morgaseus

[morgaseus]

♡ TW: yandere, stalking, obsession, broke-ish reader, bully reader, revenge reverie

♡ FEM reader

♡ AN: thinking about nerdy loser boy, who grows up to be rich and successful after graduation, and who decides to use all his wealth to take revenge on you, his old bully, who’s still struggling with figuring her sorry little life out...

He car is cold to cool his nerves. No music, only the groan of leather each time he or his driver shifts in their seat.

He holds a glass of whiskey between his fingers—the bottle has become significantly diminished over the past days, two other bottles before it.

He takes a sip, but keeps his gaze fixed out the tinted window at the little drive-by diner.

Retro place, built before he was born. Industrial steel walls, red accents, one big glowing sign above the roof, all caps, spelling CHUCKY’S. He bought the place a few weeks ago, way over asking price—didn’t want any fuss, just wanted it done in one day, but for no reason pertaining to business.

No, this one was personal.

He sighs, swirls his glass, and takes another sip, all while maintaining his stare. He can catch a glimpse of you every time you leave the kitchens to take orders. Dressed in your uniform—an awful red and white checkered dress that you somehow make work. Princess puff sleeves, cinched at the waist with a white apron before jutting out into a mid-thigh frill-edged skirt, a tulle petticoat underneath giving it even more volume and making it look more like a tacky Halloween costume than proper clothes.

You always look so hard at work. It’s funny. Maybe if you’d just done your schoolwork instead of making him do it all for you at the threat of having your jocks rough him up, you’d be better off today and not running yourself ragged over minimum wage.

He must admit it’s pretty childish of him—stalking you like this as if that’s what he should be spending his free time on. His driver must think he’s insane, but he pays him too much for him to ask any questions, not even when he signals him to follow you once you finish your shift.

He would follow you into the subway, if not for fear of causing a commotion. Even though he’s not exactly a celebrity, it’s not so unusual for his face to be in a business magazine every now and again. A few people would certainly recognize him. And if not for that, he’d probably get mugged.

But it’s no matter. He knows where you’re going.

You live in a rundown flat across the street from a five-star hotel he’s taken to call home. The staff are always insisting he should move into the penthouse, but he has to turn them down, as he needs one of the lower-level rooms more aligned with your studio apartment.

You leave your uniform on the floor the second you’re through the door, and he immediately needs to grit his teeth. Naked except for your undergarments—a greyish bra that was once white, styled with a turquoise thong, both pilled from wear. It’s nothing anyone’s meant to see, but here he is, watching as you peel your underwear down your thighs and legs, leaving yourself bare to his prying eyes.

You swipe it up off the floor, stretching it out like a slingshot before shooting it across the room right into your laundry bin. You jump into a pair of short-shorts instead, relieving yourself of your bra next, exchanging it with a loose, cropped T-shirt—a silly cartoon cat print on the bust.

You use your toes to hook your sock, prying them off while you walk towards the tiny kitchen nook tucked away in the corner of the room. Opening the fridge, you grab the three-liter box of white wine you’ve been enjoying by yourself for the past few days, not so different from him. And then you plop down on your bed and switch on the TV, putting on some shitty reality show about overly botoxed women living in Beverly Hills.

He drags his hand over his face, sitting in his luxury suite with a pair of military grade binoculars, pulling his jaw with tired eyes. It should be enough revenge for him to see you living the way you do—broke and struggling. But for some reason, it just isn’t. Not even close.

More than revenge, he thinks, oddly enough, he still wants to prove himself to you. He wants you to see him—his worth—wants you to acknowledge it, that you were wrong to step all over him because, in the end, he’s the one in the million-dollar shoes, and you’re the one in the soiled apron taking orders.

But then again, and even stranger, he feels this weird amount of gratitude towards you. After all, if you hadn’t made him feel worthless, he wouldn’t have worked so hard to make himself priceless.

And, of course, there’s the fact that he still jerks off to you and has, on many desperate occasions, paid escorts with a passing resemblance to you to call him by those foul names you used to—among many other things he wishes you’d say.

“Aren’t yah a little too dressed up for this place?” you ask, head tilted to the side, hand on your hip with your notepad, popping your pink gum. “What—Michelin gettin’ too boring’? Or d’yah just feel like slummin’ it today?”

He doesn’t get you’re making a joke—feeling out of place sitting in the tight little booth he’d picked out for himself—plastic menu taped to the table in front of him with a bunch of stuff he hasn’t put in his mouth since college with prices he’d forgotten all about. It’s so cheap, he wonders for a moment if a zero is missing. 

But that’s not all, or at least not the reason he’s so put off…

You raise a brow over his puzzled expression, looking up at you like a lost kid at the mall.

“I’m just messin’ with yah—no need to look so wired,” you laugh, flipping up your notepad and clicking your pen. “So then, what can I get yah?”

He blinks. “Oh, uhm,” clearing his throat, he looks down at the menu again and just picks the first thing his eyes land on. “I’ll have a—a breakfast sandwich. Thank you.”

You scribble it down, asking while at it, “No’n else? Big gun like you? No waffles, hashbrowns, sausages? I make a mean French toast, just so you know.” You look at him in wait.

He gets a little lost seeing you so up close, but manages to stutter out a, “No–no, thank you, that’s okay.”

You, on the other hand, don’t seem ruffled at all—all smiles and giggles, knuckles on your hip as you tilt your head at him. “You watchin’ yer figure, or somethin’? Guess you can’t let the money do all the talkin’, huh?” 

He doesn’t know what to say, busy using every brain cell to comprehend the fact that you’re even talking to him, so familiarly as well. It all throws him for a loop.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just pullin’ your leg,” you continue at his silence. “It’s just that I’ seen your car parked outside so many times, always wonderin’ what rich fellow was brave enough to have business around here,” you explain, nodding at his black SUV out front. “I’m just happy to finally put a face to the wheels.”

He still can’t find the words to say. He’s not sure what he’s doing with his face either, but it can't be good. Feeling stiff as a board and dumb like one, too.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I? My bad,” you apologize, either thinking nothing of his strange behaviour or simply choosing to ignore it. “You want joe or juice with that?”

It takes him a second to realize it’s a question he’ll have to answer, but he manages to utter a curt, “Coffee,” before further pulling himself together enough to tack on a polite, “Please.” 

You only nod your head, clicking your pen. “A’right then, big spender. Comin’ right up.” 

And then, you turn on your heel, leaving him there with nothing but that dumb look he seems unable to wipe off his face, watching you march in tattered shoes that don’t go at all along with your diner uniform across the chess-checkered tiles before disappearing into the kitchen, without doing so much as a double-take.

And he’s hit with the unpleasant understanding, sitting like a lump in his stomach, making his throat feel tight. 

You don’t even remember him.

He contemplates leaving at that moment. He pulls out the entire wad of bills kept in his wallet, not bothering with giving them a count, thinking he’d just leave them on the table to pay for the work and his rudeness. But even so, he remains seated.

Maybe you just didn’t recognize him?

He hardly looks like his old self. Hair gelled and professionally cut just yesterday, suit tailored expertly for him, body built with the help of a personal trainer. Yeah, of course you don’t recognize him. There's nothing of his old self left for you to remember.

Or maybe he was right the first time, and you have zero memory of him whatsoever. Maybe you only remember fun times—your girlfriends and all the parties you went to, the drinking, your handsome boyfriend who was captain of the varsity team, and the other jocks you used to cheat on him with. Maybe he’s just another loser lost in the crowd, unworthy of your attention, unworthy even of the tiniest spot in your recollection.

“Here you go, mister.” You announce your return, and he looks up, surprised to see you back already. His dish done, balanced in one hand, with his coffee mug held in the other. 

You place both down before him, still steaming, the scent of butter and fresh brew attacking his nose at once.

It was basically free per his standards, but it looked good and was a lot bigger than what he would have been served at the hotel restaurant. And unlike that, this actually looks like it was made by a human being—uneven slices of butter-crisp bread cut diagonally before serving.

His mouth waters, and he’s glad he stayed.

“Did you make it yourself?” he asks for some odd reason before being able to stop himself.

But you just giggle, “Why yes, I did—with love and all. Hope you enjoy.”

And then you run along to another table, leaving him to it.

His arms lay resting on the table, hands idle as he stared at it for a moment longer as if he were waiting for someone to take a picture. He’s never been one to do such a thing, despite all the extravagant meals he’d been served at prices high enough that it should make anyone lose their appetite. This sight, however, almost had him compelled to pull out his phone and do it. But he ends up leaving it be.

His stomach growls. He swallows the pool that had swelled up in his mouth, giving your words a taste. “With love, huh…”

How about that… he thinks while picking one of the triangles up. You hadn’t given him any cutlery, nor was there any on the table, so—suppose bare-handed is the way it’s meant to go.

He takes his first bite, and the bread crunches between his teeth. Followed by still-sizzling crispy bacon, soft egg, and fully melted cheese—and oh my god, it’s greasy—melting in his mouth. And he knows you were only joking around, but… he thinks he might be tasting the love, too.

“How’d you like it?” You’re back again right before he’s done, now with a few coffee and grease stains on your apron, looking all dewy-faced with your hair a little messier than it was in the morning.

He’s still swallowing the last bite, fighting the urge to lick his fingers clean in your presence as he takes you in in all your hard-working glory. 

“Michelin could learn a thing or two,” he says, more comfortable than earlier, reaching for the napkin dispenser across the table before wiping his mouth all neatly.

“You’re too kind.” You smile—the type of sweet smile you’d never flash back in school, looking a little giddy, asking, “Anything else?”

His meal sits warm in his belly, still tasty on his tongue. “Yes. When do you get off?”

You’re the one with the dumb expression now, face blank and eyes wide—but only for a moment before it turns cheeky. “Why? You’re not one of ‘em rich freaks who take all us poor gals for hookers, are yah?” you joke, snickering at him.

“And what if I am?” he questions, tone firm, the type he’ll use in business meetings. “I’ll pay you twice what you earn in a year for one night. What do you say?”

This time, you seem unable to wipe the look of surprise off your face.

Tone wiped clean of all service-inclined banter, stating plainly, though still with the accent of shock, “I get off at seven.”

He flicks his wrist, eyeing his watch to gauge the time before braiding his fingers together. Looking up at you again.

“I changed my mind,” he states then.

“I think I’ll have some French toast while I wait.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Shinso ♡ JJK – Yuuta, Higuruma ♡ HQ – Yamaguchi ♡ BLLK – Isagi ♡ DS – Zenitsu

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[morgaseus]

I feel like the quality of fics has gone down as years go by… its hard to find some really good ones. Most of the time its like I’m being told that this and that happened. I dont feel immersed, its like im reading a booktok summary.

[morgaseus]

The Villainess and The Madmen

It was just a dumb otome game that hooked you like a moth to a flame, and when you had completed the game, it was only natural for you to buy the sequel. So why... why are you now in the body of the villainess with people that suddenly don't want you dead? No. They want something much worse from you. And you don't think you'll be able to make it out of this hell.

Trigger Warnings: yandere, gore, death, murder, past child abuse, heavy childhood trauma, kidnapping, implied sa, and men. Please note that none of this warnings should be romanticized. They are simply for psychological horror. If you or someone you know experiences any symptoms similar to the men in this short story, run and seek help from a hotline or some designated organization.

Chapter One, Chapter Two (TBD), Chapter Three (TBD), Chapter Four (TBD)

Who would’ve thought you’d land yourself in a jail cell?

The cold nips at you angrily, and the silence surrounding you just washes reality over you like a wave. Arrested… bound to be executed, no? That’s the destined fate for the villainess of this otome story⏤so evil and cunning to the point where she poisons the female lead just for her own selfish evils.

It just so happens to be that you’ve reincarnated into the villainess’s body.

Really, you didn’t know what you were getting into when you downloaded the otome game, “Cursed Hearts,” after constant nagging from your friend. It seemed like the typical generic reverse harem game with a helpless female lead and cold and mysterious male leads, but as you played the game, you had fallen more and more into the trap of the game.

So is it really a surprise that you bought the sequel to the game⏤the one that explored a separate storyline with the pathetic villainess as the main lead?

Damn it.

Whatever god above truly does hate you.

You sit back down on the bed you had found yourself sleeping upon, and the reality of it washes over you again. If you’re correct, you’re now the villainess, Calypso [L/n], of this story and… about to get executed. The villainess’s execution occurred somewhere towards the end of the story after she tried to poison the female lead, but her motives were never revealed. Calypso was always like a faceless shadow, mysterious and like that of an illusion despite playing such a large role in the story, and that was what the sequel was supposed to be for. To explain and dot down Calypso like the game had with other characters.

Perhaps you being the only one who purchased the game back then should’ve been a red flag in itself.

Now what do you do? What is there to do? Why even get reincarnated if your next stop is to die immediately?

There’s no way for you to defend yourself since before getting detained by the imperial soldiers in the palace, the villainess, or you now, had explained to everybody attending the empress’s annual spring tea party in detail how she poisoned the female lead’s lead’s tea after the female lead had collapsed and was sent off to a doctor to be treated. So there’s no way of getting out of this. You already look like a lunatic enough as it is⏤

“Lady Calypso [L/n]!”

Huh?

The soldier that stands before the doors to your cell clears his throat, face devoid of any emotion. “You have a visitor.”

Visitor? Who in their right mind would visit you? You’re about to sneer and tell the man you don’t want to talk to anybody, but the figure that approaches the cell door silences you in your tracks. It’s Lilith [L/n], the female lead of this otome story. Even while covered with a cloak, her beauty still manages to shine through everything. She gestures for the soldier to leave before turning her attention to you.

…

“You drank the poison as well.”

“Well, good morning⏤or afternoon or night to you as well, my dear. I’m surprised the cure worked this quickly.”

“Quite joking! You mixed the poison into the kettle we both poured tea from. And you drank it. Why? What are you planning?”

Drinking poison? Calypso drank the poison as well? When you played the game in Lilith's perspective, it didn’t show calypso in the scene as Lilith was too occupied with her tea and thoughts. But drinking poison? Why?

Standing up, you approach the iron bars and wrap your hands around them, deciding to play into the cocky and apathetic villain Calypso is portrayed to be for information. You need to figure out why the hell you’re in this woman’s body. “Goodness, I can't believe you're up and running so quickly after such a potent poison. My cure really did work. How did you notice that, anyways?”

Lilith’s eyes narrow, but it’s not an accusatory glare, no, it’s one of frustration. “Calypso, your husband is tearing himself down to the bone trying to prove your innocence! I spoke to Daemon, and he said he’s willing to let go of the charges, so please stop your stubbornness!”

Drop the charges? Wait, this isn’t a part of the original story. So why…? Oh. This must be a part of the villainess’s route.

If you can recall correctly, there are six main characters to the story. The crown prince, the villain, the grand duke, the esteemed knight, the female lead, and the villainess. In the original otome, the villainess had three different endings to be killed. By the lovesick prince, her lovesick husband who happened to be in love with the female lead, and the lovesick villain.

This otome game isn’t just a typical love story, after all. It’s dark, evil, and the female lead suffers a fate far worse than the villainess’s in every ending.

You hold back a chuckle. “How would you drop my charges? Do the people even know you’ve recovered?”

“... Well… No, but that’s not the point! Calypso, please, just come back home!”

And Lilith never begged Calypso like this in the original game. She was still recovering from the poison back then. It leads you to a question of why. Why are you here? But you’ve got a feeling you know why, and you don’t like it.

It makes nausea and fear pit in your stomach because when you look up, you’re met with a status screen.

And it says:

𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘚𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 - 𝘾𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙚 𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙮𝙥𝙨𝙤 [𝙇/𝙣]'𝙨 𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙩𝙚. 𝙁𝙖𝙞𝙡𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙙𝙤 𝙨𝙤 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙪𝙡𝙩 𝙞𝙣 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙚𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙.

a/n : going back to my roots with this one guys. to my loyal babes, yall r gonna have to hold on a little longer for that part ll batfam fic I PROMISE IT'LL BE HERE SOON 😭. if u see a grammatical mistake, it wasn't me. anyways, here goes my shitty attempt at being aesthetic. uhhh, i'll also be making a taglist for this one, and reblogs r much appreciated. other than that, have a good day/night 💋💋💋

[morgaseus]

the phone call

someone calls you because they found a missing item of yours, and would like to return it

pairing: yandere x fem reader

🔞 mdni (minors do not interact)

tws: stalking ; yandere ; obsessive love ; possessive love ; manipulation ; creepy vibes

the sound of your phone ringing pulls you out of the book you had been immersed in. you glare at the device, face down on your bed so you can't see who's calling - you can't fathom who would be, considering no one called you so late in the evening.

bookmarking your position and flipping the phone upright, you blink in confusion at the display. there, lit up on your screen, is the call receiving page informing you that unknown is trying to call you.

how odd. you eye the phone for a second longer, hoping the call will cut out, but unfortunately it keeps ringing. you decide that you may as well pick up.

"hello?" you say into the reciever, staring blankly at your bedroom wall as you wait for a response.

"hi, is this [y/n]?" a deep, baritone voice replies. you stiffen at the unexpected sound, since you don't really speak to many guys, and you're pretty sure only a few have your number. and none of them sound like the man on the phone.

"yes, who is this?" you ask, defences raised.

"i've found your purse" the man informs, sidetepping your enquiry as to what his identity is. you don't notice this, stuck on what he has said.

"my purse?" you ask, a vision of your white purse flashing in your minds eye.

"yeah, white purse, your driving licence is inside" the man replies casually, "as well as a library card, a grocery store points card, some change and a small USB". he pauses for a second, before adding "sorry i looked inside but does that sound about right?".

your defences drop slightly as you realises he really is describing your purse! you hadn't even realised you'd dropped it, so you're overwhelmed with the kindness he's showing by actually contacting you instead of stealing the contents.

"that is my purse!" you tell him excitedly.

"great, we can meet so i can give it back" the man says, voice smooth and comforting even as he suggests something that has your face dropping into a frown.

"w-what?" you stutter, telling yourself that you must have misheard, "did you say we should meet?"

"yeah, so i can return it" the man tells you, sounding as if he believes his suggestion is completely logical. alarm bells are ringing in your mind, the age old warning of stranger danger blaring with every thought.

"that's... that's okay" you tell him, tension at an all time high, "you can just drop it at a police station, i'll pick it up there". you wait nervously for a response, heart in your throat, hands clammy.

"that's so out of the way" the man says, rejecting the idea, "just meet me at [XXXXX] station and i'll hand it to you".

ice floods your veins at the new instruction. he's telling you to meet him at your local train station. the one that you regularly commute through and is closest to your home. either that's a huge coincidence or...

there's something seriously wrong with all of this.

suspicions raised, you quietly shuffle off your bed, hoping he can't pick the movement up over the phone. "no, you can just leave it with the police or the station lost and found" you tell him, even as you slowly make your way over to your bag.

your eyes widen as you unzip it to see, nestle inside, was your purse. safe and sound, and not with some random stranger who is trying to get you to leave your home and meet him somewhere.

he had described the purse with such accuracy that you hadn't doubted that he had it, but now your hands shake as you wonder how he knew what it looked like in such detail, down to what was inside.

before you can say anything, the man laughs low over the phone. objectively it's a nice laugh, considering the man has a nice voice, but because of the danger you can feel looming over you, his laughter just sounds menacing.

"ah... that's not gonna work then is it?" he asks, though it mainly sounds like he's murmuring to himself. without waiting for a response, he says "goodnight sweetheart. until next time" and hangs up.

you're left frozen, wondering how he knew about your possessions so intimately.

wondering how he knew you had discovered your purse.

[morgaseus]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ Satoru Gojo Long Fics ˚୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

All of my Satoru Gojo fics over 20k

Time after Time- Finished- Wc: 103k- (Ao3) CEO Gojo x fem assistant reader, you're his lead assistant and you put in your two weeks notice, because your boss is a grade A ASS- so Satoru Gojo pulls out ALL the stops to keep you. Is he who you thought he was, or more? Smutty/fun/sweet - my first Gojo fic

Take Me Home Tonight - Finished-Wc: 136k- law professor Gojo/x law student (A03) you hook up with a sexy white haired man at a club after passing your bar, only to be in his class two months later!?!? How can you handle falling in love with your professor, and can you both keep this a secret? Very witty/lots of banter, law setting-smutty and sweet

Fractured Desires - Finished- explicit- wc 95k (angsty/ toxic/smutfest) Ao3 You're Suguru Geto's girlfriend, and he decides to 'share you'- which becomes a fkn MESS, when you find out that Satoru has wanted you all along, and Suguru isn't who you think he is. (Starts off as Sugu/reader- Extremely explicit-yandere asf, Evil suguru, psycho Gojo)

Silent Serenades - Finished- wc 152k - You are promised to marry the handsome Duke Gojo, you're the diamond of the season, after all. Only thing is, he HATES you, and has no intention of being faithful. Now you're stuck in a loveless marriage that eats you from within, but you won't let him break you down. Angsty arranged marriage AU, love triangle, toxic- set in the 1800s- cruel Duke Gojo- AO3

Healing Hearts -ON HIATUS -Dr. Gojo/intern-ongoing- 70k You're an exhausted intern, living with your three friends, Maki, Toge and Yuuta, and you just so happen to be Dr. Gojo's intern. - or as you soon call him 'Dr. Hojo' he seems perfect, but he's hiding a dark secret. The two of you couldn't be more different, is there any hope? Hospital setting - angsty Ao3

Baby You're a Star - ongoing - you meet Satoru Gojo at a wild Hollywood party, the two of you hit it off, but he is the top pornstar there is. You don't sleep around, soon Satoru can't get hard without thinking of you, and you get over curious, and join a livestream of the boy you like. Just how will that go for you both!?- explicit, super fkn angsty- shy/Demi reader w/Pornstar Satoru- it's gonna be a long oneee- explicit- 76k Ao3

Just Friends!? -ongoing- Nerdjo x popular reader- based on the movie 'Just Friends'- Satoru left his old life behind, leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin, but is he still your sweet best friend deep down?- lots of angst and feels, friends to nothing to lovers- 49k Ao3

Veiled Secrets- ongoing - you've been set to marry the new emperor Satoru Gojo, but he wants nothing to do with all of that, he doesn't even come to your first meeting - rude! No, he must bathe with his concubines, but when he sees you for the first time and doesn't even know you're his wife? Everything shifts, but it turns out he doesn't know that you're not happy to be here either. Angst/smut- 36k wc

Mini Series

Brooklyn Baby - you've got the opportunity of a lifetime for an audition for Julliard, your dream, but there's just one problem, the hotel in New York has booked your room and has nothing available. Good news, your dad's best friend Satoru Gojo shows up, bad news - you both want each other, and it cannot happen - ongoing, 4 parts - pts 2/4 out - 20k wc - ao3

Losing Control Now- Finished- Mafia AU, notorious mobster Satoru Gojo becomes obsessed with you, the pretty bartender at his favorite club- but he finds you have your own secrets, threats to your life, and plans to save you at all costs. Lots of smut, Satoru being obsessed, mafia themes - sweet Gojo- explicit - 45.5k- Ao3

Took You Like a Shot - FINISHED - You and Satoru Gojo (fratboy/fuckboi Gojo) have been rivals for all of college, right up until the last day of school, where you end up under him and... pregnant somehow!? shit. But have you two actually hated each other, or are you both lying to yourselves? Can a party boy raise a kid? Fluffy, fun, has a lot of humor/pregnant reader - five parts- WC- 42k - Ao3

Would you come with me? -You have been Satoru's best friend forever, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. But have you been in love all along!? Three parts, fluffy and hella smutty, friends to lovers- Finished- three parts 22k Ao3

Drabble Series

The Last Mad King - you're the bride of the mad king Satoru Targaryen, can you come out of it alive!?! - yandere psycho ass toru lol, 2 parts

Escort Gojo Mini Series- FINISHED! - You're a rich CEO who hires a handsome escort, with a five star rating, who has one rule- no kissing. But will he break this rule? cute/sweet and light angst. WC- 15k

୨୧˚ Satoru Gojo Oneshots ˚୨୧

୨୧˚ Satoru Gojo Drabbles/ Headcanons ˚୨୧

[morgaseus]

⟢. DIET PEPSI — phainon

You made a bet with your friends to see if you could score a guy who is really out of your league and make him fall head over heels for you in just fourteen days. So, you set your sights on Phainon, a history of arts major.

wc. ✦ 12.7k

tags. ✦ female pronouns used, vaginal sēx, munch Phainon, virgin Phainon, p in v, nerd Phainon, eventual smut in part 2 LOL, oral, loss of virginity, cowgirl, smut, cunnlings, fingering, dom reader (most part), misunderstandings, overstimulation, dacryphillia, slight angst, fuckgirl reader, nasty, hurt / comfort, pwp, bitting, awkward Phainon, a little rushed but it’s all right, SLOWWW BURN, non canon Phainon.

note. ✦ Credits to smokeigheh on tiktok! I mostly got inspired by seeing the art on tt lol. I’ll post part 2 tomorrow, I’m veryyyy sleepy rn I’m abt to pass out and I still need to study. I’m sorry if I have any grammar/spelling mistakes I’m already dozing off while writing this huhu ㅠㅠ.

masterlist. ✦ next part (to be added tomorrow)

Having gone through multiple breakups in the past, you became accustomed to it. Your first boyfriend during freshman year ended things with you, and in addition, he spread hurtful rumors about you on campus.

Calling you a stalker, a psychopath because you threaten that you’d kill yourself if he leaves you, and many more. None of those were true. It was all malicious gossip he spread on the campus.

You didn't care, even though it affected you mentally. But you didn't want him to have the last laugh. You slept with his best friend and went around campus comparing his size to a Tootsie Roll. He went ballistic hearing the news, but you didn’t look back and left his one-sided feud with you behind.

Now, you never really cared about love. Just sleeping around with men you find cute in clubs when you and your friends go. The last relationship left you a scar, one that you’re healing out of. Guess your mom was right, never trust a man. So now you’re treating men unseriously.

Your last situationship ended when you decided to cut him off, his laugh turned you off. He was just someone to pass the time with. The guy was tall and muscular, a typical athlete favored by the school, who didn’t care about his grades because he was already financially well-off.

Perhaps after that, binge-watching Sex and the City during spring break stirred something within you, shifting your perspective on relationships. Suddenly, you're Samantha Jones.

Now you’ve grown accustomed to sleeping with men without getting your feelings involved. You didn't care anymore, all you cared about was your future, yourself, and your health. And also your family and friends, obviously.

Fast forward to today: you’re sitting in your car after taking your International Organizations class with your friends. Ciphera suggested that you should try going for guys who are out of your league. If you can make one of them fall for you within the next two weeks, she’ll cover your rent for two months.

Fuck it. You agreed to the bet, it won’t be that hard right? Plus you’re bored as fuck. What’s the worst that can happen?

Before you could choose your target, your friends had to approve of him first. You selected guys who were subtly your type, hoping to sneak in a few that you were interested in. However, they caught on and rejected every single one.

Feeling upset, you proceeded to walk to your class alone. As you were walking down the hallway, a guy accidentally bumped into you— spilling coffee onto your shirt. Papers were scattered everywhere as the coffee spilled on your chest continued to spread throughout your shirt.

“What the fuck is your—“

“O-oh God! I’m so sorry!” You got cut off, pissed that you’re going to be late for your next class because of a coffee stain. It was a mess: papers scattered on the floor, coffee spills on your shirt, and the ground as the plastic cup rolled on the papers, soaking some of the papers.

The man crouched down, picking his coffee-soaked papers off the ground, mumbling incoherent curses. You just watched him— pissed, trying to decode who this person is. The man was tall, about 6’2, definitely taller than you. Ash white hair, wearing a dorky light yellow plaid shirt with jeans, and a ugly gray minion shirt. Black backpack, slightly opened, filled to the brim with papers.

You scoffed standing there, cross-armed, waiting for an apology. After a minute, he finally stood up, holding the wet paper and half-spilled drink. His large frame towers over you. He was wearing those black rounded frames, wired earphones tucked into his left ear.

“I’m really, really sorry! Are you alright?— Oh God, your shirt! Could you give me your number so I could take it to the laundry later if you—“ You cut him off.

“Is this a trick just to get my number?” You teased him, even though you still felt pissed from earlier. His face turned red, flushed from your bold statement. “N-no it’s just—!”

“Phone?” You didn't want to deal with this right now; you're already running late to your class, and now you're showing up in a coffee-stained shirt. How nice.

He quickly handed you his phone from his pocket as you entered your number. After giving it back to him, you walked away while he awkwardly said goodbye, mumbling a few apologies.

In class, you still feel a bit stunned from earlier. You don't pay much attention to your professor's lecture because all you can think about is that guy—the one whose name you forgot to ask. He's kind of cute, but his sense of style could use some work. I mean, who the hell wears a yellow plaid shirt over a gray Minion t-shirt?!

He's such a strange guy. Why is he in such a hurry anyway? You thought about him throughout the lecture instead of taking notes. I guess you’ll just ask your seatmate for some notes.

After all of your classes ended, you texted Ciphera to ask if she knew any guy at our school who has white hair and blue eyes, is tall, and perhaps muscular. You hadn't seen his arms much since they were covered by that ugly yellow plaid shirt.

She replied to your message immediately, mentioning that you might have met a family friend. Ciphera clarified that there is a guy named Phainon who is close to her mother, Aglaea, and their families have been close friends, allowing them to grow up together.

Although they weren't close, Ciphera often got in trouble for teasing Phainon in their younger years because she called him a crybaby, which she disliked.

She joked that you two would make a great couple and suggested that he would be the perfect candidate for your little bet. So, you considered it. You’ll be meeting him again soon, right? He still owes you for the stained shirt.

Not wasting your time, you immediately texted him to meet you at the parking lot. You didn't care what time, you’ve already made up your mind that he’ll be the one you’ll use for the bet.

You waited patiently for him to show up, although you weren't entirely sure of his schedule. However, Ciphera did provide you with some information about him: he works at a coffee shop near the school, is a big Star Wars, LEGO, and Marvel nerd, and he used to play soccer but quit last year for unknown reasons. He is currently in his senior year and is majoring in History of Art. Additionally, his best friend is Mydei, a guy you talked to last year, but your chats dried up as you didn't quite connect with each other.

He finally showed up, apologizing and explaining that he had been in a lecture, too focused on writing down what his professor was saying. You nodded as you both got into your car, and you drove him to his residence.

Phainon asked you to drop him off at an apartment complex. It was a short drive, and the complex resembled those upscale buildings seen in movies. It was well-kept, with a guard at the entrance, and the first floor featured a lounge with air conditioning.

He invited you inside, and you still wore the stained white t-shirt from earlier. Once you entered his apartment, you sat down on the couch while Phainon got you some water.

The first step of your plan is in place; now you’re just waiting for him to return.

As Phainon returned with a glass of water in hand, you asked, “Are you going to take my shirt now?” You sat up on the couch, and he looked confused. “Now? What do you mean—oh? Sure, give it to me.”

You had nothing on your mind except for the urge to take that damn Minion shirt off him. You took a sip of water from your glass before putting it back on the table. With a bold move, you stood up and took your shirt off right in front of him.

Phainon’s eyes widened, and his throat tightened as he swallowed hard, his face turning a deep shade of cherry red. You took his hand and placed your shirt in it. “Can I borrow one of your shirts?” you asked, looking him straight in the eyes. He avoided your gaze, staring at the floor instead. Words caught in his throat.

“Y-Yeah… sure, I’ll go get them right now—”

“I want the shirt you’re wearing right now.” Phainon was taken aback, his eyes widening at your bold statement. You spoke with a tone that demanded his compliance—a tone he couldn't ignore, yet couldn't refuse either. He knew you would persist until he surrendered the shirt he’s wearing right now.

He took off his plaid jacket and placed it on the couch, revealing his muscular arms. You thought to yourself that you had hit the jackpot this time, already planning your next move. Should you text him later that night or continue playing with him? Then, he finally took off his Minion t-shirt—the long-awaited moment had arrived.

He handed you the shirt, exposing his toned torso. You found yourself mentally drooling, struggling to pull your gaze away from his chest. Trying to regain your composure, you looked away and slipped the shirt on as Phainon adjusted his glasses and put his yellow plaid shirt back on. Buttoning them up in the process.

“Is— is that all?” He asked, taking your stained shirt from the couch. Shy of your bold attitude, it was strange how he stripped in front of a stranger whom he had just met hours ago.

You nodded in agreement and smiled, saying, "I’ll see you tomorrow," before leaving his apartment. As you made your way down to the elevator and reached the lobby, you unexpectedly ran into your ex-situationship, Mydei. You put the pieces together and realized that they live together.

That's certainly an interesting way to end the day.

After you got home, you quickly texted Ciphera to let her know that you had found someone who would be perfect for the bet you two made—Phainon. You carefully thought through a plan to win him over. After spending a long time piecing everything together, you decided to wait until tomorrow to put your plan into action.

It seems you've tried everything on your checklist, but nothing has worked. First, you spoke to him during lunch when he returned your shirt. However, when you attempted to flirt with him, he suddenly disappeared, leaving you feeling like he was intentionally avoiding you.

You mentally cursed yourself, frustrated by his avoidance. You found yourself searching for him around campus like a stalker, but luck was finally on your side when you spotted him. Phainon was crouched down, gently petting a small puppy hidden behind a bush in the park.

You were about to call out his name when, suddenly, a ball struck his face, causing his glasses to fall to the ground and break. The impact knocked Phainon down, startling the poor dog, which quickly ran back into the bushes.

As I think about it, Phainon and the dog look quite similar; they both have white fur and adorable faces. I approached Phainon to pick up the ball that had accidentally hit him and handed it back to its owner. The people who were playing with the ball apologized as I helped Phainon to his feet and returned his broken glasses.

“Are you okay?” you asked, checking up on him to make sure he was alright. He nodded and thanked you. Before he could run off, you managed to pull him back by the hood of his gray hoodie. “You look better without them,” you complimented, causing his face to flush. After you let go, he quickly ran off again, his heart racing at an abnormal speed. You just chuckled, watching him disappear into the distance.

You felt like you were losing this bet, and you were dumbfounded by how difficult it was for Phainon to open up to you. It has been exactly two days since your last meeting with him at the park, and before that, you had never heard anything from him. It was as if he had disappeared into thin air.

Finally, you spotted him, but this time he was with Mydei. Was fate trying to play a trick on you? Regardless, you didn't mind. After all, you both ended on good terms, right? You walked up to them and tapped Phainon on the shoulder. He almost jumped when he turned around and saw your face.

You were surprised to see that he wasn't wearing his glasses today. You thought he would have another pair or something. “You’re not wearing your glasses anymore—is it because I said you look better without them?” you teased, noticing his face heat up again. You chose to ignore Mydei, who was just standing there, observing your interaction.

Before you knew it, he bolted out of there, leaving you and Mydei behind. The situation felt awkward. “So, you’re trying to get with my best friend next?” Mydei said with an amused smile, leaning against the wall. You nodded, frowning slightly to show that you weren’t interested in him. As you hummed and walked away, you began to think of a different approach to win him over. After all, you only had ten days left.

⟢. © myyluverr 2025

[morgaseus]

Collision Course

Baek Kang-hyuk x Reader

Genre: Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Workplace Romance, Heated Tension

Warnings: Strong language, unresolved tension, intense kissing, workplace teasing, mentions of injuries

Word Count: ~8,500

Synopsis: After months of teasing and unresolved tension, a grueling shift leaves you vulnerable—and Baek Kang-hyuk too close to resist. One reckless challenge shatters the distance between you, igniting a kiss that changes everything. With nosy coworkers watching, there’s no turning back now.

It was a game you had both been playing for months.

The lingering glances. The teasing remarks. The almost-touches that never quite happened.

Baek Kang-hyuk had a way of getting under your skin like no one else. He was arrogant, effortlessly skilled, and far too good at making your heart race at the worst possible moments.

And the worst part?

He knew.

Every time he smirked at you across the trauma center, every time his hand lingered just a second too long on your wrist, every time he leaned in too close just to see you react—he knew.

It was infuriating.

It was intoxicating.

And it was going to break you.

It started with little things. The way he’d brush past you in the hallway, just close enough that your shoulders grazed. The way he always had a comment ready—sharp, teasing, just enough to get a rise out of you.

"You look exhausted," he’d say, smirking as you rolled your eyes. "Try not to pass out on me, yeah?"

"Worried about me, Kang-hyuk?" you’d fire back, arms crossed.

"Hardly," he’d reply, but his eyes told a different story.

Then there were the moments when the teasing softened—when he’d find you after a difficult case, standing in the supply room with your head pressed against the cool metal shelves. When he’d linger just long enough to ask, voice quieter than usual, "You good?"

And it was those moments—the rare glimpses of something unspoken—that made your pulse stutter.

Because it wasn’t just a game, was it?

Not anymore.

The shift had been brutal.

An accident on the freeway had flooded the trauma center with critical patients, and you’d been running on pure adrenaline for hours. There was no time to think, no time to breathe.

It was only after the chaos settled that you realized—

You were bleeding.

A deep gash ran across your arm, likely from a sharp edge on a gurney, and you hadn’t even felt it.

"You’re an idiot."

The voice came from behind you, low and too familiar.

You turned just in time to see Kang-hyuk standing there, arms crossed, his gaze flickering to your arm with something dangerously close to concern.

"It’s nothing," you muttered, brushing it off.

Kang-hyuk’s jaw ticked. His expression darkened in that way that always meant trouble. "Sit down."

"I’m fine."

"Sit. Down."

There was no room for argument in his voice, and for once, you didn’t fight him.

You sank onto the nearest chair as he grabbed the first aid kit, kneeling in front of you.

His fingers were careful as he cleaned the wound, his touch surprisingly gentle. But the problem wasn’t the wound—it was him.

The way his hands felt against your skin. The way his expression softened, just slightly, as he focused. The way his thumb brushed against your wrist, sending a slow, deliberate heat crawling up your spine.

You swallowed hard. "I can do it myself."

Kang-hyuk smirked, but there was something else in his gaze now—something unreadable. "Sure you can."

Neither of you moved.

The tension had been there for months, simmering beneath the surface, but now—right now—it was unbearable.

Your pulse was hammering.

And he knew.

Because of course he did.

"You keep staring," Kang-hyuk murmured, not bothering to look up.

You scoffed. "I am not staring."

He glanced at you then, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth curving. "Mm. Sure."

You were going to kill him.

Or kiss him.

Probably both.

And then, just to make it worse, he leaned in—so damn close you could feel his breath against your skin.

"Are you blushing?"

That was it.

That was your breaking point.

"Shut up and kiss me."

The words were out before you could stop them, before you could think.

And for a single second, Kang-hyuk froze.

Then—

His lips crashed against yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was desperate. Like months of tension had finally snapped, and neither of you could hold back any longer.

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you against him, and you barely had time to gasp before he deepened the kiss. It was dizzying, overwhelming, the way he kissed—like he had been waiting for this just as much as you had.

Your fingers tangled into his hair, and he let out a low sound that sent heat curling in your stomach.

This was dangerous. This was reckless.

And you didn’t care.

Because Baek Kang-hyuk was kissing you like he never wanted to stop, and you were absolutely, completely gone.

You didn’t realize you had an audience.

Not until—

"Oh my god."

You jerked away from Kang-hyuk just in time to see Jang-mi, Gyeong-won, and Jae-won standing in the doorway, looking way too entertained.

Jang-mi beamed. "I KNEW IT!"

Gyeong-won smirked. "Well. That escalated quickly."

Jae-won crossed his arms. "I feel like we should be charging admission."

Your face was burning. "You—how long have you—"

Jang-mi waved a hand. "Long enough."

Kang-hyuk, the asshole, just smirked. "Enjoy the show?"

Jang-mi gave him a thumbs-up. "Ten out of ten. Would watch again."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I hate all of you."

Kang-hyuk chuckled, low and amused. Then he leaned in—voice dropping just enough for only you to hear.

"You didn’t hate it that much."

And damn him—

Because he was right.

taking a short break from writing code blue, heart stolen, anybody want to be in my permanent taglist? let me know!!

i’ll also accept requests if you guys have any!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[morgaseus]

Casualty - Pi Hanwool x F!Reader x Ma Minhwan

You didn’t know how long the lock would last. But you did know something: They were going to get in and when they did, they won’t hold back.

content warnings - dark!Hanwool plus dark!Minhwan, forced oral (m!receiving), blood, physical violence, broken wrist and gun kink.

word count : 3.4k

Shit. Shit. Shit. The word pulsed in your skull with every frantic step as you tore down the hallway, breath ragged, heart slamming against your ribs like it wanted out. Behind you, Hanwool. That fucking psycho. You didn’t dare look back. You rounded the corner, lungs burning and stopped dead in your tracks.

Minhwan. Leaning casually against the wall like he’d been waiting. That crooked, gleaming smirk cut across his face like a knife, and in his hand, his gun. Waving it around like a toy. “Surprise!” he called, sing-song and delighted. Panic surged. You whipped around, but it was too late, Hanwool had rounded the hallway, eyes locked on you, lips parted like he was tasting the chase. You were cornered.

Adrenaline surged as your eyes scrambled for escape. Your hand shot out and grabbed the nearest doorknob. please please please not be locked and a god you didn’t believe in answered. The door opened with a gasp. You slipped in and slammed it shut, twisting the lock with trembling fingers just as BANG! A fist slammed into the wood behind you.

“You think that lock’s gonna stop me?” Hanwool’s voice was a low snarl. “Open it, and I might leave your legs unbroken.” Another pound. Then another. The door shuddered like it could splinter. Your breath hitched.

You spun, eyes searching the room for something, anything to barricade the door.

There was nothing. Just students tables. Useless. A joke against the two psychopaths waiting outside. You pressed your back to the door, as if your weight alone could keep the monsters out. Another bang. Another scream. Another whisper of metal against metal, like Minhwan running the barrel of the gun along the door frame.

You didn’t know how long the lock would last. But you did know something: They were going to get in and when they did, they won’t hold back.

Your legs couldn’t keep up with the weight of their pounding. Each slam against the door sent a jolt through your spine, a slow collapse spreading from your knees. Your shoes began to slip on the slick tile just the sweat, fear, you couldn’t tell anymore.

And then, it stopped. Just silence, the kind that doesn’t feel like peace, but a warning. Like the world holding its breath before something terrible happens. You held your breath, spine still pinned to the door like your body alone could hold it shut. You didn’t trust it. You didn’t dare trust it.

You heard the footsteps walking away from the door. Like they wanted you to hear it. Like they wanted you to think it was over. Your heart slammed against your ribs, screaming don’t believe it. Every cell in your body buzzed with warning. You stayed pressed against the door, muscles locked, waiting for a sign. Anything. A breath. A shuffle. A shadow under the crack of light. Something to confirm they were still out there. But nothing came.

Five minutes passed, each one stretched thin with dread. Finally, you peeled your back off the wood, slow and careful, like movement alone might trigger something. You stepped away, just a little, just enough to feel your lungs work again. Shaky breaths. Numb limbs. You were calming down, but only in pieces.

Your eyes didn’t leave the door. You waited. Expected it to burst open at any second, both of them tumbling through with a grinning Hanwool and Minhwan dragging his stupid little gun. But still, nothing. Maybe they got distracted. Maybe whatever Gamin was doing downstairs finally pulled their attention. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? The only reason you were even in this school after hours.

But thinking about Hanwool, the shit he was doing inside these walls and the way the school board pretended none of it existed. It made your stomach twist. That’s why you joined Gamin’s study group. Why you agreed to be part of his plan. All you had to do was distract Seonho. Just a simple diversion. But somehow, some way, you got the wrong person’s attention. Hanwool. And his fucking sidekick.

Your legs moved before your brain could catch up. Instinct took over, raw and breathless. You pressed your ear to the door, straining for a sound, a whisper, anything that would tell you what waited on the other side. Nothing. The silence felt stretched too thin, like skin ready to tear. You exhaled, slow and trembling, and curled your fingers around the knob. The door creaked open just a sliver. You leaned forward and peeked out, your heart punching the inside of your chest.

Empty. The hallway stared back at you, blank and cold. No footsteps. No shadows. No one. You didn’t think. You ran. Feet slapping the tile, breath snagging in your throat like barbed wire. You barely made it ten steps before something yanked you backward so hard your neck cracked. A hand in your hair. Tight. And his voice, soft and too close to your ear. "Thought you could leave without saying goodbye?"

Hanwool’s voice cut through the silence like glass shattering in the not so empty hallway. Just sharp, sudden, and impossible to ignore. You flinched at the sound, every muscle in your body locking into place. Then came Minhwan. Whistling. Casual and off-key, like he wasn’t the type to hold a gun, like this was just another game he already knew he’d win. He circled around you slowly, steps lazy, eyes gleaming with that sick amusement he wore like perfume.

The cold metal pressed under your chin. He tilted your head up with the barrel, forcing your eyes to meet his. His smirk widened when he saw the fear. “That’s better,” he murmured, voice smooth like poison. “You should’ve just stayed put.”

Behind him, Hanwool watched without blinking. No rage. No mockery. Just that terrifying calm he wore when he was deciding how much pain to hand out. The kind of calm that came right before someone stopped being a person and became a problem to solve and you couldn’t breathe. Because this wasn’t about a warning anymore. It was punishment.

"Let’s head back to class," Hanwool said, voice soft, almost coaxing. You didn’t move. You weren’t walking into that room with those two psychopaths. You weren’t playing their game. In a single breath, you twisted.

Your elbow slammed into Hanwool’s gut, and as he staggered back a step, you swung a punch into Minhwan’s jaw. His head snapped to the side, and he collapsed with a grunt. You turned to run.

But Hanwool recovered too fast. His hand lashed out, fingers grazing your arm, trying to catch you like a spider pulling its web tight. You jerked away, body coiled with adrenaline. Minhwan, still on the floor, snarled. "Where the fuck do you think you’re going?"

His hand shot out and grabbed your ankle. You hit the floor hard. Your ribs knocked the breath from your lungs, and before you could crawl away, he was dragging you back. You twisted and kicked, your foot connected with his face. A sick crack followed. Blood poured from his nose as he screamed. "You bitch!"

His grip loosened. He tried to get up, but he was dazed. You scrambled forward until something heavy landed in the middle of your back. A boot. Pressed hard. Forcing you into the cold, filthy floor.

"Tsk, tsk, love," Hanwool murmured, his weight pinning you down. "Thought you could get away?" You thrashed beneath him, teeth clenched, but it was useless. "You can’t," he whispered into your hair. His breath was hot against your scalp. "You were never going to." Minhwan staggered up behind you, wiping at his bleeding face, gun back in his hand. His expression was pure venom.

"She fucking broke my nose," he spat. "That was a wrong fucking move." Hanwool yanked you upright by your hair so hard your vision went white at the edges. You couldn’t even scream. He twisted you to face Minhwan, who raised the gun, the metal flashing under the hallway lights. Then he brought the barrel down.

It smashed into your cheek with a wet, blunt crack. Your head whipped to the side. Blood dripped from your nose, warm and steady. The hallway spun. “Still think you’re going anywhere?” Minhwan sneered, breath thick with rage.

Hanwool gripped your arm like it belonged to him. His fingers dug into your skin, bruising on contact. You kicked and twisted, but it only made him more amused. “Keep struggling. Makes it more fun,” he said, voice low and flat, like he was bored and entertained at the same time. You clawed at his arm, at the walls, at the air. None of it mattered. 

He dragged you down the hallway, your shoes squealing against the tile, back toward the classroom. The one that had been your safe haven. Your hiding place. And when he opened the door and flung you inside, that illusion shattered. You hit the floor hard, palms burning against the cold linoleum. The door slammed shut. You heard the click of the lock. Hanwool. Minhwan. You. No way out.

You scrambled to your feet. “Stay the hell away from me,” you said, but your voice cracked halfway through. Minhwan laughed, wiping dried blood from under his nose. “Still got fight in her,” he said, tossing the gun back and forth between his hands like a toy. “You’re lucky I don’t break your jaw.”

“You already tried,” you spat. “Didn’t even knock me out.” He lunged. You dodged, barely, and shoved over a desk to block him. It crashed to the floor between you with a bang that echoed through the empty building. Hanwool stepped forward. He didn’t rush. That was what made it worse. You threw a chair at him. He caught it. Like it was nothing.

Minhwan moved first. He jumped the desk, grabbing your wrist. You drove your knee into his stomach, twisting to break free, but Hanwool was already behind you. His hand wrapped around your neck not tight enough to choke, but enough to control.

“You should’ve stayed quiet,” he said. His breath brushed your ear. “Should’ve been a good girl. But no... you wanted to play hero.” You elbowed him again. This time, he grunted and stepped back. You turned, fists up, blood smeared across your face, heart thudding like it wanted out of your chest. “You gonna hurt me?” you said, breathless. Hanwool smiled. Not wide. Just enough to show his teeth. “No,” he said. “Not yet.”

Minhwan circled you like a predator, slow and pacing, jaw clenched. “Gamin’s downstairs, right? Think he’s gonna save you?” “You idiots are gonna regret this,” you said, though your voice was shaking now. “He’s coming.” Minhwan chuckled. “Then we better hurry.” Hanwool nodded. “Let’s begin.”

You didn’t wait. As soon as Hanwool’s voice cut the air “Let’s begin” you moved. You lunged at Minhwan first. He was closer. You caught him off-guard with a punch to the side of his face. His head snapped to the left and he stumbled into a desk, cursing through gritted teeth.

Then you turned on Hanwool, blood rushing in your ears. You swung once, twice but he stepped back just enough to avoid both. He was watching you like a wolf letting its prey wear itself out. “You done?” he asked, voice quiet and unreadable. You didn’t answer. You ran at him, fists clenched, rage blind.

That was your mistake. He caught your arm mid-swing. His fingers closed around your wrist like a vice. Then, without even blinking, he twisted. You screamed. A sharp, raw sound that cracked the air. Your wrist bent at an angle it wasn’t meant to. Pain flooded your body, hot and instant, like fire under your skin.

You dropped to one knee, cradling your arm. “Looks broken,” Hanwool said calmly. “You’ll have trouble writing after this. Shame.” Minhwan recovered behind you. He was bleeding again lip split, nose leaking but the smile he wore now was ugly with satisfaction.

“You’re scrappy, I’ll give you that,” he said, wiping his mouth. “But scrappy doesn’t mean strong.” You tried to get up, teeth clenched against the pain, but Hanwool shoved you backward. You crashed against a desk, your broken wrist slamming the edge. You saw white for a second. Then everything pulsed black.

“Thought you’d be smarter,” Minhwan said, kicking the chair beside you out of his way. “You think your lover boy is coming to save you.” Hanwool leaned over you, eyes unreadable. “Is this the part where you start begging?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you gasped, holding back tears, holding back everything. He knelt beside you, tilting his head like he was studying something. “You should be.” Then he backhanded you once, sharp and fast. Your head snapped sideways. You tasted blood in your mouth.

“I warned you,” Hanwool said, standing again. “This didn’t have to be personal but you made it personal. Running your mouth.” You tried again to stand. 

Hanwool loomed over you, his shadow swallowing you whole as he pushed you down, the impact jarring your bones. His lips curled into a cruel smile, eyes glinting with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

"Well," he mused, fingers toying with his belt buckle, the click of it unfastening too loud in the suffocating silence. "Look at you, right where you belong. Now, let’s see if that mouth can do something worthwhile." Your breath hitched, panic clawing up your throat. "Hanwool—please, don’t—"

Minhwan’s laughter cut through your begging, sharp and mocking. He righted the chair he had kicked over and dropped into it, leaning forward with predatory interest. "Oh? The begging’s started already?" His grin widened, all teeth. "This is gonna be fun."

You lunged, teeth bared, aiming for Hanwool’s wrist but Minhwan moved faster. A fist tangled in your hair, yanking you back so hard your scalp burned. His lips grazed your cheek, breath hot and sickly sweet against your skin. "Ah, ah," he tutted. "None of that."

Hanwool’s fingers traced your jaw, tilting your face up. His thumb pressed against your bottom lip, smearing the blood from your nose. "Open." The command slithered down your spine, icy and inescapable.

Your mouth opened, trying to make this easier, even though it only made the tears well faster.  "Good," Hanwool murmured, as the world narrowed to the gleam in his eyes and the weight of his touch. "Now let’s see how good that mouth really is."

His length pressed against your tongue, the rhythm brutal as he set a punishing pace, his words slicing through the moment. "Yeah, that’s it. Take it. Choke on it, pretty bitch. That’s what you’re good for, huh? All that attitude, and this is where you belong on your knees, drooling all over me."

Minhwan’s hand, still twisted in your hair, yanked your head back slightly, just enough to control the angle. "So fucking messy already. Look at you." His free hand drifted down, trailing over your shoulder, sliding under your shirt, knuckles grazing your skin like he owned it.

He inhaled deeply, his nose buried in your hair. "You smell so fucking sweet like this. Like fear." His hand slipped lower, popping open the buttons of your skirt, sliding it up with infuriating slowness until it bunched around your hips. "Don’t stop," Hanwool growled above you, his grip tightening on your jaw as he fucked your throat harder, watching the tears spill down your cheeks.

Minhwan dragged the cool barrel of his gun across your stomach, then higher, the metal tracing lazy circles around your ribs, up to the swell of your breasts. He flicked the tip across one nipple through the thin fabric, the contrast of cold steel and heat making you shudder. "Sensitive, huh? Fuck, you’re just made for this," he whispered in your ear, his voice dripping with mockery as the gun slid lower, trailing down your abdomen, stopping at the damp heat between your thighs.

He pressed the barrel against your clothed clit, grinding it in slow, deliberate circles. "Look how wet you are. Acting like you don’t want this, but this cunt is telling me the truth." He laughed, soft, mean. "You love this, don’t you? Love being our little toy."

Hanwool’s pace stuttered, a growl rumbling in his chest. "Bet she’s gonna come just from this. Aren’t you? Gonna make a mess all over Minhwan’s gun while choking on my cock?" Minhwan licked the shell of your ear, his hand pressing the barrel harder against your throbbing clit.

Minhwan’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, his breath hot against your ear as he tore them away with a sharp, careless rip. The fabric gave way too easily. His laughter was low, dark, curling around you like smoke.

"Look at that," he murmured, dragging the barrel of the gun down, tracing the slickness between your thighs. "Already dripping for us. Pathetic." You flinched as the cold metal pressed against your entrance, the contrast of steel and heat making your muscles clench instinctively. Minhwan tutted, gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. "None of that," he warned, before pushing the gun inside with one brutal thrust.

The stretch burned but he didn’t stop, didn’t let you adjust. Just buried it deeper, his fingers tightening in your hair as he leaned in, lips brushing your ear. "Fuck, you take it so well. Like you were made for this."

Hanwool’s grip on your jaw tightened, his cock hitting the back of your throat with every snap of his hips. "She’s gagging," he mused, voice rough with pleasure. "But she’s still sucking me like she needs it. Look at her, Minhwan. Look at how fucking ruined she is."

Minhwan pulled the gun out slowly, just to shove it back in, the rhythm cruel. The ridges of the barrel dragged against your walls, the cold metal warming with your body’s betrayal. "You feel that?" he whispered, twisting it just to hear you whimper. "That’s what happens when you act like you’re too good for us."

Hanwool’s breath became rougher. "Gonna come down her throat while you fuck her with that," he gritted out. Hanwool’s thrusts grew erratic, his fingers digging into your cheeks. "Gonna come down this pretty throat," he growled. "And you’re gonna swallow every drop, aren’t you?" 

Minhwan’s free hand slid around your waist, pressing the gun deeper as his other hand yanked your head back by your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes were black with something hungry, something vicious. "And when he’s done," he murmured, "I’m gonna make you come on this gun. Gonna make you scream while you do it."

The barrel twisted inside you, hitting a spot that made your vision blur. Somewhere, Hanwool was groaning. Somewhere, Minhwan was laughing.  You were falling apart between them, their names like a prayer and a curse on your lips. 

The air was thick with the scent of sweat, salt, and something darker like cruelty given flesh. Hanwool’s breath came in ragged bursts as he forced himself deeper down your throat. His hips stuttered, his voice a rough growl against the damp silence of the classroom.

"That’s it," he gritted out, "take it. All of it." You choked, tears burning hot tracks down your cheeks, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. His grip tightened, his other hand digging into the hinge of your jaw, holding you open as he groaned, low and filthy. "Gonna come down this pretty throat, take it" he snarled. And you did. Because you had no choice.

Minhwan watched, his dark eyes gleaming with something feral as he pressed the gun deeper inside you, the cold metal a brutal contrast to the heat of your own body. "Good girl," he purred, thumb swiping over your bottom lip, smearing spit and tears. "Now let’s see you come for me."

The barrel twisted, hitting a spot that made your vision splinter. A broken sound tore from your throat, half-sob, half-scream, as your body betrayed you, shuddering around the unforgiving steel. Minhwan’s laugh was soft, almost tender, as he slowly pulled the gun free. He brought it to his lips, tongue flicking over the glistening metal, his eyes never leaving yours. "Tastes like victory," he mused. "Or maybe just desperation."

Hanwool finally pulled out of your mouth with a wet sound, his hand patting your cheek too hard to be affectionate. "Next time," he said, voice dripping with false sweetness, "pick the winning team."

Minhwan stood, putting the gun away with a smirk. "Yeah. Might save you the broken wrist." Your injured hand throbbed in time with your heartbeat, useless at your side. They left you there, a wrecked, trembling mess on the classroom floor, their laughter echoing down the hall like a promise. This wasn’t over.

But for now, you were just another casualty in their game. And you did. Because you had no choice.

[morgaseus]

— ma minhwan x reader tags / warnings: yandere-ish themes? , spoilers for non-webtoon readers, gun threat, implied past relationship, emotional manipulation??, minhwan breaks into your house after he got out of jail lol disclaimer: this follows the webtoon not the kdrama note: tbh idk if i got minhwan's character right so im sorry if this is ass and ooc T_T

You knew something was off the moment you stepped inside.

Not in the obvious way. The lights were off, sure, but you'd come home to that plenty of times. No distant noise from the neighbor's apartment—still, not completely unusual.

You stood still in the doorway, keys still in hand, trying to locate the source of your discomfort. Then came that feeling.

A tightening at the base of your neck. A heaviness between your shoulder blades.

The eerie awareness of being watched.

You reached, slowly for your phone.

"Didn't think I'd still remember where you kept the spare key."

The voice was unmistakable.

You turned sharply, not out of courage but instinct, and there he was—Ma Minhwan, standing in the living room like a memory made flesh. Or a ghost. You weren't sure which disturbed you more.

His appearance had changed from the last time you saw him. The once vibrant hair now hung in limp, uneven strands. His face, drawn and shadowed, revealed how little sleep he'd had. There was no sign of the person he used to be.

Minhwan tilted his head. He didn't smile, not fully. He just studied your reaction with a calculating gaze.

"You're not going to say hi?"

You took a deep breath, spoke before you could think better of it.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

A beat of silence followed. He regarded you as though the question were beneath him.

"You look well." he offered instead.

"How the hell did you get out?"

Minhwan didn't answer. Instead, a slow, shallow smile spread across his face, unbothered.

"Don't worry about it."

It wasn't even evasion. It was dismissal.

You took a step back. Then another. The door was behind you.

"You shouldn't be here, Minhwan."

He raised an eyebrow, quiet for a moment.

"You left. You didn't visit."

You met his gaze, steady.

"I didn't visit because I meant it," you said, every word carefully measured. "We're done. I don't want to be part of whatever twisted thing you're doing."

He chuckled softly. The sound was dry. Unamused.

"You think it ends just because you say so?"

No inflection of anger. Only disbelief. Like you'd misunderstood the rules of a game he'd never explained.

His eyes flickered briefly past you—to the door.

You noticed. So did he.

A silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

You didn't give yourself time to think. You moved—quickly, turning away, reaching for the knob.

Before you could turn the knob—

You froze.

Cold metal met the base of your spine—distinct, heavy, unmistakable.

A gun. 

You didn’t have to turn around to know.

His voice came low, almost gentle.

"Touch that door, and I pull the trigger."

Your hand hovered inches from the knob.

You didn't move. You barely breathed.

The silence rang louder than any threat. It stretched and stretched, until it felt like your body would snap under it.

Your lungs refused to cooperate. Every cell in your body screamed at you to run.

But you didn’t move.

You stared ahead, at the door you could no longer open. At the life just inches away, suddenly unreachable.

Behind you, you could feel his breath. Calm. Certain.

“You’re home now,” Minhwan said, as if that settled it. As if that made it true.

A beat passed.

Then another.

You closed your eyes.

And didn’t move.

sorry if this is bad / makes no sense... its been so long since ive written anything </3

[morgaseus]

Collision Course

Baek Kang-hyuk x Reader

Genre: Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Workplace Romance, Heated Tension

Warnings: Strong language, unresolved tension, intense kissing, workplace teasing, mentions of injuries

Word Count: ~8,500

Synopsis: After months of teasing and unresolved tension, a grueling shift leaves you vulnerable—and Baek Kang-hyuk too close to resist. One reckless challenge shatters the distance between you, igniting a kiss that changes everything. With nosy coworkers watching, there’s no turning back now.

It was a game you had both been playing for months.

The lingering glances. The teasing remarks. The almost-touches that never quite happened.

Baek Kang-hyuk had a way of getting under your skin like no one else. He was arrogant, effortlessly skilled, and far too good at making your heart race at the worst possible moments.

And the worst part?

He knew.

Every time he smirked at you across the trauma center, every time his hand lingered just a second too long on your wrist, every time he leaned in too close just to see you react—he knew.

It was infuriating.

It was intoxicating.

And it was going to break you.

It started with little things. The way he’d brush past you in the hallway, just close enough that your shoulders grazed. The way he always had a comment ready—sharp, teasing, just enough to get a rise out of you.

"You look exhausted," he’d say, smirking as you rolled your eyes. "Try not to pass out on me, yeah?"

"Worried about me, Kang-hyuk?" you’d fire back, arms crossed.

"Hardly," he’d reply, but his eyes told a different story.

Then there were the moments when the teasing softened—when he’d find you after a difficult case, standing in the supply room with your head pressed against the cool metal shelves. When he’d linger just long enough to ask, voice quieter than usual, "You good?"

And it was those moments—the rare glimpses of something unspoken—that made your pulse stutter.

Because it wasn’t just a game, was it?

Not anymore.

The shift had been brutal.

An accident on the freeway had flooded the trauma center with critical patients, and you’d been running on pure adrenaline for hours. There was no time to think, no time to breathe.

It was only after the chaos settled that you realized—

You were bleeding.

A deep gash ran across your arm, likely from a sharp edge on a gurney, and you hadn’t even felt it.

"You’re an idiot."

The voice came from behind you, low and too familiar.

You turned just in time to see Kang-hyuk standing there, arms crossed, his gaze flickering to your arm with something dangerously close to concern.

"It’s nothing," you muttered, brushing it off.

Kang-hyuk’s jaw ticked. His expression darkened in that way that always meant trouble. "Sit down."

"I’m fine."

"Sit. Down."

There was no room for argument in his voice, and for once, you didn’t fight him.

You sank onto the nearest chair as he grabbed the first aid kit, kneeling in front of you.

His fingers were careful as he cleaned the wound, his touch surprisingly gentle. But the problem wasn’t the wound—it was him.

The way his hands felt against your skin. The way his expression softened, just slightly, as he focused. The way his thumb brushed against your wrist, sending a slow, deliberate heat crawling up your spine.

You swallowed hard. "I can do it myself."

Kang-hyuk smirked, but there was something else in his gaze now—something unreadable. "Sure you can."

Neither of you moved.

The tension had been there for months, simmering beneath the surface, but now—right now—it was unbearable.

Your pulse was hammering.

And he knew.

Because of course he did.

"You keep staring," Kang-hyuk murmured, not bothering to look up.

You scoffed. "I am not staring."

He glanced at you then, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth curving. "Mm. Sure."

You were going to kill him.

Or kiss him.

Probably both.

And then, just to make it worse, he leaned in—so damn close you could feel his breath against your skin.

"Are you blushing?"

That was it.

That was your breaking point.

"Shut up and kiss me."

The words were out before you could stop them, before you could think.

And for a single second, Kang-hyuk froze.

Then—

His lips crashed against yours.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t tentative. It was desperate. Like months of tension had finally snapped, and neither of you could hold back any longer.

His hands slid to your waist, pulling you against him, and you barely had time to gasp before he deepened the kiss. It was dizzying, overwhelming, the way he kissed—like he had been waiting for this just as much as you had.

Your fingers tangled into his hair, and he let out a low sound that sent heat curling in your stomach.

This was dangerous. This was reckless.

And you didn’t care.

Because Baek Kang-hyuk was kissing you like he never wanted to stop, and you were absolutely, completely gone.

You didn’t realize you had an audience.

Not until—

"Oh my god."

You jerked away from Kang-hyuk just in time to see Jang-mi, Gyeong-won, and Jae-won standing in the doorway, looking way too entertained.

Jang-mi beamed. "I KNEW IT!"

Gyeong-won smirked. "Well. That escalated quickly."

Jae-won crossed his arms. "I feel like we should be charging admission."

Your face was burning. "You—how long have you—"

Jang-mi waved a hand. "Long enough."

Kang-hyuk, the asshole, just smirked. "Enjoy the show?"

Jang-mi gave him a thumbs-up. "Ten out of ten. Would watch again."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I hate all of you."

Kang-hyuk chuckled, low and amused. Then he leaned in—voice dropping just enough for only you to hear.

"You didn’t hate it that much."

And damn him—

Because he was right.

taking a short break from writing code blue, heart stolen, anybody want to be in my permanent taglist? let me know!!

i’ll also accept requests if you guys have any!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

[morgaseus]

Code Blue, Heart Stolen

Baek Kang-hyuk x Reader

Genre: Slow Burn, Humor, Medical Drama, Fluff, Light Angst, Social Media AU

Warnings: Medical emergencies, hospital setting, occasional strong language

Synopsis: You’re a trauma center resident trying to survive under the infamous Baek Kang-hyuk. Between chaotic ER shifts, teasing coworkers, and life-or-death situations, you never expected your biggest challenge would be dealing with Kang-hyuk himself. As rumors spread and tension builds, one question remains—are you just another one of his underlings, or is there something more?

MASTERLIST

Chapter 1: Initiation by Fire

Chapter 2: Diagnosed with Trouble

Chapter 3: Flatline or Falling?

Chapter 4: Diagnosis — Denial

Chapter 5: Vital Signs — Unstable

Chapter 6: Breaking Point?

Chapter 7: Cracks in the Armor

Chapter 8: Close Enough to Break

Chapter 9: Denial is a Losing Game

Chapter 10: The Worst Kept Secret

Chapter 11: A Not-So-Secret Date

Chapter 12: Kiss and Tell (Or Don’t)

Chapter 13: Denial is Futile

Chapter 14: The (Not-So-Secret) Secret

Chapter 15: The Slip-Up

Chapter 16: The Aftermath

Chapter 17: Denial is a Losing Battle

Chapter 18: The Breaking Point Pt. 2

Chapter 19: The Tease and the Tipping Point

Chapter 20: Cracks in the Armor 2.0

Chapter 21: Denial is a River in Egypt

Chapter 22: The Five Stages of Falling for Baek Kang-hyuk

Chapter 23: The Great Collapse

Chapter 24: The Great Escape (Failed)

Chapter 25: The Walls Are Closing In

Chapter 26: The Aftermath of a Rooftop Confession

Chapter 27: Game Over

Chapter 28: …Dinner?

Chapter 29: The Date… or So They Thought

Chapter 30: ???

[morgaseus]

❝THE LOST QUEEN MASTERLIST❞

⤷ summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn't understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren't safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won't let you go so easily.

⤷ genre: yandere/dark!au.

⤷ pairing: yandere!Alexander the Great x Female!Reader, yandere!Generals x Female!Reader.

⤷ warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, eventual smut, pregnancy plot.

⤷ word count: 61,446.

⤷ initiate: 07/10/2023.

⤷ finished: ??/??/????.

Chapters

— Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Chapter 15; Chapter 16; Chapter 17; Chapter 18; Chapter 19; Chapter 20; Chapter 21; Chapter 22;

— Christmas Special.

Tag list

— @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1, @kadu-5607 , @zoleea-exultant , @borntoexplore11-blog , @wisdomenlightener , @deadunicorn159 , @elvinapandra , @jennifer0305 , @his0kaswife , @animetye-23, @leathesimp, @dostoevsskij, @meheheasasa, @jsprien213, @lammys-thinking, @cheriecelestial.

Side Storys

— poison | imagine; poison - aftermath | oneshot; (Y/N) is not a virgin | scenario/reaction; bucephalus | imagine; opal necklace | imagine; sculpture | imagine; wedding gifts | drabble; cyrus and aella headcanons; yan!husband alexander the great headcanons; kitten pajamas | oneshot; in the middle of the night | oneshot; awake | oneshot; persians | oneshot; letters from olympias | oneshot; issus | sisygambis, stateira, parysatis and stateira;

AO3

[morgaseus]

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

[morgaseus]

Who should Bobby be?

[morgaseus]

When you have a type and that type is tall, white/silver haired guys with emotional baggage:

[morgaseus]

3.4 SPOILERS !!!!!!!!!!! hurt/no comfort we rip out our hearts like phainon in his ult, character death (reader), you have been warned

tripping over my own feet, scrambling to the mic to share this thought as i'm dripping in cold sweat:

Reader, who is the bearer of a coreflame in this cycle, the same one that you know Khaslana is coming for.

You stand watching over your domain from the balcony of an abandoned building, imminent doom looming overhead. You’ve been prepared for this; the lurch in your stomach, the uneasy buildup of anxiety that sit in your gut like a bottomless pit of nothingness, it all speaks volumes about how long you’ve dreaded this moment. 

You hate feeling so helpless as fate creeps closer and closer like a dark looming cloud, you hate the shake in your hands as you grip your weapon tightly, and you hate that you know this won’t end happily for you. 

Why did it come to this? When? How?

When did it go from the simpler days- times of when you were naively in love with the man you thought you were going to spend the rest of your life with, to this?

You followed him like a loyal dog. Out of Aedes Elysiae, through countless city-states, journeyed with him past thick mangroves and gazed out at the vast sealine of Amphoreus together, your relationship budding into something irreplaceable, something worth being retold in myths.

Lovers so inseparable that it seems divinely ordained, lovers who were created with the other in mind, lovers who would kill for each other.

When did it go from killing for each other, to killing each other? 

The memories are fuzzy around the edges, but you had watched him descend into madness for too long, going after each coreflame and keeping them all in his own body like he was an indestructible vessel. You had watched him turn against your fellow Chrysos Heirs, slain them all like it was the ‘right path to take’, the only method of Deliverance.

You watched him take that title and run rampant, patience beginning to fray as he… turned into someone you didn’t recognise.

You knew you had to do something about it, you couldn’t keep yourself willing in his hands any longer. An anger that felt primordial, like it has been growing steadily within you for millenniums, finally erupting to drive you to do something about it.

The prophecies sing you to be the bearer of a coreflame, so you will heed the call, and stand opposing your lover. 

“This might be the hardest challenge I’ve had to face,” his words are carried to you by the wind, gentle in tone but so mellow and melancholic.

You turn to face your lover, determination burning in your soul. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“And I’ve been searching for you,” Khaslana mimics, eyes swirling with emotions you can’t read, eyebrows downturned– he looks so small, he doesn’t even have his weapon drawn, unlike you. “Y/n, please, don’t do this.”

“I know I’m no match for you, but I couldn’t stand watching you spiral any longer,” tears prick the edges of your eyes as the image of the man you love blurs. “This journey, the outcome of Deliverance you so obsessively chase, it’s not right, you’re destroying yourself.”

“I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“And what needs to be done now is to kill me, right? Tear the coreflame out of my chest? To bring the end of the Flamechase Journey… alone?”

He flinches, each word piercing through his chest deeper than the previous. Still, his will is unwavering when he answers. “Yes.”

“Why?” Your voice cracks. “Why shoulder this by yourself? Why bear the weight of a hundred million coreflames by yourself when we want to help? Why do you insist on such a cruel ending for yourself?”

Khaslana doesn’t answer, only stare at your face like it’s the last time he will see it, as if he’s etching it into memory, every line, every dimple, every imperfection, everything. 

“Because the destination is too perilous,” he mutters. “Because this is the only way to stop Era Nova, and I refuse to let any of you burn with me.” 

“Is this what you think ‘mercy’ is, Lord Khaslana?”

He nods. “It is the closest semblance of mercy I can offer.”

“Fine.” You raise your sword, steel pointed against him. “Show me this ‘mercy’ then.”

Dawnmaker materialises into his hand, and it drags on the floor behind him as he slowly steps toward you. “It doesn’t have to end like this.”

“I know.” 

It’s you who lunges first, swinging first as his larger blade clashes against yours. You can’t take him head-on, the weight of his weapon could shatter yours easily, so you have to weave around him, light on your toes like a dancer. 

You deflect more than you parry, and he stays on the defensive, watching each move keenly, refusing to hurt you. 

You don’t even realise you’re crying, the adrenaline stubbornly keeping you on your feet as you fight the love of your life. All of those sparring sessions to help each other train, to hone each other’s skills, who would have known that it would lead to this? Why is it him that has to be the one to kill you? 

Swordsmanship was a skill you honed to fight against the black tide, to stop those you love from meeting their end from those corrupt, vile creatures, so why is it being used now like this? Why is it Phainon that your blade seeks to kill? 

Why is his blade– the same one that slaughtered Mydeimos, Castorice, and Hyacinthia, the one to pierce through your stomach? 

You gasp when the pain shoots through your body, eyes widening as you feel the sharp ache. Blood rises like bile, and you cough it out, golden ichor dripping from your lips. 

When the cold steel retracts from your body, the piercing pain immobilizes you, causing you to heave as blood pools onto the tiles beneath you. It’s hard to stay upright, your strength slipping away from you as your chipped sword clangs onto stone. 

Then, your knees give out and you all but collapse.

Faintly, you hear the sound of his weapon being discarded, then he materialises beneath you to catch you before the cold, unforgiving ground can, his arms cradling you to his chest. 

He’s sobbing. Neither of you thought he could cry, yet the tears now pour out of him in endless streams, scalding droplets landing on your face while your blood soaks through his clothes, pooling around the two of you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers against your skin, searching for your hand that’s already growing cold and gripping it so tightly like he’s trying to anchor the last semblances of life in your body from fading. “I’m sorry, my love, I’m sorry, forgive me, please.” 

You don’t have the strength to say anything, or even move your hand to reassure him, and it kills him because all he wants is to hear your voice one last time. 

He presses a long kiss to your temple, murmuring something that you can’t hear as your vision begins to vignette, your breathing growing more laboured as your consciousness begins to slip away.

“You’re supposed to be here with me,” he whispers. “It’s not supposed to end like this.” 

There’s a warm hand on your face, prompting you to look up at him. You try your best to smile but he only cries harder. 

“I love you. I love you so much, Y/n, I’ll be with you in the next cycle, I won’t let us end like this again, please, wait for me.” 

Despite your silence, you hope he understands that you’ll wait. You will be by his side, you will make the journey from humble Aedes Elysiae to breathtaking Okhema in every cycle, no matter what, without hesitation, without regret. 

As your last proclamation of love, the coreflame he was searching for manifests in it’s purest form, floating before the two of you, ready for him to take. His heart cracks at the sight and shatters in a million pieces when your eyes droop close, the fight finally ending.

Creatures nearby could hear the man wail loudly for hours after.

© EARTHTOOZ 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

feel free to throw ur tomatoes at me

[morgaseus]

I think we all agree sex with Phainon would just be feral as hell. He is an awful combination of down bad and emotionally repressed. Give him an inch and he’ll go a mile. The moment you let him into your bed, you are NOT leaving until he’s filled you with his spend. But the best worst part is that every time you think he’s finished, he gets himself going again by watching all his cum leak out of your used hole.

“Just one more,” he tells his, ignoring your whines and pulling your hips back, “one more, I promise.”

Phainon is a liar. One more means one more hour. One more means one more day. He has more than enough stamina and if you so much as indicate you want to be fucked stupid… well, who is he to deny your wishes? That is what he lives for, no?

Against the wall, your personal bath, your dresser, even the balcony is not safe. Speaking of which, you’re starting to think Phainon gets off on doing it outside. One of his hands is always gagged around your mouth, hushing you and telling you you’re being too loud and to quiet down, unless you want to be caught. He says all this, all the while his other hand is ruthlessly pressed against your clit, rubbing small firm circles around your sensitive bud, ramming his hips against yours and angling himself against that soft, spongy spot deep inside that he knows makes your head feel light and stars dangle in your eyes.

Phainon is the type to pull strings and use everything in his power to clear his schedule if it means he can spend a whole day just fucking you. Whether or not you’re conscious for that entire session is entirely dependent on how well prepared you are for him. He’ll coo at you during sex, ask if you’re too tired and if you want to rest. It’s so condescending and he laughs when you nod yes, just to keep going like you aren’t about to pass out underneath him.

“Come on, love, I’m almost done… just keep it up, you’re doing so, so well for me…”

Phainon would go until he shoots blanks. You may think you’re safe by then, but you aren’t. He nestles his head around your legs, kissing your sensitive thighs and nipping the skin lightly, coaxing you down from your last high. It’s the first kiss to your overstimulated cunt that you realize what he intends to do. You can push him away all you like, but he intends to feast on you while he still can.

Mydei, on the other hand, I feel you have to coax into bed. You can drop all the hints in the world, trail your hand up and down his chest, tease the hem of his pants, tell him your dirtiest fucking desires for him and he’ll still tell you no (but you can best bet you’re the reason he starts praying to every god in Amphoreus. Cerces, bless him to keep sound of mind and withstand the urges of pouncing you. He is reason, he is reason, he is reason—) The only real effective way to get him to fuck you the first time is by inviting him to your room and then stripping yourself bare. Even then, you STILL have to talk him into it.

Mydei is a gentle lover. He’s aware of his size and stature and how easily he can hurt you. His hands have committed more atrocities than he can count. They have torn the heads of his enemies, crushed bone and flesh, and spilled blood countless times. He doesn’t want to hurt you. Goodness no. He’d never forgive himself if he did.

Hence why you have to sweet talk him, practically beg him have to have his way with you. You have to tell him you won’t be satisfied until you’re fucked within an inch of your life and your guts have been rearranged. Taunting also works. He may be afraid to hurt you, but above all else he can’t stand the idea of you being with anyone else. You are one of a few good things in his life and god forbid he fumbles this one.

“Fine. I guess I’ll just go find that Deliverer—”

There’s nothing more effective than that. Is it cheap? Yes. It is. But, it gets the job done.

In his hands, you’re going to be stretched and bent in ways you never thought possible. Poking a sleep lion is never a good idea, especially when you don’t have the energy to keep up with him. But, you’ve been teasing him for months on end, so it’s only fair he gets his fill of you.

Sex with Mydei can be quite slow, with three fingers stretching you wide and his tongue lapping your cunt. You have to cum at least three times before he even thinks about slipping his cock inside. If you aren’t delirious by then, then you’re absolutely gone when his cock sinks inside. We all know this man is packing, it’s a struggle no matter how well prepped you are. You’re creaming around him just from the stretch alone, and you have a moment of panic where you aren’t sure he’s going to fit. But, ever the attentive lover, he’ll hush your worries away and press soft circles against your clit, massage your breasts, pinch your sensitive nipples, distract you until he finally bottoms out.

“Please, please, please, Mydei…” you can whine, wrap your arms tight around him and pull him close, kiss him sloppy and messy until you’re reaching another high from him simply grinding into you.

He’s hypnotized, hooked on the feeling of you, taste of you, everything about you. He fulfills your every wish of being pummeled deep inside, massaging your walls with every thrust, the head of his cock pressed against the most sensitive spots, with your every breath becoming nothing more than short punched out gasps.

Unfortunately, however, while Phainon is more than eager to fuck his cum inside you, getting Mydei to cum inside is an entirely different matter. He’s so afraid of continuing his lineage in such unstable times, not to mention, he doesn’t want to burden you with his child. But, once you DO convince him that it’s fine, something in his head gets rewired and the idea of ‘gentle’ gets tossed out when he spills inside you for the first time and sees just how excited it makes you. He then has an existential crisis because now he can’t imagine sex any other way and he’s aching to do it again.

Sex with Phainon is easy because he wants to please you and fulfill every dirty dream he’s ever had of you.

Sex with Mydei is a mind game, where you have to ease him in at first, then assure him three-hundred different times that: yes, you want him and yes, you know what you are doing.