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scara-writes · 10 months

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orange juice

Beta Female Reader x Y! Omega Male

Beta X Omega I rarely seen those so why not. Let us make it more spicy by making the lead yandere. I still don't understand some concept in omegaverse so... I'm gonna make my own rule lol.

Just a heads up, grammatically errors incoming. Not proof read. Anything that is in this fiction does not meant to offend anyone. That is why it's called fiction.

CW: yandere, cursing, mention of killing.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

(THIS IS REPOST BECAUSE I REALIZED THAT SIDE BLOGS HAS LIMITED ACCESS SO I MADE A NEW ACCOUNT ;∆;)

"H-hello!" You turn around to see a familiar face visiting your spa. His pretty purple eyes were eccentric the way it brightened up when he saw you acknowledging him. It's the pretty boy you've saved last week from being pick on by the Alphas.

He was surprised that a beta like you actually didn't get intimidated by the presence of them. Well technically you did, but you pretended to be a police officer showing your fake badge and that 'back-up' is on their way to apprehend them when you noticed they were not buying your bluff at first, thankfully the Alphas that were hovering on him retreated. It was kinda funny they weren't intimidated by you until you held out a fake badge that could get them in trouble by their own law.

That idea was dumb but most people always fell for your trick, though you might get in trouble someday for the false identity which is why you only use it for emergency. Long story short, your aunt taught you this for survival in this dog water society.

At first, the pink haired male glared at you, you could careless about him since you were getting annoyed by the fact that they are giving a ruckus outside your spa and its driving away your customers. You don't want your boss finding out about this. The Alpha who guards outside the house is still taking care of his wife, so all the responsibility falls onto you the only beta employee present the rest are omegas because the other betas and alphas employees has different schedule. You were the 'strongest' among the employees inside.

You stare at the omega for a second.

The heck did you do? Why's he glaring at you?

You mentally shrugged before turning around to go back to your shop, not waiting for him to whether or not he should thank you.

A sudden angry shout from him made you pause from your tracks, "You are the same as those men earlier! I-I don't need you to save me!"

You turn to him with a deadpan look. "What are you on about?"

"Y-you think omega's are powerless and need to be protected, that's why you saved me, right?!" You can see he was quivering a little bit, his eyes are starting to show disgust look towards you. "Y-you think we don't need a jobs or—or we just need to sit still and look pretty—to be use like an incubator!" You can feel in his voice that his emotions must have been bubbling out seeing that his talk is becoming incoherent.

You scratched your head and sigh irritation, "Calm down dude. First of all, that is how Alphas that are 'leading' the society viewed omegas which is bullcrap and I don't believe in that, People who thinks like that need to check their brains in the nearby hospital. Also, I believe everyone can be independent and take care of themselves long as they can, I could careless about what the society says they can't control my life. True, omegas may be weak in nature against others but that doesn't mean all of them are weak or they are only used to look pretty for giving an offspring, they can be independent too if they wanted to. Second, you probably know how to handle them seeing you are very composed earlier but this loud noise is giving me a headache and my customers are leaving because how noisy it was. Now, If I offend you in someway well then I apologize. Bye." You gave him a small lazy wave before turning away not waiting for his response, quickly strolling back to your parlor.

So here he was, late at night. You in a closing hours shift since you are the only masseuse left in the parlor on work except your friend who was waiting for you in the employees room clock out for the work and playing, from the game he just downloaded in his app called something impact. Gin san impact? Gone wrong impact? Whatever it was you were hooked when you saw it earlier and will probably download it once you got home.

"Ah yes, welcome." You acknowledge him, awkwardly. You didn't expect him to meet you on your work. He trudges towards you requesting for service menu. You quickly handed him the said item on what were on the lists of your parlor was offering for customers, telling him to sit down while he read the list of services. He skims around the menu for a few seconds before pointing at the service list and you wrote it down; Shockingly, you witness the stranger you met a week ago was going for too many services.

"Oh umm... We are 2 hours closing in. So I think I can only do the first three." You told him. He gave you an 'oh' before agreeing he will try the others the next time when he visits.

"Do you have a partner?"

He was surprised at your sudden question. So you cleared your throat."It's.... In our protocol to ask our customers...and We know that it is personal question."

You can tell he was weirded out but he told you he doesn't have one. You muttered alright and went ahead to take the menu from him. You put them back on the rack as you walk pass him to put the sign close from the glass entrance before going to a cabinet to carry a towel and some thin white cloth for him to change. You wrote his room number and guide him to his room.

He stood up and follows you.

Through out the walk you can feel him staring at your move, making you feel a little tense as the walk in the hallway of doors feels like forever.

You twisted the knob before letting yourself inside first. He smiles at you and walk inside, you gave him the items you brought earlier telling him to change and knock on the door when he is ready.

That's weird, last time you met him. He was very resentful and now he was being smiley and friendly to you. You don't mind at least he was tolerating you for now.

You closed the door behind you putting on surgical mask since some others weren't comfortable smelling their pheromones.

You heard a knock and a small 'I'm ready' and you go in.

He was sitting down. His top were bare, abs were shown on his frame except for his lower part since it was covered by the thin cloth you gave earlier, you can definitely see how smooth his skin was—no scars just a little bruise on his left thigh which is something you definitely won't asked, you quickly look anywhere before he catches you staring at him. The towel were neatly folded along the clothes he wore earlier at the other table.

The pink haired omega was looking at you and he did caught you staring but you don't know that. A small smile escape on his lips. You cleared your throat and lit up three incense candles for relaxation and turn on a relaxing music, you went on the other side of the room where the sink was and washed your hands, sanitizing it using your own towel. You look back at him to see that he was still gazing towards you. He was still sitting, you assumed this must be his first time going to a spa or massage parlor since he should be already laying on his stomach or he must be waiting for you to give him an order since he ask for three different types of session. "You should lay on your stomach so we could start now."

"Why are you wearing a mask?"

You stop applying oil on your hand at his question before resuming again. "...both parties might not be comfortable when a pheromones were smelled."

"Oh."

There was a silence between the two of you.

"I'm going to start now." He nodded, doing what you'd asked earlier and close his eyes. The small round stones were place on his spinal before proceeding on messaging him with your oily hands.

The first few minutes were the same awkward atmosphere except for the jazzy music on the background, Both of your hand slides to his shoulders, wrapping around and gave a small squeeze. You hear him whimper.

"S-sorry!" You shrugged his apologize saying that is normal for customers.

"I umm didn't say thank you when you saved me last week..."

He continued,"sorry for bothering you with your customers."

"Don't mention it. I actually didn't plan on going outside if it weren't for my coworkers since like I mentioned last time you can handle them pretty well." You bit your tongue inside since you don't know how to talk back when someone compliments you or apologize to you. You only wanted to let him know that

He must have noticed that so he continued, "...I didn't catch your name earlier."

You answered him,"It's (Y/n)..."

"(Y/n)." The way your name rolled on his voice makes your body feel a little bit weird.

"(Y/n), huh.. that's a weird name for a beta." You blink at him before chuckling at him. "You're weird. It's a normal name."

He giggled. "My names Luke."

"Your name doesn't suits you." You teased him before telling him to turn around so you can do second session.

He obliged scoffing at you as he lay back down on his back. "H-hey! Luke is pretty cool name."

"I never said it wasn't, I said it doesn't suit you."you gave him a smirk which he pouts. He look cute when he did that.

"The badge you'd shown were fake wasn't it?"

Ah shit, someone noticed it. No use of hiding it then.

"..uhh..yeah, I use it only if things goes out of hands."

The two of you talk for a bit laughing resuming the second session until it was time for his third and final session which is to massage his face.

"Is this your first time... Ummm..doing service for omegas?" His voice were small but you didn't notice he was anticipating at your answer. You hummed thoughtfully before answering. "Hmmm.. not really... I get omegas as my clients but I guess I would say this is the first time that I could finish my sessions with them."

He seemed confused which made you continue, "Ummm... Most partners of theirs were jealous and would almost instantly attack us, telling us that we shouldn't touch them, but we know that we were only doing our job as masseuse so. Of course, the customers paid us of any injuries or damage properties as well as others, we don't blame them, and it was starting to get out of hand.... Since, we don't have any other choice, we hired an Alpha to stop any ruckus. I would lie if I said I don't want to hit one of my clients' unreasonable partners."

"Oh..." You noticed his reaction when he got your question earlier about his status.

"He already went home though. He excused himself just earlier, his spouse needed him so we let him go now." You tell him. He must have realized there was no guard around earlier. Just you at the receptionist counter.

".. What's your thought about Alphas?"

"nothing much, regardless how some of them are uhh... unreasonable when it comes to greed. I'm pretty sure not all of them are all like that."

He didn't respond but you caught him rolling his eyes before closing them. He muttered something but you didn't quite catch it.

You slide and pressure your oily hands on his, you heard a purring, making you look around the room in confusion. Was there a cat somewhere?

You scan your eyes around the room for a bit more only to register that it was actually coming from him.

A little heat coming from your cheeks but you squash it down the feeling as it was inappropriate, it was good thing you were wearing a mask before he can see your reaction.

You didn't do anything about it and continue your work. Luke on the other hand felt euphoric, your hands were doing the God's work. He hasn't tell you what he felt when you save him from the bunch of alpha's trying to court him. He was grateful—no, he wasn't grateful; he was lightened up the fact you view omegas like a normal person and not dehumanising or infantilize them—considering you are a beta and has nothing to do with omega but still! He just felt happy that he wasn't the only one who has that kind of perspective.

You cleaned him up with a towel, you noticed his eyes were half dazed as if he was relaxed, you told him that he can now change back, as you blew off the candle and turn off the jazz music, washing your hands again and drying it off with your own towel. You put the other materials back to where they belong and look at the timer to see you over time. You opened the door and twisting it open to see your friend/co-worker.

He was pouting.

The pink haired male saw him through the doorway before you close the door behind you, and starts talking with your friend. His purple eyes realise he was an omega.

He felt a little pang from his chest.

"Hey, I thought you said you are going to clock out once it hits midnight~!" Tyrenn whined out. He tried to help you carry the items you were holding but you refused as the both of you struts back to the employees room, "He's the last customer."

You threw the towel and the cloth at the hamper before stretching yourself up. "Man, I'm tired." He threw you a bottle of orange juice and you catch it, twisting the cap open and drink a little bit before clocking out of work. You grab your bag and change at the changing room with your casual wear and goes outside from the employees room only with your co-worker. He tells you that you're gonna be excited on what he discovered on the game he played earlier while the both of you starts trudging at the main lobby where the counter was.

Luke was waiting, his eyes brightened up when you arrived. he waited to give you his money but your friend who was clinging at you took it from him, thanking him for accepting your service, putting them at the cash register before locking it.

He lick his dry his lips before turning to you, "Umm...thanks again. The service was great. I-I'll see you next time. It was nice meeting you." He smelled the scent of orange juice that you were holding. It was half full, there were some in the corner of your lips.

Tyrenn grabbed the bottle from your hand and you let him drink it as you start conversing with your last customer.

You nod at him, noticing he was a little taller than you. "Likewise. Should I call you a taxi? It's already past midnight."

He shook his head, smiling. "No it's fine! I live few blocks away from here." He put his left hand on his pocket while the other one was slowly pulling the glass door where he comes in.

"Oh, Be careful. I just heard that there was a serial killer roaming around this time at night killing Alphas. That doesn't mean you should be careless about it. You might never know when the killer change their mind on killing the others." You warned him. The pink haired male nodded again, smiling even more when you're worried for his safety. Tyrenn waved him a goodbye before talking to you again about the game he played earlier as he clings even more to your arms. Luke's eyes slightly twitches at the scene.

"Yes, yes I will! Thank you again!" He walked out of the parlor smiling. When he is few blocks away from the spa, his smile disappear.

He might change his mind on killing your friend though.

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stickyspeckledlight · 1 month

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Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]

The cotton in your mind protects you.

Ao3

word count: 10.5k

TW: Stockholm syndrome, implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts (not detailed but reader does mention having them and thinking about the act), mild gore (little actual gore but the prose uses gory language), reader goes through it and let’s just say aventurine is a terrible influence, tonal whiplash for my own sanity, wow aventurine are you really this emotionally constipated

Note: My first ever yan work! This is a bit of a mess, but I’ll bet five dollars and janitorial duty at Taco Bell that it’s a good mess 👍

(Written before 2.1)

The sun sets as you both bask in the afterglow. Clouds streak the baby blue sky, hued in soft yellows, calm oranges, and blushing pink.

(And it reminds you of his eyes)

Sights like these made nights spent in a casino a bit more bearable. You take a deep breath, sighing in contentment and exhaustion, and you wish you could shut your eyes and stretch this moment for an eternity. To remain in the setting eye of the sun, softly breathing as you hear the gentle beating of his heart. To have his hand lazily draped over your waist, the other caressing your head, fingers softly entangled with your locks. Your tears have dried, too. Yes, you’d like to live in this singular moment, divorced from everything else.

But as you’ve learned during your time with Aventurine, time is a rapid to move with.

You shiver a bit, and he pulls up a thin blanket. The difference is small. But still, the serenity of the moment is shattered. The soft silk is meant to cage you in for whatever happens next. You don’t mind, anymore. Or, when you’re more lucid, when you let the torrent that is your mind flow, that’s what you decide.

You’re not stupid, but you wish you were. If you were stupid, you wouldn’t ever be forced to trek away from your home. Wouldn’t grab the attention of anyone smart and shrewd (though you did hear about one ‘Dr. Ratio,’ committed to remedies of ignorance). Even if you somehow did and ended up where you were, maybe your mind would be filled with cotton rather than thoughts. That you could enjoy everything all the time.

But you’re not stupid, nor are you a genius who could hope to outwit the man who holds the aventurine of stratagem. Knowing how normal you are compared to him only makes you more hopeless, so you do your best to fill your mind with cotton again. You feel your inner voice berate you for your willing ignorance but it also cries at its necessity.

Cotton. You needed to fill your head with cotton, because if you didn’t in time (and that time was short when you were with Aventurine) you might just sob again then and there. You think too much. So you won’t think. At least around him. Because…you still don’t want to acknowledge it in your mind. You protect yourself from the brunt of it and effectively live a lie.

“You’re clenching your jaw,” Aventurine’s voice possesses a perpetual drawl, but in moments like this it softens a little. Almost like he’s talking to a person and not something to use. “Just what could it be you’re thinking about?”

Could you even be called a thinking creature right now? Cotton absorbs color, and right now the sun, so big it could engulf you, is so beautiful. You tell him the truth. “The sunset’s beautiful. Really, really beautiful. A lot more beautiful than the others.”

He hums. He knows you’re not lying, but you haven’t answered his question. “You’ve made your affinity for the sight quite clear,” he says, and you only notice that odd edge in his voice from your sheer exposure to this man. Whatever Aventurine has against this sight, you’re not sure. He seems to like sunrises, though, if you can trust the times you’ve woken up and see him watching it. And whenever there is no sun, you wake up to him gone or kissing you awake. Though lately, you’ve been steadily receding from your habit of oversleeping. The hand in your hair tightens, and there’s a small tug, firm but not painful, at your roots. He still wants his answer.

Your mind, chosen to be wrecked with cotton, doesn’t know what to think. You say the only other thing in your absent mind. “This one looks like your eyes.”

You think he likes that because you feel him shift to look at it. You can’t see his face, but you assume he’s taken off his usual smile. Smiling all the time sounded torturous, and you rub your cheek at the phantom pain of your own imagination.

“Hmm…” and you feel him shift again, and you really have no idea what he wants. From the intonation, he’s about to do something either mischievous or ‘flirtatious.’ “You know, sweetheart,” that word is heavy on his tongue. He shifts, dropping you on the bed and if this were earlier in your relationship you’d fantasize about ripping his throat for robbing you of the sunset. His hair is messed up, his smile soft but still unreadable. The sun shines on the mark on his neck, and something about the sight makes you a bit…happy. And angry. He takes your face in his hands and locks your eyes and you tense a bit out of instinct—you make a note to yourself to do more work on hammering it away—Aventurine’s full attention on you was intense and overwhelming; the bit of dried blood on his lips is proof of it. Your heart feels like it will burst. From apprehension or anticipation, you’re not sure. “If that’s the case,” one of his hands trails down your jaw, the ghost of his touch fluttering against the marks he’s painted on your neck. He’d have no issue finding more all around your body. He softly, lovingly holds your neck like he’s prepared to snap it and equally prepared to drown you in his affection, “Why not take in the real thing, hm?” His thumb finds and lightly presses on a mark. He drew blood when making it, and you blink back a wince at the pain. He notices, eyes softening before moving his thumb and kissing the irritated skin. “Sorry,” he says, but it’s said the same way a cat licks a mouse’s carcass. An empty apology made after the fact. But you don’t mind. You’ve made sure you don’t mind a lot of things, and it’s made you equally content and miserable. Though, maybe you hold onto that latter feeling in stubborn defiance, because losing that shred of yourself would turn you into something that You wouldn’t necessarily hate if it were anyone else, but it’s You becoming that; and that, that, You hate.

You hum because you do enjoy being close like this. But Aventurine is perceptive, and though his head is below you, you feel as if you’ve been chained up when you once again lock eyes. “I can hear your thoughts, darling,” He returns to his former position, “I hate seeing you all stressed out,” he says, as if his veins weren’t running with anticipation when you were saddled with debt and when your parents got hit with unfortunate ‘accidents’ that insurance couldn’t cover and he didn’t love the day you became his. “Didn’t you say that open and honest communication was important in a healthy relationship? I’m rather fond of our little romance, and I’d hate for it to crumble.” He nearly pouts—doesn’t surprise you much anymore, but there’ll always be a little bit of whiplash that doesn’t quite go away. Though, You feel a slight hint of bitterness—crumble? Some cotton burns away. Did he mean that for himself? …Or might it have been a vague threat to you…? You think, but you’re quick to fill your head back up with cotton. The process isn’t immediate, however.

“Our relationship is the furthest thing from healthy,” you point out. You don’t add in that you never sought out romance in the first place, “and it hasn’t exactly been built on a sturdy foundation.”

“You’ve got me there,” He chuckles. “Well, let’s put it like this,” he brushes a lock of hair from your face, “I see that my lover’s been saddled with all these thoughts, and it’s gotten them so awfully quiet,” Lover? No, that’s hyperbole. He tucks his fingers underneath your chin, stroking the soft, unmarked skin; the only area spared from his assault. “Makes a guy worry, you know? The last time you were this quiet was when you first moved in.”

Yes. It was mostly because You spent the majority of your free time sobbing, leaving your voice all but spent by the time he got back. And it wasn’t like you could be the goofy and sometimes witty and sometimes not buffoonish person You were when You were so miserable. When you wanted to do everything you could to retreat into your own skin—but Aventurine simply ripped you out, exposed, bloody, and sniffling. After that thought, the cotton has completely grown back.

“…And…?” Through the cotton, you can only wonder what he’s talking about.

His smile becomes sharper, and you wonder if he might feel insulted. Does he think you want to leave him, see him get what he deserved and some actual help like You used to? “C’mon don’t you…” you blink a little vacantly, and he seems to realize something. “Or, maybe you’re…” but his voice suggests something knowing. Suggests experience. And the gears in his mind click. “Oh, I know that look!” He laughs, delightedly or derangedly, you don’t bother to differentiate. Either way it makes you shiver.

“Huh? What look?” You asked, filtered through cotton. He doesn’t answer and cuts to the chase.

He playfully flicks your forehead, and you imagine a bullet going through it, “Riddle me this: what do you want, sweetheart?”

You blink. What do you want? When you first got here, it was security and his or your death. After some time had passed, it was peace. But now…you want whatever storm that’s inside of you to stop. But he doesn’t need to know what you want deep in your soul. So you tell him the truth, filtered through cotton.

You do something that would’ve been unthinkable to You, and worse, it’s subconsciously without a second thought. You push him down on the bed by laying on him—flopping on him like a fish, You think, for your mind is such a silly little thing—lay your head over his heart, and take in the sunset. The sun’s nearly below the ground. “…If it’s fine, and only if you want…” you ask, because You detest the idea of being controlling, “I’d like you to…” you flush, “…h-hold me, um, like you are right now, until the sun’s down and, um…” your heart is going to burst and there’ll be a hole of viscera through your chest and maybe Aventurine will admire your pathetic, desperate corpse before burning it, “we can take a bath. And,” you look up at him, “I’ll look into your eyes, as much as you want…” You tell yourself its because you need to appease him, and easy on the eyes to boot. But you know of the primal thing that lives in your chest.

It’s true. But Aventurine puts it perfectly.

His smile speaks of years of clawing his way up with honeyed words and masked expressions. “You’re not lying. Thank you. That’s such a sweet wish,” he says kindly (you’re no longer scared of his kind voice), stroking your head like you are an obedient dog, one that he adores and veers on despising, and then wraps his other arm beneath your thighs, “but you know I’d like the truth.” He then says, primally, ready to carve out a space in your body to inhabit, “To know what storm’s brewing in that little head of yours,” he takes in a shuddering breath, and his eyes light with perverse excitement, “if it’s begun to…crack and burn up.” He sits up and carries you away. You’re slightly disappointed you won’t be seeing the sunset in its entirety, but you’ve gotten good at forgetting. Aventurine sighs wistfully. “But…” he grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him, “I don’t mind that second proposition of yours,” his voice is husky, and he kisses you. You flush, and the cotton is the only thing that prevents you from tearing into him with your canines.

As the sun moves further and further away, You think yourself a fool for thinking it would engulf you. Aventurine wouldn’t leave anything left of you, whenever he decided he was done with you.

—

This is your only choice, and it was everything you could do to not shut down the instant you realized.

You were in denial, at first. It was all just a coincidence, right? You’d always feared this sort of thing—financial struggle—and so getting hit with it should be something you take in stride, and come out of it either in a wreck or just barely getting by. And, if you wanted to get a little nerdy, capitalist economies have to crash into recession eventually, so maybe now was just that time of the era. No place was hiring you, and your parents were getting buried in bills they couldn’t pay.

But, if anyone with half a brain took a step back, they’d call out the bullshit excuse you concocted in your mind, to deny the ridiculous truth. Because whatever recession was happening, it seemed to only affect you. The truth that you, you, were the apple of someone’s eye (for lack of a better term—you aren’t delusional—you’re just as disposable as the next person, as much as you wish for the universe to cease operating like it).

Preposterous! Scandalous! You, a complete idiot, catching someone’s fancy? How the fuck did that happen?! Were pigs flying now? …You take that back, there are indeed flying species of the hog persuasion gallivanting about. But this does not detract from your point. One might say “bimbo vibes,” but you know for a fact, even taking into account your own bias and self-perpetuation of your self-esteem issues (which makes you still having them even worse, but you’ve already gone down that spiral more than you could count), that you do not have anywhere near enough bimbo energy to attract anyone with that kink. Or the looks. This was your knee-jerk reaction to when this crossed your mind. And to an extent, still is, because thinking about it like that gives the situation a bit of levity you desperately need. You can’t wrap your head around it in the slightest. But you can’t dispute fact. And the fact is that you are wanted by someone else, and you can’t even begin to understand why. Least of all the person who wants you.

The man who hides behind the name ‘Aventurine.’ That fact alone already makes you not want to be so closely associated, and it makes everything more insane and stupid. An IPC executive has no use for you. If he wants to extort you for unpaid or cheap labor, he’s already got a vast selection of underpaid grunts to do his bidding. If there’s one thing the IPC knows how to do, it’s keeping those desperate enough or arrogant enough trapped. You’re not either of those things; though you admit you’ve adapted the former trait in light of recent bullshittery, but you digress.

Most of what you come up with is met with an easy counter. Aventurine, a sleazy businessman obsessed with sex? He has money—he can just hire someone actually knowledgeable in it AND hot. Aventurine, a man with insatiable greed? Again, he’s already rich as fuck, and the only way he’s getting any more money is if he looks up the pecking order. Aventurine, a gambler who loved seeing his opponents fall into ruin? That was actually plausible to some extent, but you’ve made it very clear you’re no gambler (not in tangible matters at least, but you keep your card close to your heart). Then maybe he wants to try and push you over the edge? Try to make you take a risk bigger than yourself?

So, you’ve settled for this: Aventurine, a man who cannot stand to be sober from the drink called “power.” Desiring complete domination over someone. A personal matter, and briefly you hear the echo of a quote: “We desire that which we do not have.” What doesn’t Aventurine have?

…A relationship? Well, you shoot that down easily. Whatever kind of relationship this leads to ends with you ruined and him hunting after his next prey.

He’s a bit like a serial killer, you muse, and you just so happen to meet his criteria for victimhood. But unlike a killer, he’s merely going to make you wish you were dead. If you wanted death, it’d have to be at your own hands. If he gave you that option at all. Another thought you have is that he might use you for snuff. That’s…you haven’t pursued the thought any further.

You’ve been robbed of much of your control, but you still control the hand that knocks at the door. If you’re going down, it’ll be on your own terms. This is your last, desperate attempt to pretend you have any control at all. You make sure your bangs cover your eyes.

You just wish your heart didn’t feel like it would explode. You wish that you weren’t actively holding back going on a complete breakdown. You wish you were made of the same steel heroes were, but you cannot be what you are doomed to not be.

Aventurine opens the door, giving you a grin that makes you retch. He’s still dressed in his usual peacock-esque finery, and something about it makes you frown. Maybe it’s because he’s dressed in the colors you love, and it feels so wrong for something that wants to destroy you to be clad in them. “Sweetheart!” he coos out the wretched (and cringe-worthy) pet name with faux surprise; it propels you to roll your eyes even now. He knew you were coming; otherwise, you’d be detained by hotel staff. It didn’t quite help that you didn’t really bother to dress up either. It made you stick out like a sore thumb, and you’re glad that this is the only time you’ll be at a gaudy hotel. “You’ve come to visit little ol’ me! I’m charmed. Aren’t I a lucky man?”

You fantasize about his guts strewn about on the floor, accompanied by your maniacal laughter and sobs of elated despair. “...You could say that, Mr. Aventurine,” you aren’t foolish enough to be curt, so you settle for polite and cordial. Professional and businesslike, and you know that gives him a slight advantage. “There’s something I wish to discuss with you. I think that’s best accomplished behind closed doors.”

He clicks his tongue playfully. “No need to be so cold. We’re friends here, aren’t we?”

“I suggest you drop the ‘sweetheart,’ then. Friends don’t call each other that, Mr. Aventurine.”

He raises his hand in mock surrender, and you want him to get to the fucking point before you lost your nerve. “Oh, fine. Then,” he gestures to the lion’s den. If only he were the gentleman he was pretending to be, “Walk on in, darling.” You cannot suppress the groan that comes out of you. His smile widens; you're sure he gets some kick at riling you up.

You don’t have the energy to deal with him, and you certainly don’t have enough to suppress the sigh of irritation you let out. He seems to look like…some sort of positive emotion that you don’t know what to name. You’re not sure if you want to name it.

The sunlight catches his predatory yet enrapturing eyes. His eye twitches, clearly trying not to shut. Maybe, you muse, the sun hates him as much as you do. It brings a weak smile to your face. You make sure to take your sweet time to enter. You won’t take off your shoes, either. He can deal with a bit of tracked dirt, you think, but then you remember that he’s wearing his shoes. And you thought he was monstrous enough.

But when the door shuts, any semblance of levity you could summon dissipates, and you’re reminded of what you’re here to do. Aventurine’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, and you want to rip it off and feed it to the birds. Thankfully, he just leads you to the living room. The sun is cast overhead.

“So,” he circles till he’s in front of you, “What could be so important that you’ve come to see me this time of day?” He’s playing with his food. It makes you abandon courtesy for curtness.

“Don’t act like you didn’t cancel some business meeting to make this happen.”

“Oh! You’ve got me!” he chuckles, “My, you’ve already gotten to know me so well. Don’t you think we’re like two peas in a pod?” He teases, and you know he specifically means for it to piss you off. To his credit, it works.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you spit, and his hand lets you back away from him. “I was thinking about…” you take a breath—you can’t lose your nerve now, “...the ‘deal,’ you gave me a little while ago. The gamble, to be more precise.”

His smile stretches so wide it seems to crack his face, and you feel phantom pain radiating along your own mouth. His eyes, those alluring and dangerous rims of pink and electric blue, spiked with adrenaline. You wonder if his eyes are dilating, but you don’t want to look at his eyes any longer than you have to. “I knew you would come around. But I see it in your eyes—you want to discuss the terms, right?”

He’s right. “Yes.”

“Admirable,” he says lazily, “but before you start, you should know that I’m not budging on my reward.”

“I know,” you bitterly say, “this is about my reward.”

Interest ignites, the blue of his eye burning hot with intrigue.

“If I win, then I want you to reimburse my family, and then some, for all of the shit you’re making them go through. And then I want you to leave them the hell alone and not harm them.”

You can’t tell if he looks more interested or disappointed. “That’s hardly different from our original deal. The only difference is that you’re not getting any compensation.” At least he doesn’t deny that he’s the one the source of your family woes this time. Likely because you two already jumped through that point. You may not be sharp, but there are things even you can’t be gaslit on, and you think Aventurine realized this and decided not to bother. “Do you really hate the idea of getting money from me? You do remember that I told you that you can use me however you want, right?”

You hate how he wants to use you, and you equally hate using anybody. “Yes. You made that very clear. I know what I’m doing. Now, come on.”

“Don’t be so hasty. I’ll have to modify my will so—”

“No need. Get the gun already.” You aren’t too worried anyway. Businessmen like him know to honor their deals anyway. He’ll probably dismiss it easily and assume you’ll either donate it to charity or give it to your family.

He laughs, not so dissimilar from nails digging into a chalkboard, “You’re that eager to kill me? And you were so against it too! I wouldn’t have expected your morals to shift so quickly.”

You bite your lip. “You don’t seem to be all too worried about dying,” you point out, “You were the one who proposed this in the first place.” Another reason you don’t want to associate with this man. He treats his own life far too callously, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that the package to unpack is bursting at the seams. Normally you would’ve been sympathetic, but this is the manner of man that wants to seize you. You don’t want to know what would happen to you, under his dominion.

Still, at least you know that he prizes adrenaline above all else. Why else would he risk his life for a hit of it? It’s useful info and also the only wrinkle in your plan…but you’re not banking on this entirely.

Aventurine doesn’t respond, but his eyes accentuate his mirthful grin. It reminds you of yourself, when you tell a joke to yourself. You do like inside jokes, but you cannot say the same for the ones you’re left out of. No matter how demented this man’s humor is, knowing what he finds funny would at least give you more to glean on him. A part of you does enjoy piecing together puzzles, even ones you can’t solve.

He produces a simple revolver from his jacket. Sleek and as dark as a moonless night, even you can tell that its craftsmanship is more than deserving of admiration. But your anxiety has spiked, and you want to dig a hole and suffocate, to feel your lungs burn like lava and to have your fingers raw when you have second thoughts and desperately try to claw your way out. You blink back tears, but you know what you must do.

He takes his sweet time with the gun, but you don’t pay attention. Your eyes are trained on the ground as you try and fail to psych yourself up. You know what you're doing. Your parents would tell you this was a bad choice, and you agree, but you weren’t given very many good choices.

A shot rings out. Glass shatters from behind you. The coffee table. You do not breathe, and something searing and hard digs into your chin, forcing you to look up. Your gaze is misty from the pain, and you’re more resilient to the cold, not the heat.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles kindly, “I don’t like being ignored.” Despite your best efforts, a tear has rolled down your cheek. You need to get this over with before your mouth starts to uncontrollably twitch into a frown. “Aw…” he coos, and begins to lean in, “there’s no need to cry, dear.”

You can’t stop it. You let out something that sounds like a growl, and shove him off of you. “You don’t get to touch me,” you hiss, a sound you didn’t know you were capable of, “Hands to yourself,” For some indiscernible reason, another tear falls, “you haven’t won anything yet.”

He’s not fazed. “Ah, I suppose I’ll have to concede there,” for now, “Here you go then, friend,” the gun is lodged away from your chin, and despite his claim of concession he yanks your arm up and forces it in your grip, “Let’s see who luck favors.”

You shake, a little, but you’re not shaken enough to lose all your rationality. “Is there still a bullet in here?”

“Yep,” he pops the p, like you two were old pals, “though I suppose I should roll the chamber again. Give me a second.” He takes the gun away and gets to work. You’re both thankful and sobbing on the inside. At this rate, your ribs will be dust from how your heart hammers into them.

It’s back in your hand after what feels like an eternity and a microsecond. “Now there shouldn’t be any problems. Feel free to start shooting,” he purrs, adjusting it to point toward his chest. He begins to grip it, and you must act now. You’re shaking and you want to die—

Ah.

Good.

You won’t lose your nerve then.

“Actually,” your words shake with imminent tears and ramping fears, “there’s another term I wanted to discuss.” Your words aren’t threatening, but it’s ominous enough that Aventurine pauses. He’s given you the inch, and you’re taking the mile. You take a deep breath. It could be one of your last.

You’ve forced the gun against your forehead. You’ve either gasped or Aventurine’s breath has hitched. You feel tears welling up, but you’ve made it too far for things to end here. You will yourself through your terror. “If I get shot, I win. If I don’t, you win.”

A tense silence whistles about. The air is almost electric from shock. But you know what you’re doing. You know it’s stupid, but you’re hopeless and this is the closest thing to a shred of hope you can grasp. See, you did a bit of research (on a library computer; you weren’t taking your chances). You found out that there are a few stories about Aventurine doing this—and even more about how he’s made numerous casino goers lose everything. In other words, he’s a lucky bitch.

And you’re not that lucky. You doubt your luck is good enough for a regular gamble, but for your life? You treasure it, and sealing the gun to your head leaves you on the cusp of a breakdown. This is what you’re banking on: you’re not lucky enough to win a gamble, but you’re unfortunate enough to lose your life over something so inconsequential. Your parents would murder you if they saw you. Say you owe them nothing, and you do agree—but you can’t shake your habit of overpaying them. You’ve left a note at home for them to dig up, but it wouldn’t be an apology. If there’s an afterlife, you’ll apologize for eternity. You think the only way you can apologize is by searing your soul in the hells till nothing is left of you.

You do have a more selfish reason for taking this approach, but it’s also incorrigible and unreasonable. So obviously it doesn’t need to be dissected.

You think he’ll take it up. Sure, maybe the adrenaline he’ll get won’t be as great if he were the target, but so far he’s been the type to take pleasure in pushing others down a peg. He smiles at your distress, you’re sure. Surely your quivering, sniveling form is giving him a kick? Surely, he’ll want to see your eyes glassy, your expression forever contorted in a fearful, desperate sob?

But Aventurine’s voice is missing its usual lilt. It’s hard, no longer deceptively light. Not playfully pushy but demanding. Maybe this is how he speaks to his enemies, and you want to crawl into yourself. “…What?” A shard of ice is lodged in your back and makes your heart skip a beat from the surprise. But you can deal with the cold.

“I said what I said,” you push the terrifying thing harder into your skull, “these are my terms.” You’re more adamant than ever to not look into his eyes. You fixate on your shoes. You won’t speak more than necessary.

He seemingly contemplates for a moment. You’re about to push it when he finally speaks. “Do you remember what I said when I first proposed this gamble?”

Your mind is too fear-stricken for recollection. “You say a lot of things. C-can’t remember all of them.” Shit, your mouth has twitched a bit.

Shockingly Aventurine doesn’t poke fun at that, and is unusually focused. “I don’t take deals where I’m on the losing end. You’ve skewed this far too much in your favor.”

No. Oh, no. You were wrong about something. Lava starts to sting at your eyes. If you were wrong about this, then what else were you wrong about?!

“W-what? You’re not the one risking your life!” You exclaim, and it makes you look up at him, “How are you on the losing end?!” You shriek, because you aren’t a composed person at heart.

His eyes, lifeless and intense, widen as they bore into your own, pinning you down. If you squirm, you think he would stab knives in them to keep you down. He isn’t smiling and your knees want to shake. “Let’s go through this one by one, so you understand. One: what do I want?”

“W-wha?”

He repeats himself, harsher. “What. Do. I. Want?”

You settle for the safest answer. Your heart feels dead. You’re sure it will wither to dust. “M-me?”

“Bingo.” It scares you that he’s not saying that with a lilt. It scares you that he’s not trying to manipulate you. It scares you how there’s only a thread between him ripping you in half. “And here’s something very, very important to know about me,” his hand caresses your cheekbone, positioned to catch any tears that fall, or to crush your skull, “I do whatever it takes to get what I want.”

“Then how is this different?! You’re still taking the risk of not getting what you want no matter how you slice it!”

The smile he gives you is all at once angelic and biting. “I don’t like it when I don’t get what I want.” His pupils dilate. Your eyes well up looking at malice and…something that plunges you in ice. “If I can’t get what I want…hm, how do I describe it?” his voice begins to regain its lilt, fueled by your increasing distress. He smiles like he’s teaching a child a lesson, but you swear his eyes are growing duller. “Well, it’s like being trapped in a land without dawn,” his other hand softly holds your shoulder and it feels so wrong because you swear he’s holding back from brutalizing you, “there are chains around your neck, ankles, wrists, waist, eyes…” he chuckles sardonically, and a vindictive grin spreads as he leans in, till you can feel the ghost of his breath, “your life is a living hell, but the cold of the metal seeps down to your very bone.” You yelp; his grip has tightened. “Something stirs in your chest,” the hand caressing your face comes to rest over your heart, “begging to destroy everything and everyone that’s made you suffer.” His fingers dig into your chest, as if he’ll rip out your heart. “Tell me, my friend, do you want a man like that alive?”

You want to close your eyes so badly. Your mind is an inky landscape, blackening every single thought you hold. A soft flutter to your cheek knocks you out of your stupor. You register expensive perfume, something tickling your skin, and soft lips kissing away your tears. Immediately you shove away the opportunistic beast and stumble in your escape.

You’re in too deep. You need to make this work, because as much as you're terrified, something deep within you purrs at the weakness he’s given you.

But it’s good to know how spiteful he is. You already feel much better about your own plan. Both parts of you purr in delight: one knows you must twist the knife, and the other has been waiting for the opportunity.

“Coward,” your mouth is faster than your mind, “you coward!” Your meager wit and anguish over the past few months begin to tumble out uncontrollably, “I don’t care about your shit—you’ve hardly given me any say about anything. You’ve had the upper hand this entire time, and now you want to backpedal? This is too much risk for you?!” You heave, and you’re too enraged to care about how disgusting you must look, “You said to me there’s nothing you like more than a good gamble. Well, I’ve got a GREAT gamble for you, and if you’re upset you’ve got no one but yourself to blame! You wormed your way into my life, you orchestrated its steady decline, and you pushed me right here! You don’t get to back out of this like a coward!” You’re breathing heavily, and your vision is watery red, and you throw the gun in what you think is his general direction, and your vitriol spills out of you, “Take it and take whatever fucking risk exists! Languish for a month or a day or an hour because you didn’t get what you want like a little baby! If I’m going down, you’re coming down with me!” You’re heaving at this point, and you absently lean on the couch so you don’t collapse. Your composure is in shambles, but you’ll try to save a complete breakdown for when your choices catch up to you and you’re choking on your own blood.

You hear a slow, rhythmic clap, and it shocks you that your ears aren’t flooding with blood at it. You hesitantly look up to see Aventurine grinning like a beast.

“You, dragging me down…” the lilt has come back, and you realize that he likes something about this; that he’s schemed a part of it, “...so I see.” He drawls. He tilts his head, regarding you with the interest one has in a zoo. “I’ll admit,” each slow step he takes toward you makes you sink further into the couch, “I was expecting you to cave with that. Yet you still insist…sweetheart,” should you be glad he’s calling you that again? “Let me be the first to tell you that it’s a great honor to push people like you into a corner. You were correct to fear me to try and avoid this.” So you were right on one thing, but it’s only a single thing. He’s inching ever so closely, and before you can start getting away he’s pounced on you.

You yelp in surprise and begin to thrash, “You—get, get off of me!” You attempt to be intimidating, but your intense terror makes you seem like nothing more than a child scared to get a shot. Perfume burns your nostrils. More tears are shed, but he’s merciful enough to not lap them up just yet. He still lets you look away.

He giggles and just pins you down. He waits until you're humiliated and exhausted before continuing. Your mouth twitches, and against your better judgment a sob brews in your chest. Your mind floods with ink, now. You try to tell yourself to keep it together, but the more you repeat it the more terrified you become. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d change the terms like this,” you squirm and look away—you don’t have the bravery to look at him directly right now. He lets you. “I was sort of expecting you to try and stand up for yourself, or maybe even demand I put in two bullets…but, you’ve run counter to my expectations. For one, I didn’t have you pinned to be this spiteful, nor this willing to give up your life.” You flinch and make a hateful sound as he starts to pat your head, continuing on as if this was the most normal conversation in the world, like he was the most normal person in the room, as he smiles so warmly—you’re a frog being boiled, but you’re too tired and afraid to retort, “Heh, this must’ve taken all of your guts to do, right?” The affection in his voice forms a lump in your throat. “I’m proud of you. Take pride in that,” he wipes away a tear, “and you’re right.” Suddenly, all warmness is gone and you’re blasted with heat. His grin shows his teeth, and for a moment you think you’ve really died. “I’ve always loved the thrill of going all in.” He laughs, a depraved sound of hedonism and complete despair, “If I win, it’s the jackpot. I get you, and you get me.” Get him? “And if I lose,” your head is tipped up by the barrel of the gun to look into his eyes—

You whimper. The only thing that registers in your mind is that you’ve found yourself in a fox’s jaw about ready to clamp down.

“I live with my loss at the hands of a nobody. And it’ll gnaw at me from the inside…” he says breathlessly, “Yes, that’s a risk I can see myself getting behind,” Ink has made your soul quiver further. “And only taking deals on the winning end…I do that enough for business. That's to say…” he suddenly pulls you up, causing you to stumble and lean into him. He chuckles as your addled mind and body reorient, but the arm slung around your waist prevents you from straying too far. It’s the pillar you must rely on, but one wrong step and it will crumble to dust.

It scares you.

But.

There’s another side to your fear. What sort of things do we fear? These months have taught you that people hate that which they fear. When the fear amps up, so does the hate. You aren’t blind to how he looks at you. He’d vivisect you if it got him what he wanted. Your teeth grind. Oh, you hate him, you hate him so much. But your hate doesn’t burn, nor does it freeze. It’s a part of you, hums through your veins, thrums with the beat of your heart. There is nothing special about what is merely a fact of life. You are its vessel, and for that it sustains you.

You won’t see the fallout of your victory, but the mere idea sends a wave of ecstasy through you.

The barrel of the revolver presses against your heart.

“I accept your terms.” His voice edges with adrenaline and delight, but, and rather exquisitely, your instincts think, an edge that he must be the one to win this gamble—that in this moment, for him to live with loss is completely undesirable. But unfortunately for him, you’re not lucky enough to avoid a stupid death. You quiver, but not with fear. Though a part of you wonders if he’s just been testing you with his easy agreement. Should you be glad if you get full marks? Or should you hope you’ve failed?

Still, a brief feeling of levity blooms in your chest, and you seize it immediately.

You did it. And unexpectedly, rather than further terror, relief washes over the heat and ink, because now that you’ve felt dead so often in such short time, death is salvation. But just as quickly as the water came, a blizzard freezes the sea.

Click. His lips are against yours.

Of course. He wouldn’t let your final moments be pleasant.

He takes advantage of your inexperience to entangle your tongues, and his hand pushes you deeper and deeper as he tries to devour you. You gasp and tear up when he bites and bruises your lips. You’d like to fight back, but you want to get this over with. Even if it means being taken advantage of in your last moments, mother death’s repentance is merely a chamber or two away.

But still, no matter how demented you are in the moment, you are human, and the instinctual desire to survive makes you recoil. The eye contact exacerbates it. His eyes hold a sea. On the surface, you can freely see the coral and starfish, difficult to understand but beautiful. But deeper, where the sunlight does not shine, the predators have taken to hunting one another, having wiped out the prey. And when only one is left, then it can only move up and up, until it’s the only thing left standing. And now it looks to consume you to satiate its unending appetite. Your lungs burn.

You’d love to shut your eyes, but doing so feels like losing. At least when you do so, you can see yourself be devoured. Your awareness of yourself is the only agency you have right now.

Click. He pulls away, and you take in a greedy breath. Your heart beats and a tear trickles; you’re not dead yet. That’s ok. You’ll be dead in a moment.

“You look so certain you’ll win,” he observes, “it’s a good look on you.”

You scrunch your nose. “Pull the trigger. I’m getting sick of looking at you.”

“But, if I do, then you might breathe your last,” his eyes narrow, though you’re not sure if it’s predatory or softening, “can’t I take the sight of you in?”

“Ha!” You cough it out. “For a man who dresses to the nines, you sure have bad taste.”

“Aw, don’t demean yourself like that,” he mockingly reassures, “I’ll have you know you’re perfectly enchanting.”

You decide to play along, because banter is banter and no matter how spiteful you are, you’ll take comfort and levity where you can find it. “And you’re a Knight of Beauty.” Absently, you wonder how terrible you must look. You feel your eyes still well with tears, and you’re still sniffling back bits of snot every now and then.

You’re not sure if everything’s just catching up to you, or if the thought has propelled you to the realization, but you’re so, so, so tired. It does make your tears dry, a little, and your muscles relax.

You see he’s starting to lean in again, and you immediately put a hand between you and his lips. “Don’t.” You growl. “Just…just shoot,” you sigh in exhaustion, “I’m tired. Just shoot. If you’re not satisfied, then you’ll have my corpse.” The implication is disgusting but he’s disgusting, and you really just want to sleep. You’re pretty sure he would’ve done it even without you saying.

“Can’t say the image is pleasant.” Is his voice colder? Or are you finally losing it?

“I’m already a teary mess. It’ll just be colder and a little stiff.”

He scoffs, “If I wanted someone steely, you wouldn’t be here.”

You bite your cheek and look at your feet. “Shoot.”

There’s a pause in the air. You wonder if he’s contemplating on saying something to you, or just getting it over with. Both would make sense. You close your eyes. You will yourself to not think, because you know if you do that your life will just flash before your eyes. And if that happens, you’ll die completely miserable.

Click.

You’re breathing. His hand is on your waist. The gun’s pressed to your chest. Nothing’s changed. Why aren’t you on the ground choking on blood?

“I win.” You hear. You shut your eyes when sunlight gets into them.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

You’re still here.

It didn’t work. It didn’t pay off. Your knees give out as you finally are no longer to keep your tears at bay. You feel fluttering around your eyes, and you dare not open them. Shhh, shhh, you hear, but you only cry more. Everything has come to impale you, and you cry as you feel your organs spill. You’re his. You’re his. You want to die. Everything is coated in ink. You process nothing but the terror and rage and fear and despair and laughter and anything and everything you’ve ever experienced. You try to curl in on yourself, but you’re stopped.

“Shhh, it’s alright…” a hand strokes you to soothe, but it’s more akin to sandpaper rubbing on raw skin, “Let it all out…we have plenty of time. I don’t have to hold back and neither do you.”

You heave and sob. All you can think about is the unknown future which awaits you. You barely register being placed on a plush surface.

When your sobs finally quiet, you’re forced to look into his eyes. There’s a flush on his cheek, a slight inconsistency in his breathing, and his eyes have dilated with adrenaline and…and…you’ve never seen that emotion before, whatever it is.

You wonder what face you’re making, as he smiles ferally. “You were right. That was great,” he hisses with elation, and laughs. “Oh, you’re beautiful.”

The world spins. You’re laying, and he’s on top of you.

Oh…oh no…You begin to flinch and twitch uncontrollably. You aren’t thinking. You flail, kick, cry, but he doesn’t budge. You need to get away get away get away get away—

“One last thing, to really seal the deal,” he smiles, insidiously kind and horrifying, “to commemorate my victory and your defeat.”

He bites into your neck, and you scream.

The fox swallows you whole.

—

He lets you roam freely, whenever he’s gone. To say you were baffled about it was putting it lightly, and you refrained from taking advantage of it in fear he had something up his sleeve. In fact, when you found out his spaceship-apartment-thing was mounted with surveillance in every nook and cranny, you found a cramped closet to hide in for a few days. Curling into a ball all day wasn’t easy on the joints, but you were taking any semblance of privacy you could get. But Aventurine, petty and cruel, forced you to seal off your haven with your own hands before he tore into you. If he wants you in his sight or roaming about, he should just make up his mind already.

But, for this one occasion, you choose to abuse this privilege. You usually come back around the same time he does to appease him, but you finally decided you needed a vacation after he forced you into one of his stupid gambles and forced you to fulfill another of his especially perverted fantasies; on top of forcing you to help him get acquainted with a gacha you played—and then caused your cake to burn. Sure, there are those big moments where lava and ink converge, but it’s the little things which sting and nick that pile up. The real kicker was when he forced you two to share a plate of pasta and when, of course, you two landed on the same noodle, he had the brilliant idea to suck it up at the speed of light so you guys could kiss. How romantic, kissing someone with half-chewed food in their mouth, you truly could not commend this man’s genius enough. You couldn’t keep up, which was how you ended up with pasta sauce in your eye. And there were pepperoncinis in there.

Yeah, you’re no fan of how he fucks you mentally and literally. You gladly made this choice, and all the risk it came with.

“So, this is where you’ve been.” You think he’s still a little surprised, just as you are. You haven’t done much in the way of defiance, both because you wanted nothing more than to remain within yourself, and because you feared his retaliation. The few risks you have taken never pay off. And you didn’t even go to see your parents. You tried to tell them the horrible truth and because they deserved to know their child’s fate, but every time you approached their house, something stopped you. Shame, fear, embarrassment, sheepishness…you don’t know. You almost laughed. To think, a quarter of why you’re here is because of the danger they were placed in, yet you can’t even muster the courage to talk to them. You dismiss them from your mind because you have to deal with Aventurine. You wonder if you’ll forget them, if you cast them out of your mind enough. “I’m charmed. Our special place.”

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. This was mine before you ever came here, and it still is.”

You met each other here on a moonlit night. You couldn’t see each others’ faces, but it didn’t stop you from conversing. You don’t bother to think about it more, because what started as a memory that made you feel warm now enshrouds you in a volcanic blizzard. You’ve already mulled over it plenty anyway—on how such a mundane conversation started all of…this.

Now, the sun is setting. It calms you down.

“Darling, this is a national park. You don’t own it.”

You tsk. “Shut up. I don’t feel like dealing with you right now. And you literally called this place ‘ours,’ you conniving bastard.”

“Unfortunate,” his arm slings across your shoulders, “because it’s been such a lonely week without you…” the other cages you by the waist. You imagine his body rupturing and exploding, and you’d dance in the blood shower. Or would you soak yourself in his organs, to savor his defeat? Maybe you’d open your mouth, let your mouth and throat be coated in his blood so you—

Huh. Something’s off again. You are no stranger to violent thoughts, but lately, at rare times, your fantasies get accompanied by something strange you can’t quite put your finger on.

You make a face, as you look at him over your shoulder with a deadpan glare, “And you’ve let me parade about.”

He giggles. “What? I had no clue you were here till a few hours ago! Honest.”

“Says the surveillance freak.” You wave your phone, “And I’ve so conveniently kept this tracker with me.”

He drops the act. “You didn’t even try to cover up your tracks.” He sighs, “I must say, your defeatism is probably my least favorite part about you. Can’t say I really understand.”

Then why does he still keep you around? It’s already been nearly half a year.

“You and I have no illusions that I can escape you, and I lost a bet. I try not to be a sore loser.”

“And yet you so often cry when you lose our games. Kick and scream sometimes.”

Your chest feels hollow, and you hate the feeling so much that you want to die right then and there. “What, should I be jumping for joy when you rape me?”

Silence. You can almost think he’s a little remorseful. But then his fingers are snaking to pull at your collar. Peeling back your skin, to try and coax you out of it. More like tear you out, you scoff.

“Seriously?” Your voice carries a mix of disappointment, anger, fear, and despair. It cracks, “Hardly three minutes and right after I—”

“Relax,” he’s so soothing that your muscles tense up and your heart beats to the nines—he’s so good at this! He continues his ministrations until he has a good view of your neck, and hums in pleasure, “you haven’t been that bad.” He brushes a spot at your neck. It’s the spot he first bit you in, and thinking about it still makes you shake in pain. And he’s always sucking or biting at it to stake his stupid claim. You brace yourself. And right on cue he’s latched on, and your scream is muffled by your hand. You’d like to say you’ve gotten used to it, but you’ve never had a good tolerance for pain. And against your wishes, you’ve cried. Aventurine lunges on the opportunity, sensually licking them and leaving behind a disgusting trail of slime to dry. “You really are a crybaby…” his voice is like crawling spiders in your ear.

You desperately rub them away with your sleeves, mostly because you know shoving him away doesn’t work when he gets like this. And then your short lived adrenaline fades.

“Shit!” He’s drawn blood. Again. And you liked this shirt! But you can see why he doesn’t—it was a high collar and a long sleeve, able to cover the mural of bites and bruises he leaves on your body. He doesn’t want others to see, but in private he can’t keep his hands off.

“Sorry,” he kisses the spot, but each kiss burns you. You don’t understand why he bothers to say the word when you both know he’s not capable of feeling remorse, at least, not for you.

You groan, blinking back mist. “You’re making it worse.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, giving you a bloody peck on the cheek, “but can you blame me? You’re not wearing any of my gifts. Makes a guy a little jealous, see?” He kisses your cheek again, firmer to imprint his bloody kiss.

“Yes, I can blame you for making conscious decisions,” you coldly snap, but you’re already tired, “Once again, jewelry is overrated and I reaffirm that your taste is shit.”

“I recall my jewelry and clothes were some of the first things you complemented.”

“Aye,” it’s true, but you see an opportunity for levity and take it, “but I have since evolved from my follious self.”

He’s getting that feral look in his eye again. Why?! You didn’t even do anything! You snap. “What is it? Spit it.”

“You’re doing it again.”

You can’t stand his touch any longer. “Doing what?” You hiss, shoving him away from you so you can face him.

He whistles. It feeds your frustration. You assume that it’s what he usually wants from you. “If this is some weird sexual innuendo then it’s fallen flat on its ass, you affluent horndog.”

He blinks in brief shock, before laughing—his canines shine in the orange sunset, “No, no no, not this time around. Let’s put it this way, and I’ll be very clear, just for you,”

As he calms down, an angelic smile spreads in his face, and you know you’re looking straight at damnation.

“I’ve learned that defeatists succumb to themselves. Pushing them past their limit helps, but it’s not necessary.”

…In the back of your mind, you make a horrific realization.

You have tilled fields, so You may eventually sow them with cotton.

—

What does your face look like, right now? But for once, you think it might be bestial. You know your eyes are wide open and not flooding.

In an unexpected subversion, it is you who pins Aventurine to the ground. You don’t pay much mind to his expression: parted lips, breathless, glimmering interest and fulfilled desire in his eyes; it’s unusual and you would’ve drank it in if not for the tornado in your mind. It’s torn through some cotton, leaving the field barely alive.

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” You do not recognize your own voice. You feel your body shaking and find that you’re breathing heavily.

He smiles. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” His head tips in faux questioning, “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”

You grind your teeth. He hasn’t answered you. “You played Russian Roulette.”

The body of his opponent is slumped on the table across from you two. Their blood continually drips, crying out in defeat. You couldn’t care less about that, because there’s a thought playing on repeat in your mind.

That could’ve been his body.

His eyes twinkle as he smirks, “Are you jealous?” He cruelly teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?”

“No.” You’re not being sensible. The cotton in your mind is shredding. You want to balk at the idea, and You want to jump at the opportunity. “Answer my question.”

“Mmm,” he hums, and his nonchalance makes you shake, “well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.”

He’s right. You know just how much pleasure he takes in putting everything on the line. Your question is answered, but for some reason it’s still not satisfied. The few surviving patches of cotton are still in your way.

That depraved feral look in his eyes only grows at your internal battle, and his gloved hand cups your cheek. “What’s wrong?” He goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?”

For a moment, cotton has come. But then the scent of blood wafts to your nose, and all of your senses have increased tenfold.

Hell hath flourished, and it burns the cotton to dust.

You begin to unravel.

“I want to hollow out your chest.” You admit, maddeningly and you wonder how much your insanity bleeds out. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you think your breath has grown more erratic, “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing, on nothing but you!” You’ve leaned closer, your breaths fanning on each others’ faces. Small patches of water begin to drop onto Aventurine’s face—his face that is so breathtakingly and satanically beautiful without the cotton obstructing it—your breath hitches and your mouth twitches, as you take in a quivering breath. “If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” and then something ugly sparks in your chest. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”

The puddle of blood begins flowing toward you.

It completely burns the cotton, and that is the moment You are no longer safe. But hell is beautiful, you find, and you so gladly drench yourself in its flames. You are still painfully aware of how wrong it all is…but, the storm within you is starting to calm, you don’t cry with your every free moment and you no longer agonize about your parents. You…you think this is peace. To harbor obsession for the man who trapped you in this hell and tortured you and then drowned you in affection.

You sob, a sound of euphoric despair, and you confess the terrible truth,

“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp, “I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back as you break down, “I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, “I love you I love you I love you I love you.” You’ve collapsed, curling in on yourself but resting your head atop his heart. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…I need you, and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” Oh, you feel so ugly and you feel so much lighter and, and—

His breath shudders, and then swiftly takes you in his arms. You stumble, but his grip doesn’t cease, like he wants your bodies to meld into each other. He sits up, shifting so you’re straddling him. Red dusts his cheeks, a similar shade to the crimson pooling beneath you two. His eyes hold a hunger satiated and a new voracity, gleaming with animalistic intent that makes you shiver.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders, holding back all he wants to do, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he’s panting, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession?” Your heart soars. “You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.”

As the dawn shines on you both as he kisses you, it clicks.

He wanted someone just as desperate as him.

The whisper against your lips is almost reverent, “I knew you were the one,” His eyes are like a meadow, where you dance and sing and never leave, even as your feet howl in pain brushing against poison ivy and oak hidden amidst the grass and flowers. And now you recognize the emotion that drowns in them. That all consuming affection which threatens to erase your existence to everything but it. “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me. It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.”

Your tears flow, but the corners of your mouth twitch upwards. Insanity has sunk its claws into you, your stress and limits explode in a desperate supernova, and your very being trembles with ecstasy. Aventurine joins you, standing up and spinning you around in his firm hold as you both laugh and laugh in the dawn’s sunlight, with red not trailing too far behind. This is a spectacle you burn and freeze and drown in, witnessed by your spectator in rot.

You're devoured, but you’ve grown your own claws and fangs.

Driven by nothing more than instinct, in the throes of your tryst, you bury your head in the crook of his neck,

And bite.

#yandere #Yandere aventurine #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere aventurine x reader #aventurine x reader #yandere honkai star rail #Yandere x you #tw noncon #if you’re this far into the tags then hello welcome to hell #How are you? I’m chillin out it’s pretty nice #Dreading the day I must finally become a proper tool in capitalism (re: get an actual job so I do not starve to death and deprived of—#—basic human necessities. Like nestle water)#Ha didn’t expect capitalism depression in the tags of a yandere work didja well to that I say SIKE BITCH I’ve got you #But also every other post has espresso depresso abt capitalism so it’s kinda the norm at this point #Marx is rolling in his grave #Anyway go get a drink of water it’s very very important to be hydrated #Also you do not know how hard it is to not write good girl/boy in this FR—#Destroyed Onset

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mitsuyaya · 2 months

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remember my yan reader x yan yuuta thoughts: just think about how you're well aware of his yandere tendencies, how he follows you around everyday, everywhere you go. you could hear his footfalls, his low mumbling as he watches how you talk to some random male. you're very much aware of the scent of blood on his clothes whenever he returns home late at night, probably killed the said guy who talked to you earlier this day. you know very well that this is wrong, that you should stop him from killing some nameless man just because they approach you but the way he looks at you with those twisted gleam in his eyes, it makes you yearn to see it even more.

#pretty boy yuuta <3 #okkotsu x reader #yuuta x reader #yuta x reader #just imagine how crazy his looks get whenever he sees you're chatting (or sometimes provoking him even more by touching the guy)#i love him and his yandere vibes 🥰#yan! yuuta

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yanderelinkeduniverse · 11 months

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Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you

Dingus one and Dingus two.

There are some yandere headcanons under the cut, huge shoutout to @gliphyartfan for talking about them with me and big props to @cloudninetonine because their interpretation Courage and Korodai heavily inspired this one(also I’m taking their nicknames) AND almost everything is inspired by their brief yandere headcanons on these two.

As Cloud has stated in their own post, Korodai is actually quite intelligent and clever under his goofy exterior(which he’d have to be in order to finish his own quests considering how little handholding there is).

Because of this, Korodai is quite the skilled manipulator, able to easily play insects like a fiddle and trick them into cornering themselves. He uses his silly exterior to his advantage, getting people to drop their guard and underestimate them.

In contrast, Courage is actually quite the brute, the brawn to Korodai’s brain. He isn’t stupid by any means but his strength is definitely one of his greatest tools. Courage doesn’t possess a large arsenal of items like other heroes, so he makes good use of what he does have.

Courage is so strong that it’s possible for him to tear flesh off bone, and he’s very willing to get his hands dirty after falling off the deep end. When dealing with vermin he’s all too ready to break bones, smash guts, and rip limbs off with his bare hands.

A headcanon Gliph came up with is that Korodai is actually quite religious, though it’s not something commonly shone. He grew up on the outskirts of the kingdom and worked his way up to the eyes of the Royal Family though the church, doing great deeds that eventually deemed him the chosen one.

Both Courage and Korodai are total flirts, but Courage is the one who’s more likely to do small romantic gestures for the one he loves. Things like bringing you flowers or setting up a picnic with a nice view somewhere.

Also something they have in common, both of these forbidden heroes are extremely touch starved. Their respective Zelda’s are complete tsunderes who don’t easily give them affection. So if or when they receive lots of affection from you, they don’t know what to do at first and blue screen. But soon their absolutely spoiled rotten which feeds into their other yandere traits.

Korodai and Courage are both very possessive but show it in different ways. While Courage will try and intimidate or scare off anyone that gets too close, Korodai will silently plot to get them out of the way. Often times Korodai has to hold back Courage just to make sure he doesn’t do anything too rash.

#yandere linked universe #linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #acrylic draws #acrylic writes #lu courage #I’ve been meaning to hit these guys with the pretty boy-ificafion beam for a while #also happy birthday to ME #lu koridai

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sagau-my-beloved · 1 year

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The unexpected third and final part to the series I never gave a name to, otherwise known as a continuation of the jealous Venti, overworked reader, and treasure hoarders fiasco

Warnings: general sagau, blood, implied death (not main characters)

You had found it rather odd when a certain god wasn't waiting for you after calling it a day and retiring to your chambers. Venti certainly wasn't known to be absent like this, and you couldn't remember seeing him once today.

You didn't let it linger on your mind for very long, alone time was quite a rarity after all. As much as you enjoyed his company, and the company of all your followers, moments where you could simply be by yourself were few and far between.

So you brushed the situation off, retiring to bed earlier that night, happy to have the opportunity to sprawl out completely in the large comfortable bed. What you didn't expect was waking in the middle of the night for no discernible reason.

It wasn't sudden, not due to any sort of sound or occurrence that jerked you from your slumber so rudely. But, nonetheless, you found yourself awake, tired and confused, but awake.

You opened your eyes for a moment, squinting slightly, the feeling of sleep still coating your mind completely. It only took a second to notice, just a small glance to see the glowing green eyes that stared back at you, unblinking.

You mentally jumped, inhaling suddenly before your mind caught up, recognizing the owner of those eyes, even with only the moon for light.

"Venti, I told you to stop that you know." You moaned with a voice still thickly coated with sleep, grabbing the spare pillow and forcing it over your head in annoyance. He remained silent, unmoving, just as focused on you.

After a moment you finally looked at him again, taking in more on his form as your eyes adjusted to the dark.

Something struck a chord with you, an inkling of confusion at the scene, and it took a moment longer to realize why.

Venti was fully in his Archon outfit, both his wings and marks on display, an outfit as revealing as you remembered you mentally noted.

But that wasn't the thing that concerned you. No, the thing that concerned you was how he was covered in red, trailing down his arms to his fingertips, soaking into the white fabric, splattered across his skin and wings alike.

"Venti—?"

"Your grace."

His voice was heavy, lacking any and all of the usual upbeat playfulness, as serious as ever, but with a hint of something else.

"I told you I would take care of it for you, didn't I?" He spoke it like a humorless joke, something that could be seen as funny or ironic in the right context, and it took your mind a moment to catch up with what exactly he meant.

The treasure hoarders. Of course. One of the many things that was taking your attention, one of the few he could do something about.

Realizing that the blood was, in fact, not his, you felt the need to roll your eyes at the heart attack he gave you, scold him for being so reckless, or maybe reprimand him for going against your wishes in the first place.

"Venti I swear—"

"I love you."

That caught you off guard, how he said it. It was whispered as a promise, a soft inkling of his true feelings, as if comparing a single drop of water to the ocean.

"I worship you."

You noted how his voice fell off into a breathy moan at the end, leading into a deep sigh of need, a need only you were allowed to invoke. One the was felt in the very fiber of his being, lighting up each and every nerve as if they were made of stardust itself.

You let the growing silence rest, consuming the both of you in its open arms.

What a most perfect silence it was.

You were upset with him, that much was clearly abundant from your expression alone, a scowl that showed you were considering how to deal with the situation.

"If you left me, I think I might die." This time it was spoken as a confession, holding the same humorless tone, as if it held all the truth of the universe, infinite in its implication.

You scoffed, "Do you really rely on me so heavily?" You had meant it to be teasing, a playful statement meant only to poke fun. It didn't come out as such, sounding more like an accusation, one seeped thoroughly in frustration.

Venti seemed to ponder his response, contemplating the phrasing, testing out the syllables as if they were completely foreign.

"I do."

How simple, how transparent, how utterly human this god sounded, no different than how he felt, you thought. Skin soft and perfect, warm, as if it really was blood that ran through his veins. You supposed that was another thing you now had in common, the liquid that ran through your body being just as foreign, with its divine metallic sheen.

You took a moment to breathe, to ground yourself, to fully feel the moment.

He looked pretty like that, godly and divine, something almost pure, which of course heavily contrasted with the blood drying on his clothes, splattered across his skin like a canvas. It soaked into his wings too, creating a patchy and inconsistent pattern of blotchy red on white, like rose petals on freshly fallen snow.

Why was that the first comparison that came to mind?

You pondered that question, biting your lip with a concentrated look. He certainly wasn't pure like the snow, nor nearly as gentle, though perhaps as fleeting. And to compare blood to roses, how cliche.

Venti wasn't fond of having your attention off him, not now when he had gone to such lengths to secure it all for himself.

"Your grace, you better not be thinking of anyone else." It wasn't so much a threat as a plea, a soft and broken request to be the sole recipient of something so precious. Of course, that isn't to say it didn't come with certain strings attached, a silent reminder of the situation, a soft reference to how what he was covered in was in fact not something as innocent as rose petals.

Your eyes shifted back to him, refusing to relinquish even an ounce of what you were thinking, guarded as ever.

"I'm not letting you get any closer until you take a bath, or at least change clothes."

Venti pouted for a moment, then started crawling his way from the foot of the bed towards you, an expression that screamed nothing but want and careful hope.

"Venti." It was said as a warning. Though you were aware that most of the blood was probably dry by now, you still didn't particularly want to risk it. He only gave a wolfish smile and inched closer, intent obvious to any onlookers.

"Venti—" You weren't able to finish your sentence, being immediately lunged at by the playful and needy god.

He giggled and you struggled momentarily before giving in, fighting to keep a smile off your face, to maintain that frustration that came so naturally before.

"I apologize your grace, you just looked so warm and soft sitting there, I couldn't help myself."

You scoffed at him, "Maybe put on some actual clothes then."

He whined at that, nuzzling closer as if you were the only source of heat he'd willingly take from.

He was covered in goosebumps, you could feel them across his skin as you ran your fingertips over his arm. He shuddered.

"It's cold outside tonight." He mumbled into your skin, soaking up all the warmth you provided. "I didn't feel it till now."

You let out an absentminded hum, one that showed your mind was elsewhere. Venti raised his head to look at you, fear creeping into his mind now that the adrenaline had worn off.

"You're not upset, right?"

He certainly didn't regret it, doing away with the hindrances who were all too happy to greedily steal your attention, whether they knew it or not. They deserved it.

"Well, I think you took it a bit far."

His heart dropped.

Venti was quick to recover, quick to decide exactly his next course of action, what honeyed words would get him back in your good graces.

You made a noise of surprise as you felt his arms leave you, giving him a questioning look as he reluctantly pulled himself away.

He stepped off the bed, keeping eye contact as he dropped to his knees, a half-smile playing at the corners of his lips before closing his eyes completely, bowing his head with nothing but the up most of reverence. There's no denying he looked incredibly beautiful sitting there on his knees, his wings falling behind him with such elegance. It would be no stretch of the imagination to say he was one of the most beautiful things you had ever seen, with the moonlight reflecting off the white and red alike, indiscriminately illuminating each individual color, as if it was made of the finest of stones.

"My divine creator, please forgive me for my transgressions." He spoke in prayer, pronouncing each word with the same meaningful intent.

"I offer myself to you. I would burn forests and mountains alike to cinders, create storms that could cut through stone, so long as you'll have me." The calm and steady voice he had prior was starting to dissipate, shattering to reveal the desperation underneath. "Please, look upon me, I beg you to do so. Look at my face and know that I am a slave to your every whim. Every desire. Please. Please continue to love me."

You were at a loss for words when he opened his eyes again to look up at you, searching your face for something, anything. You continued to give nothing away.

Fear gripped him in that moment of silence, holding him hostage in morbid anticipation.

"Take a bath, go get changed, and then come to bed." You finally spoke, a form of tiredness weighing heavy on your voice. What type of tiredness he didn't have the means to discern, but you welcoming him back into your embrace was a promising notion.

Venti quickly nodded with wide eyes, unable to keep a smile at your 'supposed forgiveness' off his face. He, just as quickly, stood from your bedside and started to leave, intentionally dragging his wings over your face as you sputtered, causing you to glare and him to look back with a coy smile, throwing in a wink for good measure as you just rolled your eyes. You heard him giggle once he was out the door. How he managed to jump from completely serious to the exact same playful demeanor you had come to know eluded you completely.

You thought briefly about the conversation you would be having with him in the morning, already planning out the intricate lines and responses, allowing the repetition to lull you into something close to sleep, finally fully embracing it when you felt a weight dip the opposite side of the bed and a pair of arms wrapping around your torso as a familiar face made itself comfortable against the back of your neck.

Venti thought about the morning as well, but in quite a different way, allowing imagery of him and you together fill his mind. From the peak of Starsnach cliff to the low valley of Windrise, from your bed to the farthest reaches of Teyvat, he would do anything in order to experience it all with you.

God help anyone who got in the way of that.

#genshin impact #sagau #genshin venti #venti x reader #genshin x reader #yandere genshin au #yandere genshin x reader #two thing in a week wow #I wasn't even planning on making a third part but got struck with sudden inspiration #*cough*pretty boys covered in blood on their knees*cough*#he can have a little murder #as a treat

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cerine0357 · 10 months

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Xinya Shimizu

"breaking someone's trust is like crumpling a fresh, crisp and new piece of paper...

You can smooth it over but it's never going to be the same again..."

tag list: @dxmoness @achy-boo @juvellianovo @honeyandbiscuitandtea-cafe @writerig @1234567youmakemefeellike11ive @yevene

#navi⌗oc⌗writes #yandere oc #my favorite oc #yandere oc art #ocs #tw yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x you #yandere male #the ELDEST IS HERE!!!!#Pretty boy

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yxami · 11 months

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what would Kauno/pretty yandere do if his darling was a fellow model/actress that was flirting with another famous person?

If you were to do it in-front of him then he would drag you away as quick as you made it over there.

He would explain how he didn’t like it and how you should only focus on him with tearful eyes. You’d have to feel bad for him! He was yours! You couldn’t just flirt with someone else!

Maybe he would guilt trip you into staying away from the idol or completely shut off all contact by keeping you busy with sudden shootings that you don’t even remember agreeing to. Perhaps even meet and greets that were across town from the one that your coworker was having!

He was prettier, he was nicer, he was so much better than that scum! You’d have to fall in love with him, or else he’d go crazy trying to make you!

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #male yandere #pls request #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #gn reader #soft yandere #gender neutral reader #yandere stuff #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere pretty boy x reader #yandere pretty boy #yandere pretty #pretty yandere #pretty yan #kaunomyoc

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suiana · 1 month

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*cutely files a restraining order again yandere pretty boy*

i forgot he existed for. a second

but anyways!

(yandere! pretty boy x gn! reader) (very short drabble)

"babe what-"

"I'm not your babe! stop calling me that!"

you hiss at him, pushing him away from you as you glare at the attractive male.

seriously, he just didn't know what boundaries were, huh? you've been so lenient with him, allowing him to follow you around but today you finally had it with him.

he had interrupted your date and was now trying to take you out? no way. you wouldn't stand for this insolence.

"piss off dude. I'm not interested in you at all."

you state sternly, glaring at the male who was pouting. you jotice the way he played with his fingers as though embarrassed. good, he should be embarrassed.

"never look for me again."

and with that you turned to leave him. you could only hope he'd take your words seriously.

#suiana's sinners #yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere concept #yandere pretty boy #yandere pretty boy x reader #gn reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year

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YAN/TSUN! PRETTY BOY: *after you kissed him* WHAT— I— HOW DARE YOU CONTAMINATE ME WITH YOUR FILTH RIDDEN MOUTH!

ALSO YAN/TSUN! PRETTY BOY: *sniffs your underwear like it’s the only clean air on this planet, while jerking off pathetically*

#it’s me. yan pretty boy is me.#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere quotes #yandere imagine #yandere scenario #yandere oc #yandere fic #yandere oc x reader #yandere drabble #yandere blurb #yandere x you #x reader #x you #yandere smut #yandere x reader smut

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sinfulforrest · 2 years

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can't stop thinking about Kylar having a foot fetish so whoops here's a bunch of thoughts about it cause I be having thirst hours again

Practically begs you to give him a footjob, but then finds it incredibly hard to keep his hands to himself as you slowly rub your feet against his cock. The solution? You start to apply pressure around his length with your feet, squeezing and purposely getting rougher with him. With a quiet whisper you threaten to tie him up completely if he carries on misbehaving, and you're met with a desperate whimper and a slew of slurred apologies.

He tries with all his might to lay as still as possible and be a good boy for you like you wanted him to be, but with your teasingly slow pace he can't help but thrust up at times, desperate for more friction. With a sigh, you remove your feet from around his cock, only to gently grind down on it with a single foot, making sure to really press it against his flush, sweaty skin. You smile as he bites his adorable chapped lips and screws his eyes shut, trying oh so desperately to make you see that he can be good, that he can listen.

Eventually you decide to spare him and place both of your feet around his cock again, but you're met with the sound of his voice breaking and the warm feeling of his cum landing on your feet. You can't help but grin as his voice cracks, throwing your head back onto the bed you're sitting on so you can look up at the ceiling and listen to Kylar's heavy breathing.

Unfortunately, you'd just left yourself wide open. You feel cold, clammy hands grasp one of your feet, and the desperate lapping of Kylar's hot tongue against your sensitive flesh. You immediately bolt up in surprise, meeting his intense gaze as he looks up at you with wide eyes, slowly licking stripes up and down where his cum landed on your foot, his lustful smile growing ever larger as he starts making you squirm.

He grows greedier as he moves up to your toes, and he doesn't hesitate to lick them and bring them into his mouth where his desperate tongue begins its assault on them. He removes one of his hands from your foot and proceeds to dance his fingers along the sole of your other foot, watching in delight as you desperately squirm and whine his name.

After what seems like forever he finally relents and moves away, and you pant heavily as you hear him shift a little. You were a fool to think he was done with you; a moan is ripped out of your throat as he then proceeds to begin to worship your other foot, and the only thing that you knew in that moment is that tonight was going to be a long night.

#feet are pretty cool tbh #degrees of lewdity #dol #kylar the loner #kylar dol #dol kylar #degrees of lewdity kylar #yandere #yandere boy #male yandere #yandere writing #yandere x reader #yandere imagines

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scara-writes · 7 months

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regress

Knight! Reader x Y! Prince

(gender neutral for readers)

No proofreads. Forgive me for not answering y'all ask/request! I will do them once I'm done publishing the other ocs! (Y'all wilding for yandere gold digger and omega! Lol) this one is short tbh and has another part but I'm unsure about posting it because it was too long. Let me know if you wanna see it.

Warning: hints of death, yandere, psycopath

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!

You woke up groaning. Your throat hurts, confused at yourself. You never had a problems with your throat. Always hydrated before going to sleep, So why the hell that it feels like its dry at the same time it's not?

It's kind of like itchy.

You went down the staircase, hearing the bustling sound of your subordinate roommates.

"Captain! You look pretty tired today. Did you perha—woah! What happened to your neck?" One of your members looked shocked, their eyes looking at the said neck. The other members in the room looks at you in confusion before their face was the same as the person who asked you.

You raised your eyebrow at him. "What about it?"

You let your calloused hands caress your neck, feeling if there was out of ordinary. "Can some of you hand me a mirror? I am confused as to why everyone looked shocked right now."

One of your subordinates quickly ran around to find you a mirror. When they found it, they immediately handed it to you.

You look yourself in the mirror. Just like their reaction, you were shock to witness it.

"What... How...?"

"...It looks like a deep wound from one of our melee weapon, specifically a knife. Captain. No wounds can someone survive that!" The person sitting at the dining table said as he observe it."How did you got that?"

You shook your head,"I don't know.... I only woke up feeling my throat feels dry and fine at the same time. Itchy I would say, it doesn't hurt. It feels irritating."

"I think you should consult a physician or a doctor for that."

You trace the scar on your neck. Thoughtful, of where had you gotten this. "... I might."

You strolled up to the palace, not getting any breakfast—even dinner last night—and skipping your schedule to train as forgetting the fact that you are late to see your master, so you immediately went to the palace of your prince. The one you serve in your whole life.

Maids greeting you a good morning, and you greet them back. One of them offered you a sandwich, it looks pretty neat and delicious to eat. Drooling at the thought chewing on it. You tried to refuse but they insisted on giving it to you, seeing you didn't get a breakfast and dinner, you looked a little dizzy for someone who trained to endure without food for months. You accepted it along with a water, thanking them, feeling a little hungry and quickly gobble up the food making your way from hallway to the kitchen with them before anyone can scold you for eating around the halls. Parch from the food, you drank the water from the glass and put them on the sink before going back to your task to check up on your prince. You bid the maids a good bye.

Once you reach the room of your master. You saw there was no lady in waiting nor a butler on his doorway. So you knock on the wood, announcing yourself, waiting for your master's response to let you in.

"(Y-y/n)?" You heard a whimpering voice behind the room. It sounded like he was crying. You asked him if he was alright, but before you could get any answer from him, you saw the door being pulled opened and then finding yourself engulf by an arm around your shoulders.

"Mmm sorry—shouldn't doubt you!—my own fault!... Was supposed to trust you—love you so mmmh–much!I-I— don't l-leave m-me—hicc!" The prince cried on your shoulder, babbling incoherent words that you didn't understand. You look bewildered at his sudden burst, not expecting for someone who always smiles and befriend anyone regardless of their status. You slowly went to embrace him, comforting him, feeling him wrapping his legs around your hips and you let him, crying on your now wet uniform full of tears and snots continuing to blabber incoherent words.

You tried to let him lay down to his king sized bed but his grip on you wouldn't let you. So here you are awkwardly patting him on the back as you sat yourself on the edge of his bed instead. You were hesitant to touch his hair, it is against the rules that a lowly life like you has the audacity to touch them especially in their hair, it's a sign disrespect and could lead to a treason. But you decided to do it anyway, he needs your comfort right now and that rule doesn't apply to you if the prince needed it anyway—plus you already broke the rules when you hugged him back.

He freezes up when he felt your hands on his head before slowly taking a deep breath, sniffling, calming down from your touch. He buried his nose onto your neck, shuddering before planting a small kisses from you, whimpering.

"sssorry—hic-!ssorryyso-sorry... louvv you too..m..much.. shouldnn't...leea-hic-!leave me..."

You cannot comprehend what he was trying to say but his action made you surprised, but you let him be for now, continuing patting his back awkwardly because this isn't what you expect first thing of the day when you work.

Prince Rylle must have a nightmare for him to act like this.

"... Your highness?"

You heard him whimpered before leaning himself away from your neck, slowly looking at you. His eyes were puffy, some tears were spilling. Prince Rylle was sniffing and hiccuping from his tears.

You looked away from his eyes, indirectly obeying his older brother's words to not look straight at him. You carefully wipe away the water droplets coming out from his orbs, waiting for his nerves to calm down.

He stayed there at your lap for a few minutes, until he recollect himself.

After wiping his tears, one of your hand went to grab a handkerchief from your pocket trying to rid of the snot that was clogging his nose.

But before you can do that, the tanned male squeaks and tried to push himself off on you, falling down from your lap. Head first colliding on the floor. Thankfully, he didn't bleed.

"Your highness! Are you alright?" worriedly you went to assess his head from the impact.

"I-I'm fine!" He quickly got up, wincing from the slight concussion from his head.

"I apologize, it was my mistake for startling you. I shall be careful next time."You got up from the edge of his bed before stroking his head gently.

He looks at you, the way he gaze up to you seems like he had seen a ghost.

"... Are you really..here?" He whispered. You were puzzled by his question. "... I'm here your highness." Quickly bowing down to his level.

He walk up again to you, requesting if he could hug you again. You stood up and saw in your peripheral vision his eyes were starting to become teary again. His snot were starting to clog his nose, but you let him hold you.

You felt his arms around your waist. Hands firmly grip on your sides.

"... God, I t-thought I lost you." He whispered. Whatever nightmare that was. It must have traumatised him. You felt his tears running down again to your clothes.

"... I'm here your highness.."

"... You're really.. h-here." He whispered.

You patted his back. "... I am here."

"Today is 7th of May, Year..890." You uttered before jotting down the notes for your report. The prince was beside you, silent at his own office. He too is jotting down his report or at least he is, but you felt his gaze on you. You weren't used to the prince Infront of you being silent. He would always filled this room with his chattering, sharing his knowledge to you on what he learned from his teachers—since a commoner like you doesn't deserve education—and sometimes he would always complain about the other nobles being rude to their servants and how obnoxious they were.

So you broke the silence filling in the room. It is unusual for your master to be this silent.... And staring at you for quite some time."Is everything alright your highness?"

He didn't answer. He was still gazing at you.

"Your highness?" You repeat.

The prince snapped back to reality.

"O-oh! Yes! Yes I am! I'm-I'm still recollecting m-my thoughts about my nightmares haha!" His fake laughter died down when his gaze stayed to your neck. He frowned. He was contemplating whether or not he should ask. But he did.

"... Where did you get that? The... Scar on your neck."

You cleared your throat before feeling the scars again. Just like earlier, you didn't felt any phantom pain from it.

"... I would have tell you the reason behind it but I have no idea, your highness. I must have slip a knife drag it on my nec—" You wanted to jest about it but you got a sullen look. His face was frowning even more.

"Please, do not do it again."

"...I... Yeah. I am jesting your highness... I had woken up with a scar already imprinted on my neck." You didn't get a response after that, he avoided his look from it.

You look back at your finished report. Organizing them, putting them aside the table, before standing up. "Umm.. As much as I would like to accompany you all day, your highness. I have business to attend to with the crown prince." You didn't particularly give him the detail why you need to leave, you walked away. His brother technically assigned you on something dangerou—

"... Were you going to assassinate the southern duke who was accused of embezzlement of the empire's treasury?"

Your boots stop clacking on the tiled floor of the room, quickly turning your head back to your master. Whose eyes were blank as if he just absentmindedly told you what he said.

"... How... Where did his highness learn this... Information."

You were supposed to make him believe that everything around him is perfect. Is what your master's psychopath family told you to do. He doesn't need to know everything.

He was supposed to be completely utterly away from it and only focusing on the bright side of the kingdom.

The tanned male before you gave you a nervous smile. You realized that today he is acting weird."No! Nothing I-I was just speaking something ill! It was a mere jest, my sweet!" His hands were wavering as a sweat formed down to his cheeks, when he talks.

He was lying.

"Where did you get that information, your highness?" You looked at him, your body turning to him. Repeating your words.

He gulped, one of his hand pulled his collar a little as if he was sweating from his clothes. You noticed how his eyes were looking everywhere except your figure. He mumbled something before turning back to you, stammering."... Forgive me... I ... I overheard your meetings with my older brother that n-night."

You thought about the meeting he was talking about. It was Prince Rylle's birthday that time and he was at the very center of the attention so none of the nobles or slaves have witness you left to the garden when the his older brother, the crown prince commanded you to follow him there. You made sure before you left, the last time you saw him before you had gone to follow his highness, Prince Rylle was dancing with one of the noble ladies.

So it is not possible that he might overhear your conversation when he had to take turns on the ladies that lining up to have a dance with him.

"But you were in the middle of dancing with the lady Rub—"

"N-no! I wanted to-to find you to accompany me by the garden when you were not in your post! I found myself walking alone in the garden and then I saw with my brother! I promise I did not mean to eavesdrop on your conversation with my brother!"

That wasn't the only thing that his brother ordered you to kill someone. You would have refused if it weren't for the fact that your mother's expenses for her health wasn't increasing. But the crown prince promised salvation to your mother as long as you do what he told you. It was tempting deal but you did it, feeling pressured as if refusing that bastard's command would give you penalty of death. Was that even a deal? Plus shedding someone's blood by your own hands wasn't your forte. You are a knight that was supposed to protect Prince Rylle. You can only immobalize your enemy but you cannot bring yourself to kill.

The duke was not the only one who you need to assassinate tonight and you weren't even sure if he really did try to embezzled the treasury. You witness that old man to be strict, intimidating but he took a great care the people who serves under him and the villagers who were residing in his property. All you heard from his rumors was that he was a good leader and a good provider.

"Was that all you heard, your highness?" You were internally panicking. Not wishing to meet your punishment if one of his family heard about this. Prince Rylle needs to be pure from this world is what his family told you. He needs to be away from these secrets.

"Y-yes!"

"... Can I ask you a favor?"

His soft gaze wanders around your lips before slowly nodding. So you asked him a favor to never let his family knows about him finding out about this.

He frowned as if he realized something. The white haired male stood up from his seat and walk towards you, as he softly grabbed your hands to his. Clasping it.

"Now that Gods favored me, this time I will protect you."

" Of course, darling... I will not let them." He unclasps his hand from yours before giving you a hug. You can't quite hear the last sentence he said.

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