#that was super dark towards the end but you get it... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

h109zone · 1 month ago

Text

mess with my woman? mess with me—headcanon

synopsis. you were invited to an event and you brought your boyfriend with you. entrusting your boyfriend's social skills, you branched off to catch up with your best friend, tara. this motion, however, ended up going against your favor.

pairing. multi (seperate) x reader

words. 4.7k

warning. objectification, sexism, some mentions of body parts (ass and boobs) but it is never super specific, threat of violence, mentions of weapons, suggestive (xavier and caleb), use of evol (zayne and caleb), psychological torture, public humiliation, creatively uncreative insults towards a male colleague, implied death, open ending, slight ooc, not proofread**

requested. anon

a/n. my first request (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) i hope i did it justice, and did as told !!! i kinda went overboard, with some having a dark ending, but regardless hope you enjoy it.

minors do not interact. re-read the warnings before reading, as after clicking “keep reading”, i am not responsible for the media you consume.

You and your boyfriend step out of the vehicle as you arrive at the annual ceremony that is held by the Hunters’ Association. It is a highly prestigious and acclaimed event, and you two were dressed to the nines with your elegant long dress and his sharp suit, armored with accessories and hidden weapons, and arms wrapped around each other’s midriff to signify the status of your relationship.

You were both greeted with a welcoming champagne, which you two gleefully took, and casual salutations from guests who knew you specifically. The ball was extravagant, with high-contrast elegance emanating in the room. You hear chattering, pompous chuckles, and rumblings of clinking glasses—a mere opposite environment of that of your workplace.

You flaunted your boyfriend like he was a human version of a one-of-a-kind vintage car—you would feel bad for the objectification, if only for the fact that girls and some guys tend to flock to them to get to know this mysterious man in your arms. Luckily for you, but unfortunately for them, he only has eyes for you, and he pays no mind to others who don’t carry your essence.

After the slight cordial exchange with acquaintances, you spotted Tara from afar, her youthful smile brightened as she jauntily waved her arms signaling for your arrival. You smiled back and nodded at her before you turned your attention towards your boyfriend and your male colleague, whom you happened to stumble upon.

“Hey, babe, Tara’s calling out for me, you don’t mind if I step away?” Your request was a rhetorical one, as you knew he trusted you with his life. He gave his affirmative answer and nodded before you planted a chaste kiss on his cheek and parted ways.

His eyes were on you as you walked up to Tara, ecstatically greeting each other. The male colleague in question looks at your boyfriend with a scoffing expression. The endearing and caring eyes shifted into a scowling confusion as he looked back at the man next to him.

“Is there a problem?” He asked pointedly. The man held your boyfriend’s shoulder as he began chuckling.

“Oh, no, my good man, there is none at all,” The man babbled before he chugged the remainder of his drink. The drunken state is very prevalent, if not in expression, then in his wording. “I’m just wondering how a distinguished gentleman like yourself bagged her? I know you can’t handle all of that juicy ass…”

Rafayel.

Rafayel choked on his drink after he heard the astonishing yet abhorrent language your male colleague had uttered.

“Excuse me?!” Rafayel exclaimed after coughing up the last drink, looking at him with distaste, but clearly, the man still hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Oh, please, we both know you got with her because of how hot she is!“

“Stop! Stop!” Rafayel roared while lifting his hand at the man’s face to signal him to stop talking. He cannot believe the words he is hearing, a male colleague, someone whom you work with, speaking about you—his muse, his future wife, his future mother of his children—in this shallow fashion.

“What gives you the right to speak about her right to my, her boyfriend, may I add, face?!” Rafayel inquired avertingly, eyes reddened in fury. The usually smiley and soft artist has turned into a protective lion ready to attack at any moment.

“Look, I presume you’re fresh meat right now and you don’t deal with her on the daily, but I’ll have you know that if it weren’t for that 10 out of 10 face and ass, you wouldn’t bat an eyelash at her.” This man has gotten himself a death sentence. Rafayel slammed his glass onto the table, causing a domino of heads turning towards him and the human scum in front of him jolted in his place.

“You motherfucker—”

“Hey, Rafy!” You barged in between, almost in cue, before his outbursts took over. The tension rose, and it was evident by your colleague’s petrified yet defensive stance that your usually calm and collected boyfriend snapped.

“Is everything alright?” you asked, concern laced in your tone, paying mind only to your boyfriend. Rafayel could only do a languid yet short breathing exercise before smiling at you, anger still written in his face.

“Yeah, fabulous, I was just getting to know your colleague,” his smile looking painful and petrifying. He wanted to escort you and not witness his wrath, however, his conscious was gnawing at him. He refuses to allow this brain-eating amoeba to roam around this prestigious hall contentedly, without paying his dues.

“Hey, my absolute goddess, and anyone willing to weigh in on the gossip, preferably a boss or higher-up,” Rafayel dramatically announced while wrapping his arm around your waist. You looked at him, brows scrunched in confusion at Rafayel’s sudden behavior. What on earth is this man doing?

“Do you know what this scum has been saying behind your back?” Rafayel pointed at the man who cowardly shrank himself, “You will not believe the absolute filth he has uttered in the short second I’ve dealt with him…”

And there, Rafayel turned the affluent event into a one-sided roast session, your jaw dropped, both in awe and disgust, whilst everyone let out a string of appalled gasps and whispers. Rafayel ripped him a new one while the man tried his best to defend himself.

“It was a joke! I-I didn’t mean to!” The colleague stammered before looking at you in sheer patheticness to save face, not an ounce of remorse, “Please, Ms. (l/n), you know I was only—”

The gasp from the audience got louder as his deplorable voice was replaced by a slap from you. Rafayel could only scowl and hold you closer as you both watched the pathetic man stumble from the hit.

You tugged on Rafayel’s arms and pointed at the door, “Let’s go, Rafy.”

“Let’s go, cutie,” He said, his sweet voice directed to your ears contrasted with the threatening eyes directed towards your male colleague, potentially ex, before turning around and departing from the party.

The rest of the night spent with the two of you laughing at the entirety of the situation, poking fun at the man and your boyfriend’s love for the theatrics. Rafayel assured you that the claims that the man has stated were utter bullshit and that his love and enamor towards you goes beyond looks and bed skills, meanwhile you assured him that you were never close to that specific colleague.

It was a fun time, and Rafayel could not wait for the updates to come when you return to work.

Xavier

Xavier’s polite smile has never dropped so quickly until now.

He has been aware of this specific colleague since he also encounters him every now and then, and has seen you interact with him. He doesn’t like how he tries to get close to you, however, you always told Xavier to tone down his jealousy in the work field as the relationship is strictly business, and that your eyes are reserved towards him and him only. He believes you one hundred percent, yet he wishes he had done things to get that colleague away from you.

“I beg your pardon?” Xavier’s words were as sharp as a knife, as his eyes painted a displeasing anger that was hidden beneath the surface. The drunken man in front of him paid no mind and began rambling.

“C’mon, you can be honest with me,” The man slurred as he leaned in and whispered with a devious smirk, “She had a tight one and was a good fuck, am I right?”

The vulgar words sent shockwaves to Xavier, resulting in him pushing the man in front of him, causing the brain-eating amoeba of a man to stumble back into the table nearby, making everyone gasp and look at the commotion. You turned away from Tara and ran up to Xavier as you spotted him wielding his sword.

“Xavier!” You called out as your boyfriend walked up to the cowardly man below him, threateningly. You stood between the two men, but you fully faced Xavier as you placed your hands on his arms to prevent him from hurting himself, the man, and possibly others.

“Apologize to her,” Xavier said, pointedly and terrifyingly calm. You glanced at the man before looking back at your lover, “What are you talking about?”

The man stood up as he lifted his hand, defensively before opening his mouth, “I just told him how it is, but your man is a pussy.”

Xavier clenched his fists, ready to charge, yet you stopped him by simply glancing at him. You had that power with him; he could have all the weapons and defenses, but nothing’s more potent than your expressions and glances. You squinted your eyes in suspicion before crossing your arms.

“And what is it that you’ve said that got him like this?!” You coldly said, knowing your boyfriend has his moments of irrationality, but he’s not one to always resort to violence—he doesn’t act this way unless his and/or your life has been threatened. Xavier stood behind you as he held your hip, silently reminding you that he had your back, even if you don’t need it.

“That he was with you for a good fuck,” He said in a “matter-of-fact” manner.

The entire audience was flabbergasted by the confession, how callous he seemed, as if he had just uttered a common fact. Xavier was embarrassed on your behalf; he was ready to charge at him, and he couldn’t stand how you were stopping him. However, you showed him something that is possibly more brutal than Xavier’s sword covered with that scum’s blood.

You wheezed.

You let out a hysterical laugh, leaving everyone, including your boyfriend and the colleague, confused. The colleague scowled at your laughing outburst.

“Why are you laughing?!” He exclaimed angrily, fist clenched at the sudden reaction. You proceeded to laugh before you wiped your tears as you attempted to catch your breath.

“Is that what it is?” You spoke, the smile you’re showing on your face was that of menace, “you’re mad that he’s with me for a good fuck and not you?”

Your voice heightened like you were baby talking, which caught everyone off guard, “are you mad that I get to fuck your coworker and have me call out his name instead of yours? Mad that you aren’t in his position?”

Xavier turned red, unexpecting your bold moves, but you kept going with your speech.

“Mad that he gets to see me at my full glory while you’re only limited to my uniform? Mad that he gets to use his hands to make me feel good while you can only use one hand for yourself?” You carried on taunting while the colleague began seething as you kept going, a smirk still exhibited on your face.

“That’s it!” He exclaimed before attempting to lunge at you. Xavier stood up straight on defense almost immediately, yet you fearlessly caught the man on time and proceeded to kick him in the balls. The dirtbag let out a painful groan and crouched down before falling while everyone, minus you and Xavier, in the hall let out their winced “oohs”.

You and your lover looked down at the pained man with a mirrored, cold glower, your glares threatening him to stay away from the two of you. Xavier absent-mindedly held your hand, dragging you away from the commotion as you held him even closer to you.

You two left the hall, going down the steps of the building hand-in-hand. Xavier took notice of your sudden quiet demeanor, making his eyebrows knit in wonder.

“You’re quiet…” Xavier softly spoke as you two walked up the parking lot, “How ironic, after the stunt you’ve done, I wouldn’t guess that this would be the aftermath.”

You sighed, “I’m sorry for airing out our private life in front of our entire coworkers—”

Your apologetic speech was interrupted by Xavier pulling you in for a kiss. The kiss was filled with fervent reassurance as his arm was tightly wrapped around your midriff while he slightly nipped at your bottom lip. He pulled away, his body still close to yours as his hand caressed your cheek, his soft features created an oxymoron with the devious smirk.

“Don’t apologize, now everyone knows not to mess with you…” He pulls away as he walks to the car.

You were sure you were going to give him the best night of his life to salvage the disastrous night.

Zayne

He simply blinked at him with an expressionless face. His eyebrows knitted in utter bemusement, his neutral expression juxtaposed with his agitated inner psyche.

Zayne prayed that what he had just heard was a figment of his imagination and it’s that his possessive side deluded him into thinking that your male colleague said the most objectifying statement he has ever heard about his lover, and he was a young doctor whose no stranger with people from patients to receptionists to even interns and medical students attempting to seduce him for their own greater good, so he knows a thing or two about this subject matter—which is nothing and slightly less worrying than your case.

“I see you’re a man of a few words, don’t worry, I can see your intentions right through you,” the man confidently—wrongly as well—gloated, “Now, I know (y/n) for some time and lemme tell ya, her hunting skills may not be all that, but those cherries of her’s make it all up”

Zayne wished he were deluding himself right now, and the words the man was saying weren’t real. He maintained with the stoic stance, disgust started to crack behind the mask, as the man proceeded to say the most awful thing any human being has ever uttered.

“I mean, you’re one lucky bastard for bagging her, because having a girl with tits like that? Phew, got me acting up…”

For someone who can’t handle alcohol, Zayne cursed himself for not being able to get drunk and forget this abhorrent exchange. While he remained motionless, his hand started to shake in fury as he brought his drink to his lips. The douchebag still proceeds in his demeaning and depersonalizing speech, while your boyfriend averted his eyes away from him. He was getting annoyed, and he thought that enough was enough.

Mid-speech, the pig disguised human began shivering all of a sudden. He started to rub himself to keep himself warm, while Zayne was unbothered by his reaction.

“Phew, is it cold in here? I didn’t think it’d get this cold,” Energy sucker of a human shuddered with his words as he looks at the towering doctor, almost looking for any struggle. He simply shrugged and swirled his remaining drink.

“I don’t think it’s cold.” Zayne finally spoke up for the first time, letting his ominously calming voice be heard. It is unknown if it was the temperature of the room or his voice, but the man next to Zayne started feeling severely shivery.

“H-hey, i-it’s g-getting s-sup-per c-c-cold now,” the shiver in his body and voice turned into a rapid quiver as the man attempts to warm himself by rubbing his arm up, fails miserably. Zayne once again shrugged and paid no mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t feel cold.”

Zayne smirked as he sensed the man’s body begin to whiten from the cold. The mole rat began groaning as icy surfaces began to protrude out of his neck as he knelt in agony, while the ice evol holder could only look down with him, apathy drawn in his face. If he weren’t in a public area, he’d have icicles penetrating his skin, but he knows that won’t be appropriate.

However, the show must go on, as everyone took notice of the man’s aching state, so the empathetic doctor was brought back. As Zayne kneeled and pretended to tend to him, you ran over to the two individuals on the ground, and you noticed your boyfriend’s antics. To a stranger’s eyes, they simply think it’s just an off-duty doctor tending to a struggling victim, but to you, you see Zayne’s purposeful languid motions and his icy gaze that mirrored his evol, which was evidently in use as he tortured the man in front of him. You walked through the crowd up to them and crouched down to their level.

“What happened?” You asked, shocked written in your face. Zayne gave you a small knowing smile, “Nothing, just an injured drunkard, get in the car, we’ll go home after this.”

Straight to the point, yet vague. You knew he was lying, and you knew that he wouldn’t say anything in front of everyone, so you obliged and left. ‘He better have a good explanation for this,’ you thought to yourself.

As soon as your figure was gone and the crowd scattered, Zayne roughly held the struggling man by the collar as he huskily whispered in his ears.

“Listen here, because I won’t repeat this. If you so ever talk about my girlfriend, or any girl at that, in this fashion, I promise you, your visit to hell will be sooner than expected, are we clear?” His calm tone sent shivers down the scum’s spine in fear as Zayne’s threats were sounding more like promise than a threat.

Zayne pulled away, his glacial gaze waiting for a response. The man beneath him vigorously and cowardly nodded before Zayne let go of his collar and dusted himself off.

“You seem to have a mild hypothermia, based on your lower than normal body temperature, I suggest you go home, having something warm and rest with a heater on, so you’ll rejuvinate yourself… for future events” Zayne announced the diagnosis like he didn’t just threatened his life… as if his diagnosis isn’t any less menacing.

Needless to say, you have to thank Zayne for expelling bugs from your job.

Sylus

His brows raised in astonishment. Is this the work environment that you dare to gloat over him for? A man who can just objectify and reduce women to sex objects? Sylus was not a man of high morality and ethics, but even he knows his limits and disdain towards certain ideologies, and it’s the poor excuses of humans like him that will always leave a bad taste in Sylus’s mouth.

“Hm,” Sylus mutters as his face sours while cocking his head to the side. Despite the disinterest shown in the towering white-haired man, the blobfish proceeded in his objectifying tirade.

“I mean, what does a man of high status like yours need a girl like (y/n)? She is nothing but a pretty face and body, I would know, I work along with her,” The man obnoxiously laughed and hit Sylus’s side, making the red-eyed man grimace even further.

This man has a certain death wish, and Sylus is not afraid to fulfill it, but, infuriatingly, patience is the best tool to execute this, and he knows this all too well. He can’t be too rash with his decision, especially when he’s Skye right now, a man who runs a family business selling fruits, not Onichynus, the leader of the N109 Zone and the most feared man.

It’s a good thing that you’ve convinced him that Mephisto should be within your radar, because as soon as he gives the signal to the mechanical crow to bring in Luke and Kiean, it's go time and brings out his love for art and theatrics.

“Oh, is that what you think?” His face shifted instantly, a smirk crossing his arms. The man was too excited to affirm his statement with how quickly he nodded, which seethed Sylus, but he could never showcase it right now. As the man carried on ranting, Sylus nodded before tapping on his ear as a form of discreet scratching.

That maneuver triggered the hidden earpiece you and Sylus had, and there you can hear Sylus’s torturous and abhorrent conversation with your colleague, whom you have foolishly praised. You have aided him in multiple missions and provided resources for him to better himself in the field, and now this is thanks you get? If you’re a nagging bitch, then you’ll show him what a nagging bitch would do.

Tara was absentmindedly ranting, before you interrupted her and gave her an excuse that “Skye” needed to go back home urgently. Tara said her farewells, and you two exchanged hugs before you said goodbye to the rest of the group.

You already knew what Sylus was going to do, he didn't have to tell you his plan. you already had him memorized like a book of incantation, just as he is to you, and with the way he intentionally turned on his earpiece to make you listen to the horseshit your so-called “trusted colleague,” you knew he was done for.

“Hey, Skye,” You gleefully returned as you wrapped your arms around your boyfriend’s midriff, resulting in his automatic hold on you while his gaze falls on you with wonder in his eyes—this was not an act, the action of having you physically close to him can make him falter into his knees for his adoration is bigger than what the universe can carry, hence the impromptu mission at hand.

“Oh, hey, sweetie, such perfect timing, we were having such a riveting and intellectually stimulating conversation, isn’t that right?” Sylus said with his iconic smirk, discreetly sarcastic. He had placed the man in front of you in an uncomfortable position, with his tight-lipped smile and slight nod. Oh, how funny sexist pigs can be.

“Oh, is that so? What were you talking about?” You feigned innocence and curiosity as you looked at the two men.

The man stiffened as he nervously stammered, “oh, there’s no need to know, it’s, y’know… men stuff.”

You nodded with a squint as you held Sylus closer, silently signifying to him that it’s done and the cue to be leaving, but you weren’t going to leave in silence.

“Yeah, I’m sure talking about me being a nagging bitch is peak masculinity.” You sneered before you turned your back, dragging Sylus, and you two departed. The pig’s colors melting away from his face was priceless, which both of you fought hard not to laugh and ruin the image you two tried to maintain until both of you’re out of sight.

“You’re not a bad actress, Miss Hunter,” Sylus left a teasing yet genuine comment as you two walked on the sidewalk. Sylus purposely parked his car away for anonymity and safety, so it is a bit of a walk.

You chuckled, “You’re not so bad yourself, I was almost convinced that you agreed with everything he said with how you kept egging him on,” you teased back, making Sylus visibly cringe at the thought.

“Please, it was more torturous listening to his voice, let alone pretending to hear him out,” He spat while rolling his eyes, making you chuckle before you wrapped your arms around his muscular biceps. Despite everything, the lengths that Sylus takes to keep you safe and protected make you fall for him, and after knowing what he’ll do to that guy after he takes you home, it’s safe to say that Sylus is the only man you’ll put your 100% trust in.

Caleb

He could’ve sworn he heard a record scratch being played because of what he just heard. No, no, that was the chip acting up, there are side effects with the chip, he could’ve possibly misheard—

“Yeah, and I bet that pussy is tight,” Your colleague paused to sigh, “How does it feel to bag a baddies and manage to nuzzle yourself in that?”

Oh, he has chosen death, for sure. Caleb felt his eye twitch as he noticed the man eyeing you like a predator would a prey. This has to be some cruel prank made by you; THIS poor excuse of a human is your trusted colleague? The one you once mentioned that you trust him with your drinks after him? This scum was almost placed at a same level as him—your devoted, loving boyfriend. Caleb doesn’t know if he should get offended that you’ve placed this nobody at the same level as him, or direct his entire anger at him.

He figured the forth should be dealt with later and handle the latter firsthand.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Caleb switched off his charismatic and sociable persona and placed his cold colonel side up to the surface with the bluntness of his tone. The cuntleague jolted in his place, noticing the unsatisfactory reaction coming from the colonel.

“C’mon, Caleb was? You know I was fucking aro—”

“It’s Colonel Caleb to you,” He sternly spoke, “And I don’t want you jeering around, talking about my girlfriend this way.”

The man in front of him didn’t take him seriously, laughing straight at Caleb’s unrelenting stance. Oh, he’s sealed his deal; he better not, god forbid, have any loved ones.

“Alright, Colonel Caleb, whatever you say, buddy—” The heckler wanted to give your boyfriend a pat on the shoulder, only for it to levitate above the broad shoulder. The man notices the odd phenomenon, trying to pull away but to no avail, he struggles as he tries to get his hand back to its natural position. Caleb could only scornfully look at him as blue and red rays emanated around him like an aura, his lips curled in disgust.

The man began pleading with the colonel to let go of his hand, anticipating his mercy of his hand. Caleb waited as he stared down, before elevating his hand away just slightly, only for the man’s hand to remain static in front of his face.

“Hey, what are you doing—” His mouth shut due to the pressure of his jaw shutting him, thanks to Caleb’s evol, and then dragged him far away from the crowd. What occurs next makes the man regret what he uttered; the psychological and physical torment that Caleb inflicted on him was beyond cruel. But can he be blamed? He has heard your fantasy in the eradication of incels, and this colleague of yours is no less than that—it’s just you didn’t know that. Now, this man is paying his dues, hoping he never talked to Caleb, or disrespected him, or talked about you in a vulgar manner.

You’ve noticed that Caleb was nowhere in sight, you were getting tired and wanted to call him to let him know of your state, only for him to appear behind you, wrapping his arm around your waist. You jumped in surprise before turning to him, making you laugh.

“Oh, my god, Caleb, you scared me,” you spoke through chuckles before wrapping your arms around his neck, “where have you been? I went to talk to Tara real quick, only for you to disappear.”

Caleb pouted before leaning to kiss your cheek, “I’m sorry, pipsqueak, I went to the bathroom, I didn’t make you worry about me, did I?” He cooed, eyes glimmering in puppy-like state. You caressed his cheek while shaking your head.

“No, no, I just wanted to tell you that I want to go home now,” You said.

“Yeah, I think so too, I want to go home too,” Caleb hushes before he leans in to paint your skin with kisses and love bites, while his hands begin roaming down your body, ignoring that you were in public. You gasped at his sudden yet bold public display of affection as you gripped his arm when he began attacking your neck.

“Caleb!” You whined through your shocked chuckles, “What has gotten into you? There are people around, you can’t have missed me this much.”

Caleb still left trails of kisses before pulling away with a devious smirk, revealing to you a flushed face, “You have no idea… let’s get out of here…” Caleb huskily spoke before he carried you bridal style, making you yelp with astonished, widened eyes.

Caleb proceeds to drag you away from his sins and crimes, but is it criminal for wanting to take care of an uncomfortable situation his way? Is it a crime if the crime has disappeared into thin air? Caleb took you on a ride that opposes the idea of what your male colleague has gone through. You were rolling in the fields of pleasure and bliss, meanwhile your colleague held uncertainty and mystery. He was last seen at the event, never to be seen again.

Caleb just wanted to protect you from evil, and he can expel it if you tell him so.

653 notes · View notes

lunasfics · 2 years ago

Text

Found Family

summary: In which Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent engage in a custody battle over a clone created from both their DNA, or, in which you get saved from a lab and gain two new families who would move mountains for you.

pairing: Bat Family x f! Reader, Supers x f! Reader

word count: 8.2k

preview

a/n: hello! IT'S FINALLY OUT WOOHOO, it's a bit long but i had a lot of fun writing it. certain characters may be a bit ooc so i do apologize as i'm still getting my footing on how to characterize certain people. let me know what you think! constructive criticism is always welcome and appreciated (just pls don't be mean lol)! i left a somewhat open-ish ending because i wanna make this into a series/universe, and will start taking requests for drabbles in this universe, depending on how this is received! - luna :)

reblogs are appreciated!

“I’m in. Robin, what’s your status?” Bruce spoke into the earpiece, swiftly moving through the shadows of the lab. It was a simple mission: get into the lab Lex Luthor had created under Gotham City, collect intel needed to take down said lab, and leave. Unfortunately, it’s never really that simple, is it?

“I’m in, making my way through the west wing, cover is still intact,” Damian muttered back.

“Good. Nightwing?”

“Just entered the center lab, heading down to the bottom level now, haven't been spotted,” Dick said, making his way down the steps, careful to remain silent.

“Good. Remember the objective. In and Out.” Bruce muttered as he continued, searching for the locked file cabinet he was looking for.

“Files located. Ready for extraction” Damian said quietly through the intercom.

“I’ve made it to the bottom level. Requesting immediate backup, there's something here you guys need to see” Dick’s voice echoed through the earpiece, “They’ve made another clone.”

Bruce stopped what he was doing, silently making his way down the hall towards the staircase Dick took around a half hour before, “I'm on my way. Damian?”

“Heading there now. Files are downloaded.”

Upon arriving at the lower level, Dick bypasses security to let them in, making sure to reactivate the lock behind them, “Look.”

He gestured to the incubation tube not far from them, inside of it stood a young woman, who looked no older than 20, wearing a black skin-tight suit, a familiar “S” symbol adorning her chest, only it was the center of another symbol, the bat symbol, with bat ears at the top and bat wings on either side of it, a dark burgundy color with gold lining along the edges. The plaque below the tube read:

Attempt 1: G6B24

Specimen 1: Superman (Identity: Unknown)

Specimen 2: Batman (Identity: Unknown)

Status: Failed - Shows excessive signs of emotional intelligence (unfit for purpose), Subject is not invulnerable, Lacks thermal vision

‘Emotional Intelligence’ you must have shown hesitation, a moral compass.

“Father… what are we going to do?” Damian asked, he was at a loss, part of him felt slightly threatened, if you were taken in, he would no longer be the only child related to Bruce by DNA, and you were older, stronger— perhaps you would take his place, the place he’d finally felt he truly belonged; however he remained silent, his past self likely would have attempted to argue against your rescue, but he’d grown, he knew deep down you deserved a chance at this life just as much as he did.

Bruce looked up at your unconscious figure, at a loss for words, you were his daughter, intentional or not, there was a part of him in you, he only hoped that part wouldn't screw you over for life. As surprised as he was, he had an obligation to you the same way he did with Dick, Jason, Tim, Cass, Steph, Barbara, Duke, Damian, and every other vigilante he had taken under his wing.

His Batman instincts kicked in very quickly though, immediately refocusing himself, reading through the files, in an attempt to prepare himself for any possible scenario, he turned to Dick.

“Find all the DNA samples they have belonging to both me and Superman, we’re taking them,” he said, making sure to not hyper-focus on the thoughts flooding his mind.

“We’re not just leaving her here, are we? The plaque says ‘failed’. Who knows what could happen to her?” Dick said, he was frustrated.

Conner had gotten a chance to build a life for himself. You deserved one too, the mere thought of Bruce wanting to leave you there angered him.

“She’s coming with us. Damian, watch the door, Dick, find the samples," Bruce said gruffly, moving to the tube, bypassing the database to open it, without setting off any system safeguards. He reached into his utility belt and pulled out his shard of kryptonite, just in case it was needed to neutralize you.

The tube opened slowly, a swoosh sound filling the air as the cold fog escaped the tube, spilling into the air, your eyes fluttering open as you looked around, your eyes focusing on him.

You flew at him, full speed, pushing him against the wall with a thud, knocking the wind out of him, your eyes boring into his, glowing red, just as you were about to terminate him with your heat vision, he uttered the safe word he had seen in your file.

“Blue Pineapple” he grunted out, the red in your eyes fading away instantly, as you stared at him with wide eyes. You backed away slowly, lowering yourself to the floor. Your eyes fixed on him once again.

You recognized him from your programming, the man whose combat skills were engraved into your mind.

“Batman?”

Dick and Damian rushed over, making sure Bruce was okay. He was fine.

Dick turned to you, holding out his hand, “Come with me. We need to get you out of here, you aren’t safe here.”

You stared at him, your eyes narrowing, “Why should I trust you?”

Dick sighed, Those damn Wayne genetics, he kept his hand extended to you, “Because we’re helping you escape, if you come with us, you can meet Superman, be a hero just like him and Batman, you could actually see the world” he promised.

"I know what the world looks like." you stated bluntly.

He sighed, his hand not wavering, "But have you ever experienced it? Let us show you what that's like. You can have a life."

You thought for a moment, before letting out a small grunt, nodding at him and taking his hand, allowing them to lead you out of the lab grounds seemingly undetected.

When you stepped out, you stopped, eyes completely transfixed on the brilliant night sky. Blends of blues and purples and grays danced together to make the beautiful endless abyss above you. You knew every color there was. You knew everything, but at the same time you really didn't. You stared up at the stars, you knew how they came to be, you knew every scientific explanation there was yet seeing them… it made you feel a way you couldn’t explain.

They led you to the batmobile, situating you in the back seat with Damian, starting the drive to the Batcave. Bruce dialed Clark’s number into the keypad, it rang twice before he picked up.

“Hello?”

“Meet me in the Batcave. It’s urgent. Bring Conner.”

“What’s going o-”

He hung up.

Dick covered his mouth to hide his snicker, “So, Bruce, you and Clark have an official love child now, right? What will Lois think?” he feigned concern, placing the back of his hand over his forehead, committing to the drama, “Oh, how scandalous, I mean really, the shame! I can already see the headlines ‘Billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne turned common whore after breaking up happy metropolis family’”

Damian covered his laugh with a cough.

You looked at the three of them, utterly confused, still processing what was going on.

Bruce huffed, shooting them both a glare, “Dick, be mature.”

Dick smiled, “I can't help myself, just wait til Jason finds out.” He smiled in excitement, as they pulled into the side entrance of the Batcave.

Bruce let out a deep, tired sigh.

Clark sat in silence in the Batcave, Conner standing to his left, his eyes wide as he stared at you, possessing some features belonging to both he and Bruce, and other features that seemed to be entirely your own.

You stared back, that same stoic nature radiating off of you that radiates off the Batman, however, he noted the defensive look in your eyes, one so similar to the one he saw in Conner when he first met him. He eyed your suit, noting the familiar “S” symbol, only it was a burgundy color, a rather interesting combination of the Batman and Superman emblems, and he was utterly confused.

He looked over at Bruce, still in his bat suit, his cowl pulled off, “Bruce, what the hell is going on?”

“I had to call you here because Luthor decided to create another clone. I did the DNA test, Clark, she’s a combination of both our DNA” Bruce looked at him, Dick and Damian standing to his right. It was silent for a moment, you felt like a guinea pig, the way they all stared at you. It made you angry.

Conner was the first to speak, stepping forward before opening his mouth, choosing his words carefully, “What’s your name?”

You responded immediately, it felt automatic. “Experiment attempt number one. Code G6B24. I was made to be the future killer of the Batman and the Kriptonian.”

He nodded slowly, “I’m a clone too, and Clark took me in— well, he took me in eventually— that’s besides the point. He showed me how to become my own person, we can help you do that too.”

You looked at him, eyes softening ever so slightly, but you kept your guard up like your Batman programming taught you to. “I was made to be a killer, if I don’t do what I was made to do, what am I worth?” you said quietly, voice unwavering.

Damian watched you, your words striking him in a way he hadn't expected them to, he understood what you were saying all too well.

Bruce decided to speak up next, “You were created, it’s not your fault what their intentions were when they did so. What you become from here on out is your choice.”

You stayed silent, eyes darting around the room—What is this feeling? Vulnerability? You knew it by definition, like you did most other feelings, but feeling them… it was different.

Dick noted the way you seemed overwhelmed, he approached you slowly, pulling up two chairs, motioning for you to sit, you chose to remain standing until he sat down first.

“You know, we trust you, we want to figure out a way for you to become the best you can be. On your terms” he said, offering you a small smile.

You looked around, the others nodded in agreement, “I was made to be only the best parts of you” you said, your gaze focusing on Clark and Bruce, they both put their best qualities forward to help others, how could you use those same qualities to destroy that?

“I… don’t want to be a killer. They said I was too… human. I thought I’d failed them.”

Damian decided to step forward, “You didn’t fail anyone, you are meant for greater things. You haven't killed anyone, you can choose your path. If the path you choose is the Robin mantle... I am willing to work with that.”

At this, the other men in the room turned to look at him, Clark and Conner were slack-jawed, this was the same kid who fought Tim tooth and nail over this mantle. The same mantle he was just… willing to give you?

Meanwhile Dick had a proud smile on his face, you thought you saw a small tear in his eye.

Bruce’s face seemed unreadable, however, you took notice of the way the corners of his lips turned up for a split second. before reverting back to their natural state.

You weren’t sure what to say, again, you knew what this mantle was, by definition. The reality was you had no sense of what it meant, the weight it carried. And you knew that.

“Thank you, but I feel like that title isn’t mine to take. I think I need to… become something that's true to who I am, whatever that may be.”

Bruce looked at you, the corner of his lip barely twitching up into a smile, a smile so subtle that only someone of your… background would notice, an attempt of his towards getting you more comfortable, “We should start with a name.”

You looked at Conner, he gave you an encouraging smile.

“Like I chose Conner, so now I’m Conner Kent,” he said with a small shrug, “You can choose whatever you want.”

“I see,” you thought for a moment, “I like Y/n.”

Clark smiled, standing up and clapping his hands together, “Great! Y/n Kent, has a nice ring to it.”

“Wayne.”

He turned towards Bruce, eyes narrowing slightly, “Kent.”

“Wayne.”

This time Conner spoke, “Kent.”

The three men stared at each other, arms crossed mirroring each-other’s glares.

Dick cut in, “How about Grayson?”

“No.” came their simultaneous response.

Dick frowned, slumping in the seat next to yours, “Jeez.”

Damian spoke next, “I suppose Al Ghul is off the table…”

Dick snorted, breaking out into a fit of laughter, you grinned softly at the sounds of his laughter, it reminded you of a windshield wiper.

Conner sighed, “Fine, what about Wayne-Kent?”

Bruce huffed, “I suppose.”

Clark nodded, the smile returning to his face as he turned to you, “Y/n Wayne-Kent”

You nodded, “I like it.”

Dick could help but laugh from beside you, “It's like I'm watching reality tv. Love me some baby mama drama.”

Clark opened his mouth to speak and closed it, before sighing and looking at Bruce, who just pinched the bridge of his nose.

Conner chuckled at the sight, turning to Damian, who’s lip quirked up in amusement.

Bruce looked up, his attention directed towards you, “Y/n, you can stay here for the night, I’ve asked Alfred to set up a room for you. Clark, Conner, come by tomorrow with Lois and Jon, I’ve called the others to come by as well, we’ll get everything situated tomorrow. For now, get some rest.”

Everyone nodded, Clark and Conner heading to the exit of the cave, Damian, Dick and Bruce leading you to the room that was prepared for you.

Dick brought you a sweater and some sweatpants to change into, closing the door with a soft, “Goodnight, kiddo.”

You changed in silence, slowly getting under the covers and drifting off to sleep, marking the start of your new life. Tomorrow would be an interesting day.

You woke up the next morning, to a soft knock on the door, your super hearing picking it up better than you would have liked. You opened the door, revealing an older man you hadn’t seen before. He smiled softly, giving you an instantaneous sense of comfort you couldn’t explain.

“Hello Miss Y/n. My name is Alfred, I am the butler,” he greeted you, handing you a folded set of clothes, “Master Kent chose these for you, however if they are not to your liking, do let me know.”

“They’re fine…Thank you.”

He smiled warmly, the kind old man giving you a nod, “Once you've changed, do come down, I’ve prepared breakfast. The other members of the family will arrive soon to meet you.”

You gave him a short nod, he smiled again, your demeanor reminding him of the young Bruce he’d looked after all those years ago. He shut your door softly before retreating down the staircase, leaving you in your room to change.

You picked up the small note that rested at the top of the pile, reading it over.

Comfortable, Practical, and cool. Hope you like it. - Conner

You looked down at the neatly folded clothes, unfolding a black long sleeve turtleneck shirt, the material was thick but breathable, you slipped it on with ease, the foreign material soft against your skin, you appreciated that it didn’t suffocate you.

You reached for the pants next, dark gray cargo pants, these were thicker, and the had an overwhelming amount of pockets. You slipped them on before slipping on the boots that were at the bottom of the stack and exiting the room, going down the staircase.

Upon entering the dining room, you were met with Bruce sitting at the head of the table, reading the paper calmly eating his pancakes, to his right sat Dick chatting excitedly to the boy next to him, who smiled at him as he listened, he was a slender boy with black hair who looked a bit younger than Dick. Then there was Alred, calmly enjoying his breakfast. Finally there was Damian on the other side of Bruce, leaving an empty seat between Damian and Alred. You sat down, the pale boy noticing you first.

Bruce looked up, “Tim, this is Y/n.”

“Hello.” You sat up awkwardly. One thing you never learned was how to navigate social interactions.

He studied you for a moment, offering you a small smile, “I’m Tim.”

You gave a nod, returning his smile with a smaller one of your own.

“She knows, by the way.” Dick chimed in.

His eyes widened, was that why you were there?

“How?”

All eyes are on you. You opened your mouth to speak but Damian spoke first.

“She’s a clone. Father will explain everything when everyone else arrives so as to not waste time, until then, hold on to your childish curiosity. I’d like to enjoy my breakfast.”

Dick nodded, “She was literally made for this shit.”

“Watch your language Master Dick, it is deplorable to speak in such a way at the table, much less in the presence of a lady.”

Dick blushed, “Sorry Alfred.”

Bruce simply gave a nod.

Tim slumped back in his seat, wanting to ask you questions about your abilities, your earliest memories, who were you a clone of, how your programming worked, the boy was itching to know it all.

Breakfast passed by relatively quickly after that, you weren’t bombarded with questions, much to your relief. Alfred kindly asked you how you slept to which you replied that you slept well. The sound of casual conversation and glassware scraping together filling the room. You enjoyed observing the atmosphere.

Clark and Conner were the first to arrive at the manor, greeting you happily, with them was a woman and a younger boy, who immediately went to sit by Damian.

Clark brought them over to you, the woman smiled warmly at you. It made you feel safe.

She held your hand in hers, “My name is Lois,” her voice was kind, genuine. You noted how she carried herself. Strong, secure, honest.

Clark was quick to bring Jon over, excited to introduce him, “This is my son, Jon.”

“Hi!” he beamed at you, you smiled, he was cute. Cheerful as he smiled brightly at you.

“Hello, my name is Y/n.” you greeted the two, who smiled at you.

Conner was the next to approach, “Did you like the clothes? I picked them out cause it was all I used to wear, but who knows, you may want something more… fashionable.”

You smiled softly, “They're nice, thank you.”

“On that note actually,” Clark said, “I was thinking we can take you shopping later, Bruce and I can pay.”

Bruce deadpanned, “That’s a joke, right?”

He smiled, “Of course, you’re paying for everything.”

“Sounds about right.”

Chatter filled the room not long after, Jon and Damian catching up on the couch while Conner and Tim started a conversation of their own.

The next people to arrive were three young women, blonde, brunette, and red hair. They had arrived together.

The blonde spoke first, “Why'd you call us here Bruce? We had planned for brunch.” She bitterly narrowed her eyes at him, the brunette behind her giving a short nod of agreement.

Bruce sighed, “We’re waiting on Jason. He’s late.”

“As always.” The redhead said with a sigh, though you could see she wasn't actually upset.

The blonde girl turned to you first smiling, “I’m Stephanie, but call me Steph. I’m assuming you’ll be joining our vigilante posse.” She seemed funny, and kind, like she truly cared for those around her.

“Somewhat, I don’t really know. I’m Y/n.” You said bluntly.

“Pretty name.” She smiled, gesturing to the red haired woman behind her, “This is Barbara, but she's really just Babs.” She then gestured to the brunette, “That’s Cass. She’s lovely.”

You looked at them and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Barbara smiled warmly at you, “You too, I’m so glad there’ll be another girl around, we can always use more company.” She smiled at you so kindly, despite having only just met you. Her voice was sweet, like honey.

Cass smiled softly at you, “Come to brunch with us later. Or, lunch, now since Jason is holding us up.”

You nodded your lip quirking up into a small smile, “I’d enjoy that.”

Truthfully, you didn't know what the fuck brunch was. But she said lunch and that you knew. You'd find out about brunch later.

Then, as if on cue, the man in question arrived, walking through the door, slipping off his brown jacket and tossing it on the couch. He was tall, with a stocky frame, jet black hair with a white streak on the front.

“This better be good.”

Tim mumbled, “Finally”

“Miss me Timmy?”

“Quite the contrary.”

The one called Jason laughed before giving him a small nudge, to which Tim swatted his hand away.

His eyes fixed on you, then on Bruce.

“Dude, seriously? Another one? You have a problem man. You’d think you would’ve stopped after me.”

Bruce stood up, “Jason, sit down. Now that you’re all here I wanted to introduce you to Y/n. She’s a clone, made from both mine, and Clark’s DNA.”

“Holy shit, man.”

“Jason, will you shut up?”

“Never.”

“As I was saying, she’ll be here in the manor for the time being, I’ll be training her and assessing her combat technique.”

“Hold on,” Clark interjected, “She should come with us, she needs to get the hang of her powers.”

“Clark, I have a state of the art training area in the cave.”

“So? We’re supers, all we need is an open field.”

“We need to assess her combat skills, and also assess the extent of her powers. She isn’t invulnerable. We need to prioritize getting to the bottom of that.”

Clark huffed but nodded, understanding the full extent of your abilities was vital in actually training you.

“It’s like I’m watching a custody battle.” muttered Steph, Barbara laughing quietly beside her.

“Wait- So Y/n is basically if you and Clark had a baby?” Tim gawked at them, his eyes shifting from Bruce to Clark, to you. When his eyes landed on you, he fired questions like he was on a time limit.

“How do Bruce’s genetics affect your abilities? Are you immune to kryptonite and invulnerable? How does your thermal vision work? Enhanced strength? Can you fly? Can you fly as fast as Superman? Do you have combat training? How do y-”

Conner smacked a hand over his mouth, leading him back to his seat, “Lets try not to overwhelm her with the questions.” He chuckled.

Tim nodded, looking up at you, “Sorry, Y/n.”

“That’s okay. To answer your questions, his genetics don’t necessarily have a huge impact on any of my abilities, I was created with every available video of Batman fighting embedded into my mind, and the combat skills were engraved in my memory, I should be able to replicate his fighting style to a tee. I’m not invulnerable, but in theory, the stealth I was programmed with allows me to stay agile enough that I shouldn’t often get hurt. I don't have thermal vision, but I do have laser vision, enhanced strength, and flight, although I haven’t tested how fast I actually can fly. And like I said, my combat training is essentially the combat footage uploaded into my mind.”

Tim had nodded, eyes trained on yours in complete interest as you answered each question, occasionally jotting something down on the notes app of his phone.

Lois narrowed her eyes slightly at both Bruce and Clark, “I do hope you’re factoring in giving her the opportunity to build an actual social life. Maybe get her enrolled in school.”

“She has doctorate-level information on several different topics stored into her mind, as well as fluency in 8 languages. I think she’ll be fine, Lois,” Bruce replied.

She rolled her eyes, “Okay, so school’s not necessary, what about building a social life for herself? That’s important.”

“There’s Young Justice,” Conner said, “I figured she’d join.”

Tim nodded in agreement, “I can help her get situated.”

“Where will I stay?” you asked, you didn’t particularly enjoy how they were all discussing you as if you weren't there, but there honestly wasn’t much you could do.

“You can stay at the manor, or you can stay with the team, but it'd be best if you lived here in the Manor.” Bruce replied.

“Why isn’t Metropolis an option?” Clark muttered.

“Because it’s more practical to have her here in Gotham, living with Tim will make it easier to adjust to the team.”

“I want time with her, Bruce.”

“You’ll get it. We’ll have her assessed, then three times a week she’ll train and get a hold of her powers with you.”

Clark nodded, satisfied with that answer.

Lois spoke again, turning to you, “Y/n, how does that sound to you?”

You blinked. “It sounds fine. My super hearing allows me to hear every conversation proficiently.”

She chuckled softly, “It’s a figure of speech sweetheart, I meant if you’re okay with everything that was said, you’ve been a bit quiet.”

You felt your face grow hot, “Oh. Yeah, I’m okay with it.”

Clark gave you a fond smile.

Bruce looked at you and smiled softly, a barely noticeable one, but a smile nonetheless.

The bulk of the conversation was over. The people in the room falling into easy conversation with one another, you look around, not sure what to do. That is until Jason approaches you, a kind smile on his face.

“Hey Y/n, I’m Jason, I’ll be honest, you probably won't see me too often cause I can barely stand being around Bruce, but… if he’s ever a dick, call me and I’ll either punch him for you and take you somewhere he’s not.” he grinned, “Or both.”

You laughed softly, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

He nodded, “I’ll be raiding the kitchen, but if anyone asks, I left.” He shoots you a grin before slipping away.

It’s not long after that when Jon approaches you, Damian by his side, he shoots you a toothy grin, “So, you’re like, my sister now, right?”

You’re not sure how to respond, but you feel a puddle of warmth pooling in your heart, it’s nice. You smile at him softly, “I suppose so.”

He grins, “And that would also make you Damian’s sister. right?”

“I suppose so.”

“See Damian, we’re blood brothers by extension.”

“Jon, that is the most imbecilic logic I’ve ever encountered. Just because Y/n is both my blood and yours doesn’t mean–”

“Blood brothers!” He had shouted cheerfully, before walking away and over to Lois to inform her of the good news.

Damian sighed, though you took notice of the soft smile that flashed across his face, you concluded that he cared for him.

A lot of people in this family– Bruce’s family specifically, tend to hide affection, despite the fact that it is apparent to you that they feel it. You decide not to focus on it, people are complicated.

You chat a bit with various people in the room, Lois telling you that you’re always welcome to visit whenever you’d like, Barbara talking to you about how her work as Oracle, Steph telling you all about the other vigilantes you’ll probably end up crossing paths with. Tim and Conner sat by you, telling you all about the team and the people you’ll meet once all your training is done.

Slowly, people start to leave, you saw Jason slip out the front door first, sending you a wink. Dick left not long after, needing to return to his responsibilities in Bludhaven, making sure to tell you you’re always welcome to visit him over there. Then Clark left with Lois, Jon, and Conner, leaving the residents of the manor plus, Cass, Steph and Barbara.

Damian and Tim had retreated to their rooms, while Alfred busied himself with household chores, Bruce stood up, approaching you before saying, “Did you still want to go shopping? You’ll need training clothes.”

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

Steph perked up, rushing towards the two of you, “Oh, we have to come.”

“Steph, you go shopping every week. With my card.”

Barbara chimed in, “It’s not about that Bruce, you have a terrible fashion sense. We can’t let you impose that onto Y/n.”

Cass nodded in agreement.

“We’re just buying training clothes.”

“She can’t wear training clothes in her daily life,” Steph rolled her eyes, “She needs a wardrobe.”

You smiled, “I would like a wardrobe.”

“See?”

Bruce sighed but nodded, “Let's go then.”

Steph cheered while Barbara and Cass high-fived behind her, it was an amusing site.

When you arrived at the mall, Steph immediately linked arms with you, dragging you around to her favorite stores, paying no mind to your super strength potentially being able to accidentally break her arm. It caught you off guard, not only the physical display of affection, but the trust.

Again, you felt that soft puddle of warmth pool in your chest. You could get used to that.

You had gotten to know Barbara and Cass fairly well during the trip as well, Barbara was sweet, she and Steph made you laugh more than you thought you could. Cass and you got along well too, she picked out the clothes you liked the most, always nodding in approval when you would try anything on, a soft smile on her face. The three of them opened their group up to you so quickly, it had surprised you, you felt that with their company you were better able to navigate finding yourself.

The four of you hadn’t paid much mind to Bruce trailing behind you as you went from store to store, not that he minded. He held a fond smile as he observed the four of you giggling, talking, and having a good time.

He knew his focus on training was important, but he also knew Lois was right (not that he’d admit that to anyone), you needed a social life too. And he knew your heightened emotional intelligence would surely allow you to obtain that, you just needed to blossom, and allow yourself to break free of the restraints you put on yourself.

He’d lost count of how many times he had swiped his card that day, at some point he had decided to just start waiting by the front, once you guys were ready, he’d walk over, swipe his card, and you guys would move on to the next shop. He wouldn't say this to anyone, but he enjoyed doing things like this, taking care of the people he cares about.

The last store you had gone to was WayneTech, it was Bruce’s idea. You needed a phone in order to keep everyone’s contacts. So they brought you there where you got the latest model of their cell phone line, it was sleek and thin. You picked out a case and you got a screen protector. Bruce had told you that once you got to the Batcave he’d input league contacts, safety features, as well as league-level security settings.

By the end of the trip it was early in the evening, Bruce had his arms absolutely filled with shopping bags, and what he couldn’t carry was carried by you and Steph. The five of you stepped out into the parking lot, the sun setting, casting a deep orange hue on the parking lot. You took in the image in front of you, you didn’t know suns could set so beautifully.

The ride home was nice, the car was filled with the soft chatter of the four of you, Bruce didn’t feel the need to listen in. The soft music playing on the stereo as a background was a nice addition to the atmosphere.

When you’d arrived at the manor, the girls had bid you goodbye, but not before making sure they had your number to add you to their group chat. You were warned by Steph that Cass’s meme game could not be beat. You were slightly confused but nodded, a happy smile on your face. They each gave you a hug before getting in their cars and heading off.

The walk into the manor was silent, but not awkward, mainly the two of you taking armfuls of bags up to your room.

As he shut the door, Bruce turned to you, “It’s not too late, if you want, we could start out on some training.”

You nodded, going into your room to change, “I’ll be down there in a bit.”

He nodded, walking away to change as well.

You entered the Batcave shortly after, comfortable in your black sweatpants, and a black long sleeve athletic shirt. Now, having a better opportunity to take it all in, it was massive. You looked to your left to see Damian sparring with Tim in one of the further training areas. You walked over to Bruce, he gave you a small smile, leading you to the second training area by Tim and Damian, who by now had stopped sparring, in favor of observing your skill.

“You can replicate my fighting style to a tee, right?”

You nodded.

“Let’s see it.”

You charged first, making sure to suppress your strength, your movements swift and calculated, landing a fast right kick to his abdomen. He sidestepped, landing a swift punch to your side. You kept attempting attacks on eachother, each one dodging the other flawlessly.

Tim and Damian watched in awe as the two of you gracefully moved, as if you were dancing. This went on for several minutes, until you attempted a fast left kick to his side, which he caught, using as leverage to flip you over on your back.

Your limbs ached, you looked up at him, “How did you do that?”

He held a hand out to help you up, “I’m not as fast with my left kicks as I am with my right ones. My weaknesses are your weaknesses.”

You nodded. Made sense.

“You have good technique, and you replicate my fighting perfectly, but that’s all it is. A replication. You need to make it your own. Adapt it in accordance with your abilities, you can’t do that now because Clark hasn’t trained you, but in time you will.”

You nodded, your chest swelling with pride at his compliment, you knew after your training with Clark you would be able to better adjust your fighting style.

Damian walked over to you, “Y/n. I’d like to spar, you’ve proven to be a worthy opponent.”

You nodded, it would be good to spar with someone with a different fighting style. Tim sat down to the side, perfectly content with just observing for now, like earlier, he occasionally jotted down some notes on his phone. You decided you didn’t mind it. It was endearing.

This time, Damian charged first, landing a swift right kick to your ribs, you turned and landed a hard kick to his chest, sending him back, before he flipped and caught himself, running towards you again. His smaller frame provided him with an advantage as he jumped onto your shoulders, before he could land his blow, you flipped your body, sending him to the floor, landing on his back with a thud. You crouched over him, extending your hand.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” he took your hand, getting up to his feet, you gave him a soft smile, which he returned, giving you a nod of approval. He, like Bruce, didn’t often use his words, but you were able to discern their intentions just fine.

Bruce then led you to a machine he had in the cave, where it analyzed your genetics in comparison to Clark’s, he had determined you were missing the genetic composition that happened to be the main source of invulnerability, therefore the reason you were the way you were. You are unfortunately still weak when exposed to kryptonite.

You were tired by the end of the night. You felt you had bonded with Damian, he had asked you to spar with him another time, to which you agreed.

The next day, Bruce had sent you over to Smallville, where Clark had decided on training you, ‘A good old fashioned open field’ were his exact words.

He made sure to send you wearing your original suit, not knowing how fast you would be flying, just in case, only you didn’t like it, so you opted to wear some sweats over the suit.

And there you were, floating about 300 feet in the air with him, as he explained the basics of flying.

“You want to create your own leverage, using your flight, you should be able to do this.” He bent one leg, tilting to the right as he effortlessly glided in that direction, he repeated the action only now going in the opposite direction.

You nodded, imitating his movements, gliding from side to side before stopping and looking at him. He smiled brightly at you, “You’re doing great, kid. There was never a point where you didn’t have powers, so this should be easy. Now, we’ll test your speed.”

You nodded, “How are we doing that?”

He pulled out a stopwatch, “I’m going to wait here while you fly to Gotham and back. You know the route?”

You nodded.

“Okay… and…. Go!”

You immediately shot forward, a slightly bumpy start but your body adapted immediately, you felt the wind whip through your hair, and a smile spread across your face as you made a U-turn around Gotham, making it back to Clark in seconds.

“2.6 seconds. That’s good.” He smiled at you.

You went on like that for the next few hours, him giving you encouraging words of advice, and you gained better control over your abilities, him providing you with tips he learned over the years. For that last hour, Jon and Conner joined the two of you, the four of you eventually just playing air tag until Martha and Lois called you in for dinner.

They insisted you stay for dinner, and you had no mind to refuse, spending time with them was nice. Jon insisted he sat next to you at dinner, excitedly talking your ear off about whatever he’d gotten to that day, and sharing his favorite stories about Damian with you. He acts like he doesn't like people, but he’s got a soft spot for a lot of us, were his exact words. You honestly completely agreed, you smiled at him as he continued talking.

That day you’d gotten to know Martha and Jonanthan Kent, who insisted you called them Ma and Pa. They instantly coddled you as if they’d known you since birth, though, in a way, that is technically the case.

They didn't let you leave empty handed, sending you off with tupper-ware filled with leftovers, cookies and pie. You thanked them for their hospitality and headed back to the manor.

The next few months were mainly doing morning and evening training with Bruce, occasionally Dick would stop by to train with you, always telling you he was proud of your improvement, which never failed to make you glow just a little brighter with pride. He’d begun a tradition where he would treat you to a burger after training, or whatever it was you were craving. He said that it was his goal to get you to try every fast food joint in Gotham, deciding that it was just an essential part of living there. You quickly decided you hated fast food, but never said anything because that wasn’t at all what mattered to you, what mattered to you was the bond you were creating with your older brother.

Your relationship with Bruce wasn’t perfect. There were times you saw how focused he was on his mission, neglecting the feelings of those around him, he could be an asshole. And with you still navigating your emotions, you’d get angry and yell, and so would he. If you saw him brushing off Damian, or Tim, one look at the crestfallen expressions on their faces was enough to get you angry. You shouldn’t have been surprised, truthfully, you weren’t. You were too similar. You were just fortunate enough to be surrounded by people early on who could convince you to let them in.

Regardless of the imperfections between you and Bruce, you knew he cared. He always showed it with the small smile he’d give you as he held up two tickets to the movie you had wanted to see. Or in the way he’d lure everyone into the living room with snacks for a movie night. Or how he’d try his best to always express to you that you were doing well. That you were enough, and that you deserved to be there.

You’d grown closer with Tim, too, always willing to help him with his assignments (not that he often needed it, but on the rare occasions his sleep deprived self couldn’t wrap his head around a problem). You’d often go to him when you needed help figuring something out on your phone, to which he would offer a simple solution you hadn’t seen before.

Tim was kind, he showed he cared for you by fixing things, when you cracked your screen protector by accidentally tapping it too hard, he made you a new one that could withstand the force of a bullet. He learned to confide in you over time, telling you about Bernard, expressing his worries to you about whether or not he’s good enough. You’d always tell him he was more than good enough.

Damian had taken to calling you ‘sister’, often challenging and teasing you when he could, you’d developed a relationship where he’d go to you for company. You’d sit in the garden and take in the life around you, while he sat a few feet away and drew it.

Once, he drew you while you weren’t looking, when he finished, he handed it to you without a word and walked away. In the bottom right corner you read ‘Y/n Wayne-Kent’ in neat handwriting, just below that, ‘sister’. That was the first time he’d used that word for you. Your heart swelled.

You continued seeing Steph, Barbara, and Cass, regularly having lunch with them and talking with them on the phone. Barbara, or as you now called her, Babs, was always there to guide you when you needed it, she’d often send you small gifts from time to time, like jewelry that reminded her of you.

Cass and you would often find the most peaceful company in each other. She would listen to you talk about all the things you'd been learning, telling you about her own experience adjusting to a new life.

Steph and you bonded over poorly written hallmark movies, she always giggled madly when you would point out plot inconsistencies, wearing the most confused expression she had ever seen on a person, you didn’t understand why at first, you would just state facts, but you always enjoyed the time with her. She always says you guys should start a podcast, and you always agree. You hope she never asks you what a podcast is... because you genuinely didn't know.

True to his word, you didn’t see Jason often, but there were a few instances where you felt particularly suffocated by Bruce’s training that you took him up on his offer to take you somewhere he wasn’t. Those moments were... nice. Every time, he would bring food, and take you to his apartment, where you talked about books and he introduced you to some of his favorite movies. You didn’t know why he and Bruce didn’t get along, but you chose not to pry.

Alfred had taken a liking to you instantly, he enjoyed giving you etiquette lessons, and would bake all kinds of scones and cookies for you to try. His humor was at times very dry and sarcastic, which never failed to make you laugh. He taught you how to bake once, finding you were exceptionally good at it, ‘Miss Y/n, I think we’ve found your natural talent’. You hadn’t expected to be good at it, but Alfred said you were phenomenal.

You’d also train with Clark 3 times a week, getting even closer with the Kents, integrating yourself in both families. It was interesting being part of two very different families. But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Clark had shown you a lot about your powers, but it was never just training. It had become a necessity for the two of you to fly to some famous landmark and have lunch together, before flying back to Smallville for more training.

Clark was constantly trying his best for you, he still had his regrets from his initial relationship with Conner, and although he was forgiven and their relationship was rebuilt, he knew he lost time. And he absolutely refused to repeat that and hurt someone else who didn’t deserve it.

You always stayed for dinner, you found that you could never say no to Jon, the one time you tried was awful, you felt so bad that you went back the next day and took him shopping. With Bruce's card, duh.

Jon was stuck to you like glue whenever you were over. He always insisted on sitting by you and talking to you about whatever he’d been up to. He flew around with you a lot, you guys would play games that he taught you how to play. Your favorite moments were when he and Damian would allow you in to watch them play video games because ‘How do you not know how to play video games? That’s just wrong. We’ll teach you.’

Conner had spent more and more time with you as well, telling you about a lot of social cues, the importance of boundaries, etc. He was determined to help you adjust in every way he could, he shared his experiences with you when he first started working in teams. You learned a lot from him, he was very affectionate with you, but in that awkward-older-brother way. He’d give you a soft pat on the back and a smile, he knew you’d do just fine.

Lois became your role model, you truly admired her. She was strong, outspoken, confident. She helped you not be afraid of forming your own opinions and voicing them. One time she saw you yell at Bruce over something he’d done, and all she could do was smile proudly.

These people whose lives you just appeared in one day, very quickly became your family. Every day you were reminded of how lucky you were to have come to care for them as much as you do. Bonding with them was nice, and you very quickly understood the appeal of having family.

These are people who care for you unconditionally, simply because they want to. Because every moment that they spend with you, they choose to.

And just like that, you were ready to meet the team. You had learned to combine your combat skills with your powers, if you need to, you can fight in mid air. You’d learned to incorporate your abilities into your technique to enhance your own personal style. And it felt amazing.

You knew every possible way to deliver an effective, non-lethal blow. Of course, you needed a suit. Bruce offered to enhance the one you had worn the day they rescued you, but you wanted a new one. To you, that suit represented what you were created to be, and that is not who you are. You wanted something true to yourself, and he understood and wholeheartedly supported you. Damian helped you make a sketch, and together you’d designed the perfect representation of you. And you became Eclipse. The alignment of two heroes, though unintentional, created a whole new hero. You.

Taglist- @one-green-frog @bonniecat @minnieearsposts @chickentenderx @murkyponds @loserwithnofriends @ilikefanfics4 @fangirlvibez @instantplaiddream @lovelywritersgarden @calicocat45 @strawberrycreamh @sappynappysworld @zyuuuu @allycat4458 @lovelypitasworld @batfamlover @pterodactyl-hater @american-idiot21 @starlets-things @th1s-b1tch-1s-dead @dontgivemeyourname @normal-internet-user @sillyfinn @lostgirlsstuff @llvmakk @princess76179 @vanessa-boo @1lellykins @blitzythefanvergentpitsterthings @samibrewss @pickyblue12 @thetiredtoad0-0 @lacklustertrashbag (I'm not sure why some people's tags didn't work,, I am very sorry, if anyone has suggestions onhow to fix that i'm open to fix them)

7K notes · View notes

riricatria · 1 month ago

Text

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

540 notes · View notes

afterheese · 1 month ago

Text

The Prefect Match - Yang Jungwon x f!reader

“We broke up!” you scream, voice shredded with fury. “Get that through your thick fucking skull and get the fuck out of my house!” But you glance down—just for a second. And that’s all it takes. His hand is on your throat.

cw: dark!jungwon, noncon,hair pulling, degradation, creampie, babytrapping and physical violence.

word count : 3.5k

You knew it was the right decision.

Ending things with Jungwon wasn’t just overdue, it was needed. The relationship had rotted from the inside out, twisted into something dark and suffocating. You’d spent too much time walking on eggshells and flinching at every raised voice or hand. So you left.

But ever since the breakup, something in the air felt wrong.

He didn’t take it well—not at all. The calls kept coming. At first, it was pleading. Sweet, pathetic apologies dripped in fakeness. But they didn’t stay sweet for long. They turned sharp and accusing. His voice would swing from soft regret to explosive rage in a single breath. As if the breakup wasn’t real. Like you were throwing a tantrum.

Now your phone buzzes at strange hours—2:17 a.m., 4:03, 5:12 always from unknown numbers. No voice, no noise just silence. You’ve started checking your locks more than once. Then again. Then again. You keep the blinds shut even when the sun is out, because the idea of light feels unsafe now. Too visible. Because Jungwon doesn’t lose. And he doesn't listen when you say no. He doesn’t rage. He doesn't scream. He waits. He smiles. Control isn’t something he wants. It’s something he assumes he already has. You don’t know it now, but you’ll soon realize that leaving him was the worst mistake you could’ve made.

“Girl, relax—he’s not here,” she says, not even looking at you. Her voice is flat, tired, like you’re annoying her with your nonsense. “Stop being so paranoid. I heard he’s got a new girlfriend or something, so… he’s over you.”

You blink at her, fork halfway to your mouth. She's probably right. Everyone keeps saying the same thing, and you’re starting to feel like the one who is being crazy. But the incidents around the house was telling you otherwise like the window in your bedroom was open yesterday morning. Just a crack. You remember closing it. You always do. You even double checked it after brushing your teeth. But there it was, gaping like a mouth in the wall, letting the cold in.

Then there was the necklace. You found it in the laundry room. You haven’t worn it in weeks. You’d swear you left it on your dresser. “You don’t think that’s weird?” you ask, quieter than you meant to. “That my stuff keeps moving around?” Kailey shrugs. “You probably just forgot. You’ve been super stressed lately. Your brain’s probably just... I don’t know. Filling in blanks.” Her smile is small, pitying. It makes you feel like a child so you nod, even though your stomach twists. Because how do you argue with someone who makes your fear sound like fiction?

Everyone you’ve talked to says the same thing. You’re imagining it. You’re spiraling. Maybe talk to someone. No one listens to what you’re actually saying. They just want you to stop talking. And the more you try to explain, the more ridiculous you sound. Like some clingy ex who can’t move on. Like you’re obsessed with someone who isn't even thinking about you.

You smile. You laugh when Kailey makes a joke about “getting you a security system and a therapist.” Maybe they’re right. Maybe your memory is just playing tricks on you. Maybe the cold air, the lost things, the tapping you heard last night…maybe it’s all just in your head. But if that’s true… why does it still feel like someone’s watching you?

“Okay, call me when you get home, alright?” Kailey says, pulling you into a quick hug. “And don’t worry about Jungwon. You’re fine. Seriously. He wasn’t good for you, and breaking up with him was the smartest thing you’ve done.” She squeezes your arm before turning away, heading toward her car without waiting for a reply. The door slams, the engine hums to life, and just like that, she’s gone—leaving you alone on the sidewalk outside the restaurant. You stand there for a moment, watching her taillights fade into the distance. The street feels too quiet now, like someone turned the volume down on the world. “I hope you’re right,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, then turn and begin the walk toward home.

The sidewalk stretches ahead of you, slick from earlier rain. Your shoes tap softly against the pavement, a steady rhythm you try to focus on. Left foot, right foot. Just a walk home. Just like every other night. But now Kailey's voice is gone, and without it, the air feels too thin. A streetlight flickers as you pass underneath it, buzzing once like it’s annoyed by your presence. You glance up out of habit. It dies for a moment, then flares back to life, casting your shadow behind you. You wrap your arms tighter around yourself, shoulders hunching as you turn down your street. The houses here are dark, windows glowing faintly blue with TV light or not at all. You tell yourself it’s just late. People are asleep inside.

But your stomach won’t stop tightening. That pressure behind your ribs again—like something’s watching you. Like something’s a few steps too close. You stop walking to listen. Behind you… nothing. No footsteps. No breathing. Just wind rustling the trees and the faint hum of traffic blocks away. You glance over your shoulder. Empty street. You hate how fast your heart is beating. You keep walking. Faster now. You don’t want to look again. If no one’s there, you’ll feel stupid. If someone is—No, don't go there. You stop again, one foot hesitating mid-step. You turn slowly and look behind you. Still no one there. But the streetlight—It’s off now. Completely dark.

Your breath catches in your throat. Your limbs tense before you can even think. And then—You run.

You don’t think about how it looks. You don’t care. You take off, shoes slapping the pavement, your bag bouncing hard against your hip. You just run.

Your house comes into view—porch light glowing weakly like it’s trying, but not enough. You fumble for your keys as you hit the steps. You nearly drop them. Your fingers are shaking too much and the sweat making it difficult to hold them. You glance behind you. Nothing. Still. But you don’t believe it. You shove the key in, not it. Try again. Shit not it. Curse under your breath. You keep looking over your shoulder like you're expecting to see someone step out of the dark. Click. The key finally turns. You throw the door open, stumble inside, and slam it shut behind you. You turn the lock. The deadbolt and the chain. Then you press your back to the door, eyes closed, chest heaving.

You stay with your back pressed to the door, listening for something—anything. Maybe the wind. Maybe footsteps that were never there. Maybe it was just your heart that was punching the inside of your ribs. The house is quiet. Too quiet. Then you heard a thud. A soft, unmistakable sound, like something falling. Not from the kitchen or the living room. It was from your bedroom.

Your body goes cold. You strain your ears, willing for the sound to be nothing. A book slipping off your bed. Something you left too close to the edge. Just gravity. Just the house settling. But you know what you heard. You know exactly where it came from.

Your room. Down the hall. Door slightly open—just as you left it.

You step forward. Slowly. Like your feet don’t belong to you anymore. Your fingers brush against the wall as you move, needing the feel of something solid. You pause at your door. Another noise—a shift. The creak of the mattress springs.

You don’t want to look. Every nerve screams at you not to. But you push the door open anyway. And there he is.

Jungwon.

Sitting on your bed like he never left. He’s leaned back against your pillows, one arm stretched casually along the headboard, the other resting on his knee. Legs spread comfortably, like he owns the room. Like you’re the intruder. “Well,” he says, voice smooth, almost lazy, “you made it farther than I expected. Honestly, I thought you'd fold after the second time you found the window open.” His gaze skims over you—your posture, your silence, your fear.

“You really thought locking doors and whispering to Kailey would make a difference?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “Cute.” Then he exhales, almost like a yawn, and shifts his weight to the side of your bed. “But playtime’s over now.” He looks you straight in the eye, the smile gone. “Time to come back to me. This little game was fun... but I’m getting bored.”

He pats the bed beside him—slow, twice.

“Don’t make me chase you again.”

You looked at him like he’d just sprouted horns. “Jungwon… what the fuck is wrong with you?” Your voice cracks from the force of it. Your hands are shaking. You don’t care.

“Get the hell out of my house!” you scream, louder this time. But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even blink.

“Babe,” Jungwon said, his voice calm and patronizing, like he was scolding a child. “Stop yelling. It’s embarrassing.”

“We broke up!” you scream, voice shredded with fury. “Get that through your thick fucking skull and get the fuck out of my house!” You reach into your bag, fingers brushing your phone, eyes locked on him like you're defusing a bomb. Your heart racing. But you glance down—just for a second. And that’s all it takes.

His hand is on your throat.

“Now why would you do that, huh, babe?” he breathes, his face inches from yours, his breath hot on your face. “I missed you. And I know you missed me.”

His fingers tighten. You choke, your nails clawing at his wrist. Your vision flickers.

“Stop struggling and just accept it, babe. I’m here now. We’re done playing—”

You swing your knee up, fast, hard, straight into his groin.

He makes a sound—half-growl, half-scream—and doubles over, crashing to the floor.

You stumble back, gasping, clutching your throat, then bolt down the hall. You don’t look behind you. You know what’s coming. You hit the living room. The space feels too small—too many corners, too many shadows, and nowhere to hide. Your feet pound the floor as you race toward the kitchen, lungs burning.

But then—His hand. It misses you by less than an inch.

You throw yourself into the kitchen and lunge for the drawer. The knife. The drawer sticks. You yank. Too slow. His hand grabs your hair—hard—and you feel your head jerk back, your scalp screaming as he slams you forward. Your temple hits the counter edge with a sickening crack. The world wavers. You dropped to the floor.

He’s pacing now, breathing hard, muttering. Mindless. Mechanical. Like a record skipping on loop.

“You were made for me,” he hisses, voice barely above a whisper but trembling with rage. “Don’t you get it? You don’t exist without me. I built you.

He slams the drawer shut with his foot—BANG—and the sound explodes through the kitchen. You flinch instinctively, shoulder curling inward. He laughs under his breath.

“No one else will touch you. Not after this. You think someone’s gonna want you after I’m done with you?” He gestures to you like you were trash. “They’ll see right through you, babe.”

He steps over your legs like they’re part of the floor, starts pacing in front of the fridge, cracking his knuckles, dragging his hand through his hair, muttering. His eyes are wild—glassy and glowing with something sick.

“You keep pretending you’re scared. But you’re not. Not really,” he says, smiling now, voice dipping into something slower, darker. “You like it when I get like this. You made those sounds for me, remember? The begging, the whimpering... the way you said my name when you couldn’t take it anymore.”

He crouches suddenly, right in front of you, and grabs your jaw—tight, fingers pressing into your cheeks.

“You remember that, don’t you?”

You try to pull away. He doesn’t let go.

“I own you. Every noise you make, every breath you take—that’s mine. You don’t get to run anymore. You had your little tantrum. Now?” His voice softens like silk. He stands again, towering above you, breath heaving, arms loose at his sides like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or kill you.

“Now you don't get to leave.”

“Please… just stop,” you whispered, voice raw, tears streaking your cheeks as your back pressed against the cold wooden kitchen counter. “You’ve had your fun.”

Jungwon didn’t flinch. He only tilted his head, eyes drinking in your trembling frame like it was art he couldn’t look away from.

“God,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice low and dark with something you couldn’t name. “You’re so damn pretty when you cry.”

You turned your face away, breath hitching.

Jungwon's hand shot out, fingers tangling harshly in your hair. He fisted it tight, yanking your head back to force you to meet his intense gaze. The sudden, painful grip made you gasp, tears flying from your eyes as he wrenched you off your feet. Your knees scraped against the hardwood floor, sending jolts of stinging pain up your legs, but he showed no mercy.

"You don’t get to turn away from me," he growled, voice dripping with venom.

Jungwon slammed you down onto the cold, unforgiving surface of the kitchen counter, the breath whooshing out of your lungs at the impact. Before you could catch your breath, he had you by the hair again, bending you over the edge of the counter roughly. You felt the chill of the granite against your skin as he forced you to arch your back. "Look at you," Jungwon snarled in your ear, his voice a low, feral rumble. "What a sweet, trembling mess you are. You can't deny how much you fucking love this, can you? How much you've missed having me inside you, ruining you?"

He punctuated his words by grinding his hard, clothed erection against the curve of your ass. You could feel every thick inch of him, a whimper escaped your throat, equal parts fear and shameful, traitorous arousal.

"This is what you do to me," Jungwon growled, giving your ass a sharp smack. "This is the effect you have on me, you fucking tease. I've been thinking about this pussy, about burying myself in you."

He tore the delicate fabric of your panties without hesitation, the rip sharp in the silence. The ruined lace discarded, leaving you bare and shivering as the cold air kissed your exposed skin. His touch followed—fingers finding your slick heat, dragging through your folds with a rough, unrelenting rhythm that stole the breath from your lungs.

"You don't get to say shit," he hissed, "You don't get to deny me anymore. I'm going to take what's mine, over and over again until you're dripping with my cum."

You heard the frantic tug of his zipper, the hiss of fabric shoved down in haste—he was struggling, almost clumsy in his desperation. He couldn’t wait. The need to be inside you was written in every rushed movement, every uneven breath. Your mind was fogged, flooded with heat, and the sound of him losing control just made it worse.

Jungwon's hips surged forward, burying his thick cock deep inside your core in one brutal thrust. A scream tore from your throat at the sudden, intense intrusion, your walls clenching desperately around his invading length. He didn't give you any time to adjust, immediately setting a hard, punishing pace as he bent over you from behind.

His breath was hot and ragged against your ear, each exhale sending shivers down your spine. You could feel the thundering of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest pressed against your back as he loomed over you. He was everywhere, surrounding you, consuming you completely.

"Fuck," Jungwon grunted, his voice strained with lust and dark satisfaction. “You can hate me all you want. Doesn’t change how perfectly I fit in you.”

One hand gripped your hip hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as he rutted into you. The other snaked up to wrap around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse jump and race. Your vision swam, head spinning as he fucked you with brutal intensity, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the kitchen.

“Beg all you want. I know exactly what you need.” Jungwon growled, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust. “By the time I’m done with you, there won’t be nothing left.”

His fingers tightened around your throat as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re going to carry a reminder of me, one way or another.”

A surge of pure panic shot through you at Jungwon's dark promise. Your heart raced, pounding wildly against your ribs as his fingers tightened around your throat, restricting your airflow. You tried to shake your head.

"No," you gasped out, voice barely a whisper. "Please, Jungwon, don't. Pull out, please..."

But even as the words left your lips, you knew it was futile. Jungwon was beyond reason, beyond caring about your pleas and fears. He was driven by a singular, obsessive desire to claim and conquer.

Ignoring your desperate entreaty, he was fucking into you with brutal, animalistic intensity. The kitchen filled with the vulgar sounds of your coupling - the slap of skin on skin, your strangled cries, his grunts and growls of pleasure.

"Fuck, I can feel it," Jungwon snarled, his voice tight with impending release. “You feel that? The way you pull me in like you were made for this? Like your body already knows it belongs to me.”

He punctuated his words with a harsh thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside you. You felt his cock jerk and pulse, growing even harder, impossibly bigger. Your eyes widened in terror and a sickening mix of reluctant arousal.

"Please," you whimpered, tears streaming down your face. "Please, don't cum inside me. I don't want to..."

But your pleas fell on deaf ears. With a guttural roar, Jungwon slammed into you one last time, grinding his pelvis against your ass as his cock erupted. You could feel the hot, thick spurts of his release painting your insides, flooding your unprotected womb with his cum.

"Take it," he commanded harshly, holding you in place as he emptied himself inside you. "Take every last drop.”

You shuddered and sobbed as you felt his cum filling you up, your body instinctively clenching and milking his pulsing cock. The sheer depravity of it, the utter lack of control, sent a confusing surge of dark pleasure through you.

As Jungwon finally pulled out, you could feel his release leaking out of you, dripping down your thighs.

You couldn’t move so you remained bent over the kitchen counter, chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Tears streamed down your face, dripping onto the cold granite surface below. Your body ached, used and abused in the most intimate way possible. The sticky evidence of his release trickled down your thighs, a sickening reminder of your defilement.

Behind you, Jungwon was already fixing his pants, tucking his spent cock away and smoothing down his shirt. He acted as if he hadn't just violated you, just taken something from you that you hadn't willingly given. As if this was an everyday occurrence, a simple transaction.

"Shut up," he barked harshly, silencing your muffled sobs and whimpers. “Did you really think someone would come running if you cried loud enough?”

You flinched at the biting words, then he was bending over you again, looming large and menacing. His hand came up, cupping the back of your head almost gently. For a moment, you thought he might caress you, soothe you. But then his fingers tightened, gripping your hair almost painfully as he wrenched your head to the side to force you to meet his gaze.

"You'll never be clean again," Jungwon whispered, his voice a low, dark rumble. "Not after this. Not after me."

His eyes bored into yours, gleaming with a manic, possessive light. Before you could look away, his mouth was on you, his lips brushing against your forehead in a mockery of a tender kiss. A promise of something far darker.

And he was right, no matter how far you ran, how high you built your walls, or how many times you tried to cut him out—Jungwon always found a way back in. Like smoke slipping through the cracks, like a shadow that knew your every hiding spot. It didn’t matter how fiercely you tried to protect yourself. He would always find you, you knew the truth: you would never be safe from him. Not really. Not ever.

443 notes · View notes

chaepink · 2 years ago

Text

pathetic sub!yandere boys ♡

pathetic, disgusting yandere boys that can't help but be obsessed with you.

wc: 1k+ words | masterlist | part two

dom!fem!reader, stalking, begging, unhealthy relationship, mention of fucking

note: THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SHORT

Yandere boys are honestly adorable. But not just any regular yandere boys, im talking about pathetic boys that slowly turn possessive and less innocent the more obsessed they are with you.

The ones that stalk you in and out of school as they take pictures of you when you're not looking, even sometimes up your skirt when you're turned around! The ones that offer to help you with everything during school, blushing whenever you thank him and give him a compliment before rushing towards the nearest bathroom to jerk off cause they got hard from the small praise you gave them. how pathetic!

Yandere boys that would try their best to become your best friend, even going long lengths to hang out with you every second you're free.

You were going to go to the carnival with a friend? Suddenly that friend has to cancel on you because they feel sick, not knowing that your yandere added something weird to their lunch.

A friend asked if you wanted to hang with them later and you agreed? Thats weird because now they're not picking up their phone or answering their texts. Well guess who stole their phone and hid it somewhere where they wouldn't find it.

Whenever you're sad, your yandere will buy you loads of snacks and comfort you as best as they can.

Its cute really, how they try so hard to hide their obsession with you from you, even going as far as to anonymously threaten your friends that tell you how weird and creepy they are.

But everytime your friends warn you, you just smile back and them and say that [character] is just super nice to you and thats all.

Your yandere boy is so desperate for you that it's so pathetic yet so cute at the same time.

They think that you have no clue of his intentions or what he's done but little does he know, you actually do.

You know how they stalk you, how they try to separate you from your friends, how they're absolutely obsessed with you.

And so when you come over to their house to work on a class project, you're not surprised to find a big journal that has a heart on the cover with your name on it peeking out from under their bed when you come in their room. Opening it only to find lewd drawings and pictures of you alongside long paragraphs that your yandere wrote.

Reading the paragraphs and how it describes how every desire [character] has with you, even being specific as to say the exact details that would happen with each situation.

The first one you read includes how they want to get fucked by you, describing how they want to be bent over their bed as they cry and sob from the pleasure you give them.

It continues with you making him cum multiple times as you wrap a hand around his neck, leaning towards their ear to whisper degrading praise to him.

You continue reading the rest, watching as his desires turn darker and darker as they become even more specific than before, as if they actually happened before.

But before you could reach the end, your yandere opens the door with some snacks in his hand. Poor him really, cause he would have never expected for you to find out about his obsession with you.

But you're glad you did because now you get to watch as he pauses at the door, dropping the snacks in shock when he sees you with his journal in hand. Watch as his eyes flood with tears as he begins to shake from fear and shock, his face turning red as he tries to choke back a sob. Watch as he stumbles in front of you, landing on his knees as he looks into your eyes to no longer see any love in them but instead something dark that makes him shiver. Maybe it's disgust, maybe it's something entirely else.

They beg you to forget what you just saw, tears flooding down their face. It's just so embarrassing for them that you found out about their obsession with you. You can't help but coo at them as you tilt their head towards you, pressing your foot against the bulge in his pants because of course he couldn't help but get hard in this situation. That's just how pathetic they are, you think its cute though.

Hearing them let out a pitiful whimper as he lays his head on your thigh, pleading you with their eyes. Big cute eyes that try to convince you that he's done nothing wrong.

The situation is no longer about the journal when he starts to let out adorable noises when you continue to grind your foot against his bulge, making him quickly cum in the matter of seconds.

But even though he just came just a few moments ago, the way you call them pathetic with the disgust in your voice makes him hard again as he hump your foot.

They'll let you do anything to them. Dress them up, degrade him, humiliate them, they dont care! They're yours to use.

Secretly, your yandere is grateful that you found the journal under their bed. They actually wanted you to. They wanted you to get disgusted as you read the contents within their journal.

They hoped that you would punish them for how lewd and disgusting they are and they would be so grateful when you actually do.

Make the situations in his journal that he forever dreamed of come true as all he can do is moan and scream your name as you use him like a toy for your pleasure. Make him fall apart underneath you as his body gets littered with bite marks that compliment his body so nicely.

If he's too loud, shut him up with a choker or even better, your panties. The way his eyes would roll back as he cums for the nth time that night. But you're not done with him yet, oh not anytime soon.

You have to punish him for everything that he's ever done to you.

The whole situation is messed up but no matter how obsessed they are with you, you wouldn't ever trade them for the world. After all, they're your yandere.

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

13K notes · View notes

tinkcantwrite · 1 month ago

Text

the chop ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary - bucky decides he wants to cut his hair and you gladly help him

warnings - super brief mentions of HYDRA and what they did to bucky, pure fluff, they kiss a few times but that's it, oh also bucky doesn’t have a shirt on :P

notes - set before tfatws + the reader and bucky are already in an established relationship !! ALSO TY TO MY BBY @emmdubbwrites FOR PROOFING THIS FOR ME

word count - 1.9k

“Are you sure about this?”

A beat of silence. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

You exhaled and nodded, meeting Bucky’s eyes with a soft smile in the bathroom mirror in front of you. He had drug one of the chairs from the kitchen table in your apartment into the bathroom, and now sat in front of you, shirtless, with a towel in his lap. He fiddled with the pair of dog tags on the chain around his neck, their soft clinking against each other drifting between the two of you.

Your fingers threaded through his long hair, tugging softly, teasingly, at the ends of them before resting your arm over his vibranium shoulder. Your face hovered next to his in the mirror. A pair of hair scissors glinted in the bathroom light as you turned them between your fingers mindlessly.

“If this looks like actual shit after I’m done you don’t get to be mad at me. You gave me the go ahead.” You squeezed his shoulder, grinning at the huff that came from the man in front of you. Bucky took your hand, pulling it around and towards his mouth, brushing a kiss across your knuckles.

He knew that you could tell he was tense. And it was stupid. It was so stupid that he was this worked up, this anxious over a damn haircut. But Bucky knew it needed to happen. Despite the unease that settled over his frame as he glanced at the shears in your hand and at the electric clippers that sat plugged in on the counter in front of the two of you, he knew that by doing this, by cutting off his hair, he would have some skewed sense of freedom.

For so long, his hair had brushed his shoulders, long and messy. It had been there the entire time HYDRA had owned him, a symbol of their hold over him. They had never let him cut it, giving the excuse that the long hair helped to hide his face. When he had come back, Bucky had kept it long. In an odd way that he didn't totally understand, he had been afraid to cut it off and what that meant for himself and who he was. His hair had been a sort of comfort for him, albeit an odd sense of comfort. It was the only thing he had. Sure, he knew about Steve and the Howling Commandos and his life in the 1940s but that had only come later. His hair had been a constant in the midst of hundreds of memory wipings and erasures. It had remained long, as it was currently.

He had been toying with the idea of cutting it for a while. When he first brought it up to you, you had crawled over to him on the couch, scooting into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple. You had told him that whatever he decided that you would back him, support him, no matter if his hair was long or short.

And now, with you standing behind him, your hand on his shoulder, bringing an overwhelming wave of calm over him, Bucky knew it would be okay. He knew that by getting rid of the hair that was now growing a bit past his shoulders, that it meant he would be okay. That he was okay. That James Buchanan Barnes is okay.

It meant that he was no longer the Winter Soldier. No longer a weapon for sick, powerful men to manipulate. Rather, he was his own man. His own person. A person that made their own decisions and choices, and he was stepping a foot forward and making the choice, his choice, to cut his hair.

Bucky nodded at you once more and you smiled back at him in the mirror, your eyes warm and patient. Your hand slid off of his shoulder, coldness replacing the heat it brought as you ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back and out of his face.

He closed his eyes, fully trusting you as you sectioned a bit of his dark hair. You spread the hair between two of your fingers. Kissing the top of his head briefly, you clipped the section off with a gentle snip.

Bucky’s eyes tensed at the sound, blinking up at you where you stood at his side, a chunk of dark brown hair in your hands. You smiled like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“See? Not so bad.” You handed the hair to him, his arm reaching up and taking it from you. The hair slid across the cool metal of his hand, stray strands fluttering down to the tile floor beneath him.

You continued to trim off the length of his hair, pausing every so often to squeeze his shoulder or peck his cheek. Bucky kept his eyes closed most of the time, softly answering you when you checked in on him or muttering a comment about how you had better not have been fucking up his hair.

The sharp clink of the metal shears against the counter snapped his eyes open, watching warily as you picked up the electric razor. Bucky glanced up at the mirror and winced.

“Maybe I should’ve seen Sam’s guy.” Bucky muttered, running a hand through his now choppy hair. It was uneven on the sides, some bits long, some shorter. You scoffed, rolling your eyes, playfully kicking his shin with your bare foot.

“I’m not done yet. You gotta trust the process.”

You flicked a painted fingernail over the side of the razor, the soft hum of electricity whirring to life. Bucky tensed. You noticed and shut the razor back off, leaning back against the counter.

“You okay?”

He nodded, swallowing hard, adjusting in the hard wooden seat of the chair.

“I’m good. It’s just…different. Not a bad different. Just weird.” Bucky mumbled, meeting your eyes and quirking the left side of his mouth up in a half-hearted attempt at a smile. You nodded in response, pushing off the counter and tilting his chin up. He relaxed into your hand, muscles exhaling. You kissed him easily, tongue ghosting his, before pulling back and resting your forehead against his.

“It’s okay for you to be different now. You’re allowed to not be him and just be Bucky. To be your own man.” You pecked his forehead once more before switching the razor on again and moving to stand behind him.

When the razor buzzed against the nape of Bucky’s skull, moving across his neck and over his ears and against his temple he didn’t tense up. He didn't panic. He didn’t get the urge to react that he typically did.

Instead, he breathed.

He breathed and it was easy, it didn’t take everything in him to steady himself. His chest loosened and his eyes stayed open this time, focused on you. The tip of your tongue stuck out of the corner of your mouth as you concentrated on not nipping his neck. Your hair was tucked behind one ear, a stray piece falling in front of your eyes. His own shirt, the stupid one Sam had given him for his past birthday that had Grumpy Old Vet plastered on the front in alarmingly bold letters, hung on your frame, a size or two too big, but he thought it fit perfectly.

In moments like these, Bucky knew he was absolutely in love with you. He knew it most certainly when you did what you thought were little things for him, such as this haircut, but in reality, things that meant everything to him. When you would take the long way home from work just to stop by that diner the two of you loved to grab his favorite pancakes to bring home for supper that night. Or when you would go scrounging around in some dingy antique store, just so you could return with a stack of old black and white movies that you hadn’t heard of in your arms just because you knew that he would know them.

Bucky paused and furrowed his brow at the silence in the bathroom that had suddenly dawned on him, stirring him from his thoughts. You still stood behind him, the razor, now off, hung lopsided in your hand. You chewed on your bottom lip and he noted the slight rose tint that now stained your cheeks.

“Is it that bad?” He teased, breaking the stillness, your eyes snapping to his. You shook your head, reaching around him to set the razor on the counter, balancing on one foot as you leaned over him, your chest pressing into his back.

“You look good, Bucky. Like, really good.” You tousled his hair, smoothing the sides and running your fingers through the top. “How’s it feel?”

Bucky finally looked up, startling slightly at the man that looked back at him in the mirror. His hair was no longer lengthy, cupping his chin and grazing his shoulders. Now, it sat cleanly, trimmed and short, but not too short. Bucky reached a hand up, brushing over the hair around his ear.

He ran his tongue over his teeth as he nodded, clearing his throat. His voice felt stuck, like a boulder lodged in his windpipes.

“I like it.” He mumbled softly, running his hand, again, through his hair. “It feels good. Feels like I can, I don't know, like I can breathe. God, that’s dumb.”

You shook your head, a grin tugging at your lips as you pushed his hands down from where they had been aggravating his hair.

“That’s not dumb. It makes sense. You know…,” you kissed the side of his neck, slipping around in front of him and hopping up on the counter, crossing a leg under you, “...people say that hair can hold memories and all that. That when you cut it, it's like starting fresh. Clean slate. That’s what you just did.”

Bucky glanced up at you as his chest prickled as he watched you get comfortable on the hard granite of the counter. “Yeah?”

You nodded, leaning over to rinse the shears in the sink beside you. “Besides, now when people compliment you on your hair you get to tell them how your talented girlfriend oh so graciously cut your hair.” Your eyes flashed up to his, biting back a grin.

Bucky rolled his eyes, folding up the towel in his lap and standing. He stepped towards you, moving to stand between your legs. You finished drying off the shears, setting them to the side and tossing the towel into the pile of laundry near the door.

He smiled at you, the causality of your actions causing the prickle in his chest to grow. He ducked his head down and kissed you, gently rubbing a circle on your boxer-clad thigh with his metal thumb.

“Thank you,” Bucky mumbled as he pulled back, kissing the top of your head. You wrapped your arms around his waist, burying your face into his chest, body straightening as you inhaled against his ribs. His chin rested on your head and he smiled to himself as the soft scent of strawberry from your shampoo tickled his nose.

This was what it was for.

What the cutting of his hair was for. He was a different man, the man that loved you, and by cutting his hair, he knew that he could fully be that. He could fully breathe, fully exist, fully love.

And for the first time in ages, James Buchanan Barnes was fully himself.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fluff #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #tfatws #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fluff #bucky barnes one shot #buckyspancakes

551 notes · View notes

toomanystoriessolittletime · 2 months ago

Text

private celebration

Summary: You were about to celebrate your engagement with some close friends, but you were wearing the dress that drove Harry insane and you did still have twenty minutes before you guests arrive. More than enough time for Harry to make you cum.

Pairing: Harry Castillo x fem. reader

Rating: E

Wordcount: 1.2k

Warnings: smut (unprotected sex), established relationship (you're engaged to Harry yay!), some dirty talk, two slaps (I think), lots of kissing

A/N: maybe I only needed the right character to get inspired to write again 😌

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Main Masterlist // Harry Castillo Masterlist

You were walking back towards the kitchen, having just seen the caterers out.

It was just a small get together, celebrating your engagement with your closest friends, but Harry had insisted to hire someone for the food. Usually you would cook yourself, but with work being super busy lately, you had said yes without any fight.

You smiled when you saw Harry come towards you from the other side of the penthouse. His dark hair was still damp, combed back, looking way too sexy without any effort. He was wearing black slacks and the soft and way too expensive Burberry sweater, also in black, he only bought because you couldn’t keep your hands off of him in the store when he tried it on when you were on vacation in Milan.

He took your hand, bringing it up to kiss the hand he had put a finger on just a week ago, when he reached you and you thought he would guide you towards the kitchen. Instead you found yourself pressed against the wall the next moment, his other hand on the back of your head, his lips on yours as he kissed you deeply.

He hummed, one of his big hands running down your side, his other hand now tilting your head up, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

Slipping your hand into his damp hair you closed your eyes, legs getting weak from the way he was kissing you. His aftershave made you a little dizzy, loving the smell of it.

Your head fell against the wall behind you as he slowly kissed himself down your jaw, your throat, your neck.

„Harry,“ you gasped, lips parted as you inhaled some much needed air.

He only hummed, lips still on your neck.

„The guests are coming in like twenty minutes…“ you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as he nibbled on your earlobe.

„Should have thought about that before you put that dress on,“ he mumbled and you found yourself smirking.

„Oh this old thing?“ You teased and he looked at you, his eyes dark.

It wasn’t your prettiest dress. Just a deep green velvet dress that ended just above your knees. But somehow you wearing this dress always ended up with Harry making you cum at least three times so maybe your intention was to tease him a little.

„This old thing,“ he mocked under his breath, his hand slipping under your dress, up your thigh and between your legs, his fingers finding you wet and waiting for him.

„Seventeen minutes,“ you looked at him, eyebrow raised in a playful challenge. He chuckled, lips twitched into a smirk as he slowly shook his head.

„You know I only need five,“ he winked before he kissed you again, both of his hands pulling your dress up while you unbuckled his pants.

„Turn around and hands on the wall,“ he mumbled against your lips before he took a step back just when you were about to pull his cock out of his pants.

Doing as he said you turned around, your hands on the wall. His fingers pulled your panties down your legs, dress resting over your hips as he stepped closer. You wiggled your ass playfully, earning yourself a light slap that made you moan.

„Filthy little thing,“ he hummed and you looked over your shoulder, finding his eyes fixed downward, hand wrapped around his cock.

„Don’t have time to prepare you, not that I think you need it with how you are dripping for me,“ he said, looking up at you.

„You know I like it when it hurts a little, baby,“ you teased and he slapped your ass again.

„Oh I know, sweetheart,“ he said, stepping closer and you could feel the head of his cock slipping through your folds, notching against your entrance.

You moaned when he pushed into you in one hard thrust the next moment, his head now next to yours, chin resting on your shoulder, lips brushing against your ear.

„Guess I have to wait until after dinner to have my favourite dessert,“ he whispered against your ear before he began to fuck you.

You were pressed against the wall as he moved, rocking into you with deep, long thrusts as if he had all the time in the world, his breath against your ear.

Harry liked to take his time.

Reaching your arm back your hand slipped back into his hair, nails scratching over his scalp. You could feel every ridge and vein of his cock as he moved inside of you.

„Can feel you dripping down my balls, fuck,“ he groaned and you moaned when he snapped his hips against you with more force.

„My filthy little fiancé,“ you felt him grin and your head fell back.

„You gonna cum for me?“ He asked and you whimpered. He leaned back, one of his hands gripping your hip so he could fuck you harder.

„Touch that pretty clit for me,“ he murmured and you let your forehead fall against the wall as you reached one hand between your thighs, playing with your clit, your other hand still on the wall, your hips meeting Harry’s thrust.

„Fuck,“ he moaned, the sound of skin slapping against skin and both of your moans and whimpers filling the long hallway.

It didn’t take long for you to cum, one of his arms wrapping around you from behind, knowing your legs tended to get weak when you came, all while fucking you through your high.

He followed you moments later, his cock throbbing inside of you as he pumped you full of him, groaning your name before he stilled, his cock deep inside of you, his forehead resting on your shoulder, both of you out of breath.

The notification that someone was downstairs let both of you jump in the next moment before you laughed. Turning your head towards him you kissed him before he carefully slipped out of you and you felt some of his cum drip out of you.

Still with his pants around his ankles he made his way towards the panel to send the elevator down while you searched for your panties.

Finding them in his hands as he used them to clean his cock he winked at you before he pulled his pants up and slipped you panties into his pants pocket.

Narrowing your eyes playfully you took a second to check your appearance in the mirror hanging across from you, finding you looking surprisingly normal for someone who just got fucked like you did.

„You gonna give me my panties back?“ You asked as you approached him, your hands running through his hair, as you wrapped your arms around him, his arms pulling you close against his chest as his nose brushed over your cheek.

„Don’t think so,“ he mumbled with a smile and you smiled.

„And what am I supposed to do with all that cum that is dripping out of me?“ You asked. You heard the notification that the elevator was now on its way up.

„Keep it inside of you so I can eat it out of you later,“ he hummed before he kissed you.

#my fic #harry castillo #Harry Castillo x fem. reader #pedro pascal #pedro Pascal characters #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic

494 notes · View notes

gf2bellamy · 2 months ago

Note

Hello!!! First I wanted to say I absolutely adoreeee your fics I literally read them like bedtime stories honestly😭🙏

I also wanted to request perhaps reader and spencer at jj's wedding (reader also being a part of the bau) and they've both been best friends for years. They dance together and as it's getting late, spencer offers reader to stay at his place for the night because it's closer. Then they go back to his apartment and nervously end up admitting feelings for eachother!!! Like it comes up in conversation while they're just hanging out and watching TV or whatnot and maybe they also get super emotional and teary because of how much they both mean to eachother. Hope this is coherent enough or not too elaborate 😭 thank you so much anyhow though - you are a brilliant writer!

wedding — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader wears a dress , lots of dancing , mention of a case a/n: hi hi ! i hope you like this <3 i loved writing this

“You know you’re staring, right?”

Penelope Garcia’s voice snapped you out of your trance. She nudged your shoulder with hers, her dress catching the light as she tilted her head toward you.You blinked, pulled from your thoughts as your gaze reluctantly drifted away from where Spencer stood beneath the garden lights. He was crouched down, completely absorbed in showing Henry a card trick, his voice soft. The child’s eyes were wide with wonder.

Yours weren’t much different.

You were at JJ's wedding, waiting out in the garden while the she got ready. The evening air was cool but pleasant, and strings of fairy lights twinkled like stars overhead.

“What?” you asked, trying to sound casual, though your tone betrayed you. Garcia turned to face you fully, her expression smug in the most Garcia way possible.

“You.” She pointed a finger at you . “Were staring.” Then she swiveled her finger dramatically toward Spencer. “At Dr. Adorable over there.”

Your face warmed, and you blinked at her, still half-lost in the haze of watching Spencer, the way his hair fell just slightly into his eyes when he leaned forward, the joy in his expression as he entertained Henry. Your mouth opened to protest, but no words came out. You glanced back toward Spencer before you could stop yourself, he was laughing now, Henry giggling with him, and the sight made your heart twist in the gentlest way.

Garcia raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the flustered look on your face. “I mean, if you're gonna pine, at least do it with a little less intensity. People are gonna start thinking you're plotting his murder or planning your wedding. There is no in-between with that look.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Stop,” you said weakly, pointing a finger at her in mock warning.

“Mhmm,” she hummed, the grin never leaving her face as she slowly backed away. “I’ll leave you to your lovesick sighing. But just so you know, you’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

You watched her disappear into the reception with a sigh, your eyes inevitably drawn back to Spencer. His head tilted up slightly, and for a moment, it almost felt like he was about to look right at you. You froze. But instead, he ruffled Henry’s hair and stood up with that soft smile still lingering on his lips.

Some time later, you were standing quietly beside Garcia, watching as JJ's mother walked her down the aisle. The moment was beautiful, soft music playing, petals lining the path, the kind of memory that felt like it would live in everyone’s mind forever.

You glanced across the aisle.

Spencer was standing directly opposite you, looking striking in his dark suit. His hair was just slightly tousled in that effortlessly handsome way he never seemed to realize he had. You tried not to stare, but that resolve didn’t last long. Your eyes kept finding their way back to him.

What you didn’t know was that he was doing the exact same thing.It turned into a quiet game of glances and near-catches. Every time you looked over, he had just looked away. Every time his eyes landed on you, yours had already shifted elsewhere.

A dance of almosts.

Later, as the reception began and you found your seat at one of the round tables lit with candles and scattered rose petals, you found yourself sitting between Emily and Rossi. The chair across from you remained empty for only a moment, until Spencer took it, still sneaking those glances when he thought you weren’t looking.

Rossi stood, glass in hand, and the room hushed as he began his toast. His voice was warm and full of love, weaving a beautiful speech to JJ and Will.

While the rest of the room listened with full attention, Spencer found himself watching you instead. You were smiling, softly, sincerely, as you listened to Rossi speak, and it knocked the air right out of him. Your dress, elegant but simple, shimmered slightly in the candlelight.

He’d nearly lost his footing when he saw you walk in earlier. Morgan had caught him gaping and slapped his shoulder with a laugh, saying, “Try to be subtle, pretty boy,” before shooting a look to Garcia. She, in turn, had already noticed the exact same look on your face when Spencer entered the venue.

“Cheers!” Rossi’s voice rang out, snapping Spencer back to the moment.

Everyone raised their glasses, laughter and the clinking of glass echoing softly around the room. You tapped your glass gently against Emily’s and then Rossi’s, then your eyes found Spencer’s, finally, directly. You held his gaze and raised your glass slightly toward him. The gesture was small but intimate. Intentional. He blinked, as if surprised you were really looking at him this time, and then he smiled, soft, warm, and a little shy. He raised his glass in return, eyes never leaving yours.

About twenty minutes later, the music softened, and couples slowly began to gather on the dance floor. You laughed, breathless, as Morgan suddenly took your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor with dramatic flair.

“Morgan!” you protested through your giggles, but he just grinned, spinning you lightly before placing one hand at your waist and the other in yours.

“Come on, don’t pretend you’re not having fun,” he teased as the two of you began to sway to the rhythm.

You rolled your eyes fondly, your smile not faltering for a second. The two of you moved easily together, but Morgan’s attention wasn’t entirely on the dance. He glanced over your shoulder, eyes locking with Spencer’s across the room.

Spencer stood by the edge of the dance floor, fidgeting with the cuff of his suit jacket. He hadn’t stopped watching you all night. You looked radiant, happy, glowing. And that look on your face... he wanted so badly to be the one putting it there.

But nerves had kept him frozen.

You and Spencer had been best friends for years. Through tough cases, long nights, and vulnerable confessions whispered in hotel rooms, you’d been there. Always. And yet tonight, seeing you in that dress, with your hair framing your face just so, had knocked him completely off balance.

Morgan had noticed, of course.

Before dragging you to the dance floor, he’d spent the last ten minutes nudging Spencer with not-so-subtle comments, even outright pushing him toward the dance floor once. “You’re really gonna let me dance with her all night when you’re clearly dying to?”

Spencer had brushed him off, flustered and full of excuses, until now. Morgan raised an eyebrow meaningfully as he danced with you, silently daring Spencer to make a move.

Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes locked with Morgan’s. Then they slid to you. You were smiling, your cheeks flushed with laughter, your hand resting lightly on Morgan’s shoulder.

That was it. He bit his lip, straightened his jacket, and finally stepped forward. As Morgan saw him approaching, he leaned in and whispered to you, “Looks like my job here is done.”

You gave him a puzzled look just as the song transitioned into a slower, sweeter melody.And then Morgan stepped back. You turned, and there he was. Spencer. Hands slightly fidgety, but eyes soft and full of something that made your breath catch.

“May I?” he asked, his voice a little quiet, a little shy.

You smiled, your heart skipping a beat. “Took you long enough.”

You slipped your hand into his, and as he pulled you gently into the dance, everything else seemed to fade away.

You were nervous, your heart beating a little faster than it should, but when your eyes met his, something in you relaxed. You smiled, even brighter than before.

“The wedding is beautiful,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper as you glanced over at JJ and Will, dancing just a few feet away, completely wrapped up in each other.

“It really is,” Spencer replied, his gaze drifting to the newlyweds for a moment before returning to you. His hand at your waist tightened ever so slightly. “She looks really happy.”

You nodded, your smile turning softer, more thoughtful. “She does.”

Neither of you noticed the way the rest of the team was sneaking glances your way, Emily nudging Garcia with a knowing smirk, Morgan grinning to himself, Hotch watching with quiet approval. Even JJ, in the middle of her own dance, looked over and caught the moment.

Spencer smiled, eyes half-lidded as he took a steadying breath, his lips just inches from your temple now. The scent of your perfume was soft and familiar, and he could feel your warmth as you instinctively scooted just a little closer.That tiny movement sent a ripple through him. You were in his arms.

“You didn’t tell me you were such a great dancer,” you said with a teasing lilt, leaning back just enough to look up at him, your brows raised.

Spencer glanced down at you, and for a second, you saw the faintest flicker of smugness in his expression, but it vanished quickly, replaced with that familiar bashful smile. His eyes darted away.

“Didn’t know that myself,” he admitted, chuckling softly. “Pretty sure I’m only doing okay because you’re leading.”

You grinned, heart fluttering. “Guess we make a good team, then.”

At that, his eyes met yours again, and this time, they stayed. Warm, searching, a little bit braver than before.

“I always thought we did,” he said softly.

The honesty in his voice made your chest tighten in the best way. You swallowed, your heart thudding just a little louder as your fingers gently brushed the hair at the nape of his neck. You felt him shiver slightly under your touch. Without thinking, you scooted closer again, closing what little space remained between you. His hand tightened slightly at your waist in response. Neither of you said anything more for the rest of the dance. Eventually, the song faded into another. And though you didn’t want it to end, you both stepped back, reluctantly, hands falling away slower than necessary.

The rest of the evening carried on like a dream.

Over the next hour, you ended up being passed around the dance floor like the unofficial guest of honor. Morgan was the first to swoop in again, spinning you dramatically as you laughed. Then came Rossi, smooth as ever, insisting it was tradition to dance with the most radiant woman at the wedding. Even Hotch surprised you with a short, polite dance. Each one of them had something to say.

“So... you and Reid, huh?” Morgan grinned, eyebrow raised.

“You two looked like a scene straight out of a Nora Ephron movie,” Emily teased as she dipped you mid-dance, clearly enjoying herself.

“I’d say it’s about time,” Rossi murmured with a smirk, before twirling you gently. “We were starting to think we’d have to lock you both in a room until someone confessed.”

Garcia all but squealed when she finally stole you away for a spin. “Okay, do not lie to me. Was that the moment? Because I swear, there were literal stars in the air.”

You laughed so hard your cheeks hurt. It was all good-natured, wrapped in love and genuine happiness for you. But through every dance, every tease, your eyes kept finding Spencer across the room. And every time, he was already looking at you.

By the end of the night, you found yourself wrapped in a goodbye hug with JJ. You’d already said “Congratulations” at least ten times, and you still felt like it wasn’t enough. “I’m just so happy for you guys,” you said again as you held her tight.

JJ smiled against your shoulder. “Thank you. I mean it. And… I saw the dance,” she added teasingly, pulling back with a knowing look in her eyes.

You opened your mouth to respond, but Spencer appeared beside you just in time, offering his own congratulations to JJ and Will with that soft, sweet tone. You couldn’t help but glance at him, your heart tugging a little tighter in your chest.

Once you stepped outside, the night air was cooler as you stood in the parking lot, scanning the rows of cars.

“I was supposed to go with Garcia,” you said, eyes narrowing as you spotted her leaning against Morgan’s car, deep in conversation. She was laughing and wiping what looked like the remnants of happy tears from her cheeks while Morgan nodded along. You sighed, a half-smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, this is going to take ages.”

Spencer followed your gaze, and before he could stop himself, before his brain had even caught up with his mouth, he blurted, “You can stay at my place.”

You turned your head to look at him, brows raised, mildly surprised, but not in a bad way. You studied him, the way his eyes flicked nervously to yours, his hands suddenly unsure of what to do.

“If it’s no bother,” you said after a second, your voice quiet, cautious.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, then smiled softly. “Wouldn’t have asked if it was.”

“Okay,” you said, the single word sounding warmer than it should’ve, like you’d just agreed to something far bigger than a ride or a place to sleep. He led you toward his car, once you said goodbye to Garcia.

When he opened the passenger door for you, you chuckled under your breath and murmured, “Thanks,” as you carefully lifted your dress to settle into the seat.He closed the door gently, walked around to his side, and slid into the driver’s seat.

As the car pulled out of the lot , you glanced at him. “Please tell me you finally organized your books.”

Spencer’s fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel, a small, guilty smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You raised an eyebrow. “Spencer…”

The last time you’d been at his place, two weeks ago, for a movie night that never quite turned into watching the movie, you had spent half the time side-eyeing the precarious towers of books that had taken over the corners of his living room. Some were stacked by topic, others by spine color, some in what he’d dramatically called “priority order,” whatever that meant.

It had visually hurt you to look at.

You’d tried to ignore it, truly, curling up on his couch with a bowl of popcorn while he enthusiastically explained the plot of the old sci-fi movie you were watching. But eventually, your resolve had crumbled. You’d stood up mid-movie and started reorganizing by author name before he practically dragged you back to the couch.

“They have a purpose there!” he’d insisted back then, exasperated but laughing.Now, as he turned the steering wheel with that exact same half-smile, he stayed silent just a little too long.

“Oh no. Spencer,” you dragged out his name dramatically, narrowing your eyes.

“What?” he asked, biting back a laugh.

“You didn’t organize them, did you?”

“I thought about it,” he offered carefully, glancing sideways at you.

You let your head fall back against the seat with a groan. “You had days.”

“I made peace with the system,” he said defensively, but his eyes were sparkling. “Besides… you seemed so passionate about it last time, I figured I’d leave it. Just in case you wanted to come back and finish the job.”

You turned to him slowly, giving him the most unimpressed look you could muster. “So this is your evil plan. Lure me in with tea and nerdy trivia and force me to organize your chaos.”

“It’s not chaos,” he replied, almost too quickly. “It’s a carefully designed non-linear categorization system.”

“That sounds like chaos with extra steps.”

Spencer chuckled softly, shaking his head as he turned onto his street. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Not when it comes to books stacked in a way that defies gravity, no.”

As Spencer pulled into his usual spot and parked the car, he was already unbuckling before you’d even touched the door handle. You opened your mouth to protest, but sure enough, he was already walking around to your side.

“Spencer,” you said, exasperated but smiling. “I do know how to get out of a car.”

He shrugged, a small grin tugging at his lips as he offered his hand to you anyway. “I know. But I like helping.”

You rolled your eyes but took his hand. His fingers wrapped around yours, soft, warm.

The two of you walked up to his apartment, still chitchatting as you relived little moments from the wedding, the way Rossi had gotten uncharacteristically sentimental in his toast, Garcia’s happy tears, how Morgan tried to dip everyone he danced with, including Strauss. Spencer took your jacket like he always did, carefully hanging it near the door. You smiled to yourself, slipping out of your heels and placing them neatly beside his.

You remembered the first time you’d noticed it, how, without ever saying a word, he’d straighten your shoes after you entered his apartment. It was such a small thing, but it stuck with you. You never forgot it. Since then, you just did it yourself. Because you knew he appreciated it, even if he never asked.

“I can’t feel my feet,” you mumbled, flexing your toes as you stepped onto the soft rug.

“I mean, you did dance with almost everyone,” Spencer said, heading toward the living room.

You followed him, chuckling under your breath. “Yeah. You’re right.”

The two of you dropped onto the couch like you’d been holding yourselves up all night. You let out a breath as you pulled your legs up, curling them under you, relieved to not be standing anymore. The soft cushions beneath you felt like heaven after a long night in heels. You yawned quietly, blinking slow, then tilted your head toward him. He was sitting on the other end of the couch, bow loosened, jacket gone, his posture a little slouched now that he could finally relax.

“But you know?” you murmured. He turned his head to you, eyes soft in the low light of the room. “You were my favorite dance partner,” you said, a sleepy smile curling at your lips.

He blinked, and for a second, you swore he forgot how to breathe. His mouth parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how to say it. Instead, he just smiled. That lopsided smile that he only ever gave you.

“I’m glad,” he said after a moment. “You were mine too.”

You let your head lean back against the cushion, the warmth of his words lingering in your chest. And for a few minutes, you just sat like that.

That’s when the books suddenly sprang back into your mind.

Spencer had his eyes closed, head tilted slightly against the couch cushion, looking far too peaceful for someone with three towers of books leaning at precarious angles in his living room. You shifted just slightly, straightening up with purpose.

Without opening his eyes, Spencer spoke, his voice low and drowsy. “Do it tomorrow.”

You paused, caught red-handed by someone who hadn’t even been looking at you. “I didn’t even say anything yet,” you said with a small laugh.

“You didn’t have to. I could feel your brain making a plan.”

You turned your head toward him, raising an eyebrow. “So… you’re officially letting me do it?”

He peeked one eye open to meet your gaze, then gave you a small, resigned smile. “Sure.”

You grinned, and Spencer swore, for just a second, that if he could see you smile like that one more time, he’d even let you organize his meticulously alphabetized first-edition classics in any way you wanted. And that was saying something.

There was a brief silence. You stared at each other for a moment, too long, probably, but neither of you looked away. Then his eyes flicked downward, catching on the folds of your dress. And before he could think better of it, before his brain could slow his mouth down, he spoke.

“You looked beautiful tonight.” The words fell out like a confession. His eyes went wide the moment he realized he’d said them, and color shot up his neck so fast a cheetah would've had a hard time catching it.

You blinked, startled, but the surprise quickly melted into a smile.“Thank you, Spencer,” you said, smiling at him in that slow, full way that made his heart feel like it was folding in on itself. “You didn’t look so bad yourself.”

He let out a small, nervous laugh, his fingers fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve. “I, uh… tried. Morgan said I clean up okay.”

“Well, Morgan’s right,” you said, tilting your head slightly, still watching him with that smile that made it hard for Spencer to remember what breathing was supposed to feel like. Spencer smiled softly at the compliment, his fingers still absently tracing the edge of his sleeve.

“You know,” he began, voice low, almost hesitant, “I spent most of the night trying to figure out how to ask you to dance.”

The admission slipped out before he could stop it, and his eyes flickered up to yours, wide with surprise at his own honesty.

You blinked, your breath catching just a little. “You didn’t have to figure it out,” you murmured, leaning ever so slightly closer. “You could’ve just asked.”

“I wanted it to be perfect.” He laughed, a quiet, self-conscious sound. “Which is ridiculous, because it’s me. Perfect isn’t really in my skill set.”

“Spencer.” You reached out without thinking, your fingers brushing against his wrist, stilling his fidgeting. “It was perfect.” His pulse jumped under your touch.

For a moment, he just stared at you, lips parted, as if he was trying to memorize the way you looked right then, soft and glowing in the his apartment, your dress rumpled from dancing, your smile so fond it made his chest ache.

Then, in a rush of breath, the words tumbled out: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Silence.His brain screeched to a halt. Oh god. Oh no. That wasn’t—he hadn’t meant to say it like that. Not here, not now, not—

But you weren’t pulling away. You weren’t even breathing. Your fingers tightened around his wrist, just barely, and your voice came out whisper-soft. “You… think?”

Spencer swallowed hard. There was no taking it back now. “No,” he corrected, voice rough. “I know. I’ve known for a while.”

"You have?" you asked, practically breathless.

Spencer looked at you before his gaze dropped to his hands, suddenly nervous. His fingers twitched against yours like he wanted to pull away but couldn't bring himself to break contact.

"Yeah," he whispered. Then, with a shaky exhale: "It was... it was that night after the Harris case. When you stayed."

Your breath hitched. You remembered.

Three months ago. Spencer's apartment, 2 AM. Both of you still in crinkled shirts, too wired to sleep. You'd made terrible coffee in his tiny kitchen, hands trembling around the mugs, and when you'd finally sat beside him on the couch, when he'd started talking about the case in that heartbroken voice, you hadn't thought. You'd just reached for him. Held him while his shoulders shook. And when he'd finally gone still, forehead pressed against your collarbone, neither of you had moved for hours.

"You let me fall apart," Spencer continued, voice cracking. "And then you held me for hours like it was nothing."

Tears pricked at your eyes. "Spencer—"

"And before that," he rushed on, "when you memorized my coffee order after one try. Even when you keep trying to rearrange my books. When you defended my 'weird facts' to Morgan. When you—" His laugh was wet, uneven. "When you started leaving your favorite books annotated on my desk so I'd have to read them. As if I wouldn't have read anything you handed me."

A tear slipped down your cheek. You didn't wipe it away. "You noticed that?"

"I notice everything about you." His thumb brushed your knuckles, feather-light. "The way you hum when you're concentrating. How you always steal my pens but never the blue ones because you know I prefer those. That little frown you get when—"

You kissed him.

It wasn't graceful. Your nose bumped his, your lashes still wet, your hands clutching his shirt like you were afraid he might disappear. He made a soft, broken noise against your lips when his fingers curled into your hair. His thumbs brushed the corners of your mouth as he kissed you back.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, "I love you too."

Spencer's breath shuddered out. He pressed his forehead to yours, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying not to cry. "Say it again?"

You laughed through your tears. "I love you, Spencer Reid. Every brilliant, ridiculous, beautiful part of you."

His arms wrapped around you, tight enough to bruise, and when he buried his face in your neck, you felt the damp warmth of his tears against your skin.

"Took you long enough," you teased weakly, running your fingers through his hair.

He huffed a laugh against your shoulder. "Says the woman who reorganized my bookshelves instead of just telling me."

"That was a declaration and you know it."

Spencer pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed but brighter than you'd ever seen them. "Well," he murmured, brushing a tear from your cheek with his thumb, "this is better."

And when he kissed you this time, there were no almosts. No maybes.

Just this, his hands in your hair, your laughter against his lips, and a lifetime of quiet, perfect moments waiting to unfold.

#criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x you #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

510 notes · View notes