this would be what had him going crazy over you.

"What did you want? Banana's?" you sassed.

He rolled his eyes, fully prepared to tell you how disgusting your attitude was when he looked up.

Your lips were wrapped around the fruit, dragging on the seeds until your teeth sunk in just above the green leaf. There was a gentle slurp and then the strawberry was gone, leaving you to flick the greenery off.

Joel didn't care for eating his own. He cared for you eating the rest of them.

You went again for a second one. This one must have been juicier as the slurp was louder.

Holy fuc- what was Joel supposed to do? Shackled up with someone who didn't care about him and who he thought he cared even less for.

But there you were, taking every delicious drop of the fruit on your tongue. And it was getting him feral. His mouth was watering as he watched, his fingers trembling, his jeans tightening between his legs.

If you noticed, you didn't say anything, biting into the third.

It was smaller but a dribble of juice marked the corner of your lips.

Joel didn't know what he was doing. He almost couldn't believe he was carrying himself across the space and to you. No, not carrying.

Joel fucking crawled over to you.

Finally, you looked up at him, watching as he got closer with ease. Knees of the fifty-something year old avoiding the pile of strawberries you offered.

He slouched next to you as you waited for him to do something like tell you it was for warmth or to give Ellie more room. But he offered you nothing.

Nothing except his finger touching the corner of your lips were it was blotched with the fruit and dabbing it on his tongue. It tasted so much more sweeter coming from you.

"What are you-" words escaped in a lost breath.

"T'sweet," he mumbled.

Joel didn't want it to end. He thought really at that moment he'd abandon this whole thing and just settle on getting you a field of strawberries. Anything to see your lips smeared in the sweetness.

He reached over, taking one of the one's your offered him. He finally took a bite and started to understand why you'd got so worked up. It was a different and welcome taste.

You gulped watching him. The juice getting caught in his stubble around him. You wanted to reach up and brush it away like he had so casually, but you were rendered frozen.

Joel took away the strawberry, tip bitten off and looked at you.

It happened slowly, slow enough for you to tell him to stop. Or to grab his wrist or to sink your teeth into the fruit. You did none of those things.

You let Joel use the strawberry like it was god damn lipstick. He gently dragged it over your top lip- you accommodated by gasping and leaving your lips parted. There was a faint trace of the strawberry there.

Joel looked at your lip as he took it lower and dragged it along the bottom. Back and forth, repeating it like a silent prayer. He actually seemed to concentrate at the task at hand while he did, studying the stutter in your breath and the tilt of your chin.

You wanted it. And maybe you didn’t know, but Joel did.

He worked in your bottom lip before prodding with the fruit. "Open."

Any other time you’d have told him to ‘fuck off’ but now you obliged, empty in thoughts except for his.

Joel watched as your lips wrapped around the fruit and took what was left. He threw away the green.

You took it slowly, un-sure on where to go or what to do other than just eat.

Your jaw worked as you tasted the sweetness and Joel's hand crawled up the side of your face, creeping to hold your cheek while his thumb sat itself under your jaw to feel it move.

He watched you with nothing like how he had before. There was no distaste, no anger or annoyance. There was only wonder and something darker you didn't want to name. If you named it, it would become un-avoidable.

Joel's finger danced over your lips as you swallowed the last of the fruit, lips parting for a breath. With him this close to you, it was like you couldn't breathe.

Suddenly Joel's finger felt the warmth of your mouth and it wasn't enough. Wasn't nearly enough.

He surged forward and kissed you.

It wasn't gentle like you'd imagined. Stupidly you'd thought- in the small moments you did think about it- that Joel was a slow lover, that he took his time in learning and tasting.

It was anything but.

It was like he was trying to eat you.

His mouth was wide as it captured yours, his hand on you cheek holding you close to him as his tongue slithered in and searched your mouth. Just funning along yours sloppily wasn't enough, he needed to get the feel of your mouth.

And the taste of those strawberries.

But to you, nothing tasted better than the feeling of Joel Miller giving in. Of feeling him desperate for you like you'd been for him. The taste of your favourite fruit was becoming a distant memory as you dug your fingers into Joel's coat and tugged yourself closer to him until you were practically in his lap.

His lips sunk into your lips.

"Joel," you mewled.

"Shh," he shushed you, hand reaching out blindly aside him. He didn't want to look away from you for a second, scared that if he took his eye of you you'd rush off, you'd ruin his treat.

Joel grasped a strawberry and shoved it between the two of you. He pulled away only enough to shove the strawberry in your mouth.

Your moan was muffled as you took the fruit and had no choice but to chew it down as quick as you could before Joel's lips were on yours again.

His tongue ran over your bottom lip and he panted against you. "I... this is... so sweet."

Never had you known Joel to be lost for words.

You didn't mind.

He'd pulled away enough to catch his breath but you leaned in, lips brushing his. You took it slower, still getting the strawberry down. Your hands held onto his thighs, squeezing and moving up his jeans at a pace of torture.

There was a squelch noise that had you pulling away and licking your lips.

Joel had smushed the last strawberry between his fingers, creating a mess of red.

You looked down at the waste, chocking and about to chastise him when Joel adjusted and smeared it over your lips- down your jaw- down your neck. "J-Joel," you utter, tilting your head back as he created the path. "S'cold."

"I'll warm you, baby, jus' wait," he mumbled, too entranced in his work to focus on anything else.

Your hands wander up his arms and to his hair. "You-you like strawberries?"

Joel grumbled as he finished his work- making a mess of you. "I like you," he said, voice low and rough as if he'd slept hours. "Like you and Strawberries."

With that, he showed you his fingers that were smeared in bits of strawberry. He didn't have to say anything, you wanted it.

As Joel went to the base of your neck, where he'd pulled your jacket down to put the sweetness there, he went tongue first before sucking at the spot.

Your tongue darted out to his fingers, licking the stuff off like you would his cock. Fuck. The thought of strawberry and his cock sent your core on fire as you felt yourself slicken.

You clenched your thighs together as Joel forced his fingers into your mouth that closed around him.

His large and calloused hand dug into your thigh. "I know, baby, I know."

His lips missed away the mess he'd created as you continued to clean off his fingers. His tongue trailed up your neck and under your jaw where he spent a minute or two sucking off the juice.

Joel took away his fingers so he could tilt your neck to the side to get to every space.

"Joel, I need... I need you," you whispered. Damn you if anyone heard, if Ellie who slept only spaces away was awake.

"I know hun," he spoke into your neck, nipping the sore skin. "But I'm a bit busy right now."

You grumbled and whined, hips rocking against his leg.

"Oh, that's what you want?" he teased. Joel's hold on your thigh increased and he moved you to straddle his thigh. "Is that it? All you want?"

You shook your head as his lips kissed your cheek. "Want more."

"More?" he whispered. His lips brushed yours. "Greedy girl."

His tongue danced over your lips, licking off everything he put there.

Abruptly, you moved away from him, hands on his shoulders to steady yourself.

It took Joel a moment to come out of the stupor you'd put him in. Eventually, he blinked and looked around. "What?" had you heard something? Raiders, infected?

No. He felt something cold drag over his jaw line.

The last strawberry and you were offering it to him. You'd ran it along his jaw where his stubble sat and under his nose so he could inhale the sweetness that was slowly becoming yours.

Finally the tip ran along his lips and Joel grabbed your wrist in a grip to hurt.

His eyes, dark, darker still in the light of the moon, kept a hold of your gaze as he took the strawberry whole in his mouth. His teeth grazed the tips of your fingers as he took it.

Joel couldn't deny, it was heaven and knowing he'd taste it on you was heaven even more. Holding you was paradise and kissing you was where he wanted to die.

You watched as he made slow work on sending it off.

As soon as he had, Joel latched onto you.

His hands had grabbed onto your forearms and dragged you into his lap. Then his arm was wrapping around your waist and he was moving so you were lying on the sleeping bag and he could feel into your mouth deeply. His tongue could find itself a home in your mouth and it did.

It was all tongue and teeth, lips and biting. It was wet and it was new. It was sharing while with holding all emotion inside.

The only thing you shared was the sweetness of the strawberries.

"Taste," Joel trembled as he tore himself away from your lips, some of the juice from the fruit falling from the corner of your lips. He collected it with his thumb and sucked it off. "Taste so good, darlin'."

His hips rut into you as he ground upon your clothed sore. Your legs were tense as he moved and as you tried to stay silent.

Joel almost didn't care there was a kid in their presence. "Wanna, urm, when this is over get you all the strawberries you want, yeah?"

"O-Ok," you nod, shaking.

Joel looked down at you, kissing you quick. "Get you a whole damn strawberry field and fuck you in it too."

Your leg fit around his hips, tugging him closer. "Joel-"

A quick rustle and sound of disgust had Joel scrambling up and kneeling in the mud in front of you.

"Fucking hell!" Ellie made a commotion as she sat up. "Gross! What the fuck?!"

"Ellie!" he warned.

You rolled to look at the girl that was getting up, still warm and hidden in her sleeping bag.

"Is that what you freaks do when I sleep?!"

Part two soon…