pervert is calling📱

Aventurine

Exposed

he tries really hard to create some kind of persona for you, to make you believe he’s this amazing guy. in truth, he’s deeply wounded, nightmares when he’s sleeping, his insistent neediness that you swear stems from his kindling loneliness because he doesn’t speak too often of family or friends outside of you or work colleagues from the IPC. and especially the panic that shadows his face when he hasn’t seen you in hours—it’s the small things that add into a big mountain of burdens that aventurine tries so hard to keep behind a tight lock, but doesn’t seem to realize, he’s more of an open book than he likes to believe. 

and it’s really sad, pathetic even, for him to act so untrue, that there’s a tiny, tiny, shrivel of pity you feel because it’s all obviously a play. if not for you, but for himself, to compensate for something he’s missing. and now there’s you, and all he really wants is to make sure all is well. he never speaks much of his past or anything else; you never will get to know aventurine truly, at least within the first few months of being taken by him.

you try to make sense of it, in the midst of all this chaos, what has killed aventurine? 

it’s only when that mask slips off, but it happens in particularly vulnerable moments that you truly see who he is—you weren’t there after a nasty dream. when he tries to reach over to hold your hand, calming his heart, he’s met with an empty, cold space. and he doesn’t find you for a while, frantically scrambling around every corner of the house, till he finds you tucked away on the opposite side of everything else, seas and mountains away from him, with a thin blanket on top of you and a makeshift pillow. 

you wake up to him throwing himself on you, arms wrapped around your torso in a tight squeeze you almost cough out as you blink your eyes awake. 

why’d you leave me? 

you kept tossing and turning…and i didn’t want to bother you, so i gave you some space—

i don’t want space!

he looks so angry with you. you hunch over slightly, scared for the next few moments. but his eyes are red, dried trails of tears splotched on his cheeks. he lets out loud shudders of breath as if he just ran a marathon. 

but his face softens, watches how your face crinkles just under the pressure of his voice, and he leans into you with his head down, hands inching to cradle your hands softly. his body now less tense, less guarded, more soft, i never asked for space from you. that’s not what i want. 

you let him play with your fingers, well, what do you want, aventurine? 

i want you there with me all the time. i want you to never leave me. i don’t want to be alone again. not without you. 

his voice sounds so small, so uncharacteristically him, and you have to ask yourself then, as his eyes turn into mirrors swallowing you whole, did you ever truly know him? you don’t really know how to respond to that, but this might be it, his truth, behind that bright facade, this is what lies beneath. something fragile, could shatter at any moment. 

tell me you love me, he looks up at you. say it to me now.

so you say it, accepting his command, and you watch as he comes undone, crumbling into dust, and you’re forced to pick up the pieces to mould him back together again. only you do this to him. 

Kisses

normally, aventurine could be described as “gaudy” in every sense of the word. he’s bright, stimulating, has this flamboyant sway to him, and when he talks, he’s fast on his feet—witty, can be funny, as much as he can be condescending. he just has command, carefully steering his appearances; therefore, he’s not the shy kind when it comes to showing affections. Far from it, he does not need to keep the PDA behind closed doors. when aventurine has its sights set on you, everyone knows. and everyone steers clear of you. 

a hand on your shoulder, tugging you right into him, as if two opposite poles—you push off, he pulls harder. a pinky inches away from your own very tip, hand set on the table as he eyes the dents and wrinkles on each digit of your hand. he crawls daintily, before engulfing yours with his, gloves long discarded. by the first month of him pining, you’ve grown to be familiar with the feeling of his skin on yours. you learn to like deep, long hugs, till you’re practically crushed up against him, and he’s breathing in the scent of your air until it becomes the very oxygen that orbits him.  if you dare pull away, he'll dig his nails into you, until you have no choice but to surrender yourself entirely, and he swallows you whole for it.

it’s funny from the perspective of anyone else’s; he’s often serious when working. lax, but serious. but with you, it’s like everything else around him collapses at your weight. you’re all he cares about, needy and attached to your hip, wanting to burrow himself into you every time you go an inch too far from his hold. 

his eyes never stray too far from yours, either, always trying to catch up, even to a singular stray shadow of yours. he likes to trace the lines of your features; the slope of your nose, the dimple by your lips. and he’ll tell it all to you, like making simple notes on his grocery list—says it like a compliment, how beautiful your eyelashes look when dabbled in the deluge of your tears. the glisten of your cheeks after a downpour because, aeons, aventurine can have a pretty nasty tongue as much as he can love you so much. 

he likes to rile you up, provoke you until you’re all warm in the face and something is boiling inside of you, ready to let out. he says he’s just teasing, but his words can be so hurtful, especially on days when you’re far less than kind. aventurine justifies it, says it’s just banter between two couples, and you need to grow thicker skin. frankly, he just likes to draw out all kinds of expressions on your faces. pleasure, anger, happiness, sadness. he likes watching how your face contorts and twists, and how you acclimate by leaning your head against his chest, and you let him comfort you. because who else can you lean on besides aventurine? he’s made sure of this. you're all his; the thought makes him all giddy.

there's always a box by your door as well. a new piece of gold or jewel. maybe it's some kind of high-fashion designer, paired with rich-smelling scents. or could it be the newest novelty item all high-brow society has been raving about? does it matter which? because there's an increasingly growing pile of all the same things at the back of your closet. all the riches aventurine can afford, thrown your way as if a piece offering, praying to you, please accept me. please love me. here is my devotion. this is the price i pay.

and on most nights---no, every night, his lips feel soft on the skin of your neck, but his tongue is so rough when he swipes down that sensitive strip of land from your neck down to your sternum. his teeth full of poison when he bites down when you try to flinch from him. he does this every night, he’s ritualistic about his methods.

you’re everything to him. he wants to be your everything. you’re all he has, and he’s all you’ll ever have (one day). he’ll do whatever he so damn pleases with you. 

Yearn

answered here.

Ashveil

Exposed

he’s hard to tell, especially with deeper, more personal stuff. it’s like if you tried to get him to crack open, you’re biting off more than you could chew. he’d give in for a few scraps here and there, but it wouldn’t give you the entire picture. even mr. n, who practically narrates everything ashveil does, which makes you feel as if you’re directly reading every stream of thought coming from ashveil, but suddenly the little monkey is tight-lipped. you can’t even pry the damn thing, nor bribe mr. n with bananas, the monkey just malfunctions on you and stares off into space.

then you shake your head, try to convince yourself you actually don’t care to know anything about ashveil. last you checked, this was starting to seem like stockholm syndrome. but…why sleep in a fridge? even he’s a little weird about that when asked. 

see, he makes it difficult being mysterious and nonchalant. ashveil just has to have these weird quirks of his that itch you with an intense curiosity, but your reach is too short to scratch. he’ll just wave you off, tell you it’s nothing to worry about, but he has to have a deeper reason as to the wistful look on his face on some days. and on some days, he’ll look at old photos of old colleagues, and all he’ll say to us is that they’re all in better places now. then you look at the stack of bills on his desk, ask why he’s so keen on giving things away, and he shakes his head and tells you not to worry your pretty head with it. which you point to the scattered pill bottles all around his office, a messy array of other things, and he’ll shrug. you care about me?

you deny that notion. but ashveil smiles. the rest of the day goes on, with you having given up trying to comprehend a man like him. he seems complicated to you, as much as he seems tired and lonesome some days. perhaps that’s why he’s all like…this?

in nights after you’ve long fallen asleep, he’ll stay beside you as he runs his hand through your hair, thinks of words on how to exactly phrase what he wants to truly answer your questions. he wants to bare himself to you, naked and true, but he hesitates. something clammers inside his throat, a stinging that tastes shame.

not today, ashveil thinks. or maybe not ever. because you’re a fresh new start, something he can hold on to and make sure you stay here forever, with him, so whatever had hurt him doesn’t happen the same with you. 

Kisses

he’s an incredibly attentive partner overall, notices every habit you have and every change you undergo, even ones you try not to let anyone else notice. how you bite the inside of your cheeks when you’re deep in thought, how your leg bounces up and down when you’re in a hurry, but you can’t move from your seat. textures and sounds that trigger you, how you lie, and how you are when honest. if you ask him to put his finger on the hammering pulse of your heart, there against your wrist, he could even tell you how you honestly feel just based on the pattern of your heartbeats. 

it scares you—ashveil, being nice, being attentive and kind, being giving, and being so lovely. how he’s soft with you every morning, when he kisses you awake by placing his lips on your closed eyes, and how he always says goodbye to you before leaving. how he’s willing to always service you in some way if you seem stressed. but you know, behind all of this is a facade—ashveil has a calm demeanor that’s all pleasant, but if provoked enough, he’ll bite right back, all nasty and cruel. 

when he’s harder around the edges, he’s stricter with you, and ready to go into battle at any slight offence thrown your way, things he perceives as threats. a glance too long from a stranger, ashveil is already there with a subtle threat thrown their way. a friend who keeps blowing up your phone with so many texts? when you’re asleep, he’s deleting your contacts and comes up with a convenient lie that your friend was actually shit-talking behind your back all this time. you’re arguing with him again, same reasons over and over again. and each time, you’re met with equally harsher words and no outside privilege for a week. and no, it’s not unnecessary to do such things if it means protecting you and keeping you in line. don’t even bother applying morality to this, ashveil won’t have it. 

then he’ll go back to his usual self. once everything passes by, as they always do, he’ll forgive you. pulls you into his lap, weighing you down with his arms around your waist, chin resting on top of your shoulder, breath tickling your neck, see, it ain’t so bad to be good, darling? and in this quiet moment alone, he’ll confess how much it hurts him to even think of a scenario where you're leaving him.  

Yearn

he’s agonizingly methodical; he can go on for a long, long time. he’s assured in his skills of stalking that he can sit by and watch you for some time, just to make sure he’s had everything memorized about you. down from your everyday routine to what patterns you like in your outfits. ashveil keeps a pretty level-headedness in this situation through and through, not the type to he hasty or get too irritable and threatened to act. if anything, he’d want to approach this naturally. 

so, no, it’s not a matter of “snapping” for him. it’s only a matter of when you slowly start to realize that one figure always in your periphery, or that guy you see sitting in the same spot in a cafe you frequent often. he has this all planned, but to you it reads like pure coincidences, a string drawn between you and this long haired stranger with a flashy smile and quirky pet. you’ll feel safe and comfortable with him, thinking how it’s all meant to be, but this is when all the information he’s learned about you comes in handy. 

he plays the waiting game; he’s more than fine abiding his time for when it’s right. this way, you’ll fall into his arms naturally. there wouldn’t be any space for doubt or fear from the get-go because you’ll learn to actually love him. 

Phainon

Exposed

phainon believes that bearing himself to you as awfully truthful as he can be is one form of pure love and devotion. why would he feel compelled to hide things from you? his burdens are your burdens, as much as yours are his. that is because once he has chosen you, that means you have rightfully won his heart, you, his savior, bringing light to his cursed existence.

he never hides anything from you; every blemish, scar, flaw, pain is all his to share with yours. of course, with an expectation you'd smooth it all over with a gentle caress. more than anything, being able to depend on someone like this is a breath of fresh air, a better gift than anything he could have ever asked for. for once, it's not him being dependent on. for once, it is him, laying his heart out and putting his trust all on you, his lovely, lovely darling, and it feels thrilling, makes him feel complete. it's like he's melded himself as one with your very body; each shared secret is one inch closer to being tucked away in the cages of your ribs, under the tender warmth of your beating heart.

and the idea of not being honest with you in totality is scary to him. it would mean that there is this gap between you, an empty void. a space where he's supposed to share with you, but a disconnect in place is causing an imbalance. it ticks him off when you don't reciprocate the honesty he lays out for you as if a skinned carcass, ready to be picked apart and eaten. he wants it to be mutual, one of the same, otherwise he'll think you see him as an inadequate partner, not worthy of your mind. you'll kill him with your tight-lip and coldness.

he'll get on his knees, begging and pleading with his hands shackling your legs still. you can't move, can't push him off as he's permenantly glued himself on the floor, beneath the altar of your body, why do you not trust me? my love, what did i do? can i fix this?

even if you explain to him how suffocating this all is, he'll shake his head, tears in his eyes, chanting disagreements---this can be fixed. you cannot give up yet, just give him your heart, be with him, and all will be well.

don't shut me out, phainon says with gritted teeth. he looks angry as much as he is miserably sad, grieving at the distant look in your eyes. he'll hold your face with both hands, forcing you to stare at him. he doesn't realize how hard he's holding you, doesn't compute how your skin folds and contorts in the heaviness of his hands: don't shut me out. don't kick me away. you need me. i need you. each word comes out like a sharp impale dragged across your skin.

don't bother hiding secrets from phainon. he'll sniff it out like a hungry dog.

Kisses

every waking moment is dedicated in servitude to you. from the very first exhale of a new dawn, he greets you with a kiss. he'll stare at your face till you stir in his arms and say your first hello of the day. then he'll go and eat breakfast with you, finding beauty in the simplicity. all the while, his own hand is always wrapped around yours to the point it's inconvenient, but he'll joke, what is love if not insanity? you don't laugh at that.

then, he'll have to pull away for a while. to go run some errands, but he'll pull all the theatrics to convey his heartbreak. he says he can't spare a minute away from you, wants to climb back into your arms and kiss you until his lungs collapse. you blink and stare at him. but just before he fully disappears, there's a genuine look of guilt painted across his face. a part of him dies each time he has to look back at you, peeking behind his shoulder as you grow more and more distant. and just when you think you're free of him, thirty minutes later, you have five new messages from phainon, five different variations of him saying how much he misses you, when he's barely left the road.

this'll go on for hours until he gets back, the constant texting you nonstop until you're forced to turn off your own device. but the minute you don't respond, he goes into panic. starts wondering where you're off to, by the next hour, he's already concluded horrible conclusions that surround your sudden dissapearence. people around him, if not the entirey of amphoreus at this point, has to hear phainon weep over his lover.

only for him to rush back home and see you've fallen asleep, cocooned in a pile of blankets and fuzzy pillows. his mind goes blank, stops racing, and his heart stills. something bright washes over him, and he walks over to you, kneels by the bedside and wraps his arms around your body, soft against his hardened muscles. his hair tickles you awake, and you're met with the biggest smile, i've missed you, he whispers.

you can't tell if you're still dreaming, you're home early?

i couldn't stop thinking about you.

Yearn

from the very first moment he meets you, he's head over heels. something inexplicable pulls him to you, some kind of intangible tug draws the depths of his soul to yours. a need. and something flashes before his eyes, images of forever with you and it all feels too familair; might be deja vu, but phainon thinks it's all the same. it is destiny.

he stakes you out for the next few weeks, while also making notes on you, and a plan to take you with him. or as he likes to say, make you see the light. until then, it won't be long before you'll formally meet him in flesh, as he fondly calls you his lover through the blinding haze swelling in yours eyes. you can call him insane all you want, but he doesn't budge one bit.

phainon thinks, what is the point of patience when he knows he can easily come and get you? you're right there in front of him, and no one is there to stop him, so why hesitate? why wait still, as if hoping for a perfect opportunity? there's no point when he can go get it with his own hands, and so he will do exactly that.

now, if there are anyone in the way that would make this more difficult than it has to be, phainon is quick to step in and simply eliminate such targets. does he feel guilt? no, if not feeling more guilty, he couldn't get to you faster, couldn't get to you before others had convinced you he is bad for you.

a/n: if you got this far, please consider reblogging w/ tags and commenting (ദ്ദി˙ᗜ˙)!! as said earlier, im pretty sure i'm in some kind of shadowban purgatory, so any support is appreciated! so far, everyone has been very kind to me, ILYSM!

while i do enjoy writing the sex scenes with childe bc it's another way to kinda explore the messy dynamic between him & the reader i definitely had the best time with the buildup too lolol like before i knew it i was 7k words in and i hadn't even started the smut yet it's truly so insidious how much fun that man is to write 🚬 so i'm really glad that it was your favorite part to read as well <33 if u were immersed in the sfw parts then i consider it a win! also very glad u got that annoyingly charming vibe from his dialogue that's exactly what i was going for hehe

"reader hasn’t changed but the way reader treats him has" exactly ❤️‍🩹 the reader is almost like a time capsule of the past to childe, reminding him of simpler times and security and home & he's clinging on so hard to that anchor of normalcy bc in his eyes he's still the same boy the reader used to love & he doesn't understand why things had to change between them. and that in turn is what makes it so difficilt for the reader to cut him off entirely bc as u said the ajax she loves is still very much there, but it's not as simple as just separating him from the version he is now; they're one and the same. you read with such a keen eye it's insane like im really so touched that you caught everything i hoped to convey 🥹

& you're right on the money re: how childe always resorts to sex. he'd absolutely love nothing more than to have that non-sexual intimacy with the reader that he craves so deeply, but that's not an option anymore when they’ve decided he isn't allowed to love them like a normal person. in the reader's mind they're using sex to soothe him so he doesn't hurt anyone and to provide some sense of closeness for him without entertaining real, romantic love (despite how much they do still hold some form of love for him) and in childe's mind, he's letting them use him for their pleasure bc he thinks it's the only way he can have value to them anymore. whole house miserable 😹