#I never quite know how much detail to go into with these

[seitmai]

He was also going to miss you desperately. The honeymoon stage was still going strong, and quitting you cold turkey right now was going to be rough. There wasn't a moment when you and he were together that you weren't touching each other.

That man had an addiction 🤭

"I'm going to have to wear all of my honeymoon goodies for my own entertainment for months," you whispered, tits spilling out of the lace as you arched your back. "No, no, no," he scolded softly, tossing his shirt aside and unzipping his jeans. "Don't be a tease, Baby."

He is begging

"I'm always thinking about you." Your words were an ego boost.

She just knows what her husband needs

You stopped taking birth control a few weeks ago. The two of you decided to go with the flow and see what happens next. It felt nice to keep that kind of pressure out of the bedroom, especially when Bradley knew he'd be just as content with six kids or none. It's not like he needed anything besides you, and he told you that every single day.

No risk no fun lol

I also missread it at first as "Bradley was content with six kids or MORE" hahah 😅

You eased yourself up and stood next to him, assessing the blankets and his open duffle sitting on the floor against the wall. "What if I told you this was all just a ploy to keep you here with me instead of getting you ready to leave?" "Then I would say I love you."

That's a ploy he would gladly fall for

Instead, you did the best you could to make it home to your computer where you could type paragraph after paragraph to him, letting him know what was going on back in California. You sent him a plethora of photos, some of which didn't include your face as a precaution. You even went into detail about how much you missed him at bedtime. And the best part was, you got just as much, if not more, in return. His days were largely repetitious, but there was always something new he was telling you about. His gym selfies never disappointed, and neither did the paragraphs where he told you in an abundance of detail how much he missed waking up next to you.

They just are a true match

Your students had been anticipating it for weeks, and you had some eager faces looking back at you on the Monday morning when you stood at the front of your classroom and said, "We're about to embark on a flight that will take us through our math, science and language arts classes for weeks to come. As we learn all about aviation, we'll be writing to a naval aviator on an aircraft carrier, and we'll even get to visit a local naval base for a field trip. Let's start out by learning the definitions of a few words that we'll be using frequently."

I feel like the aviation part of the curriculum is gonna become legendary really quick, the next year you can already hear the new fourth graders excitingly talk at recess or breaks: "I'm in Mrs Bradshaws class and my older sister told me around this last year they started with aviation. And a real aviator visited them! And a super cool mechanic!!" And another one adds, having heard the conversation topic from the younger students before then in the bus line: "It's all true! And you get to visit the base. And Mrs wasn't always called Mrs Bradshaw, she had a different name but she married the aviator we wrote letters!" And another one joins in: "And if you go to the library events Mr Marty is always there. He is also in the Navy and he is the best Mechanic that's what Mrs Bradshaws husband said. He is the best at fixing planes!"

It's just gonna turn in this whole legendary thing with more and more outlandish added stories after a few years hahga

He considered skipping dinner in favor of collapsing in his bunk, but he could tell he was already losing weight. You weren't around to keep him well fed, so when his stomach started to rumble, he made a point to head for the noisy mess hall. 

Give that poor man some good food!

When he went to the small window in front of the mail center and gave his name, a box was thrust into his hands. Bradley's heart leapt when he saw the return address was from Mira Mesa Elementary School. He should have been expecting this, but he was suddenly happy you kept it as a surprise. A smile curled along his lips.

What a great surprise 🥰🥹

To MY US Naval Aviator (Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw)

Oh I love them and I will miss these two 🥰

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 29 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: While Bradley thought it was unfair of the Navy to mess with him while he was still in his honeymoon phase, he certainly did love getting mail from you.

Warnings: fluff, adult language, smut, Bradley being husband material, 18+

Length: 1700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

That autumn....

As soon as you led Bradley inside after he drove the two of you home from Salvatore's, you ran your fingers along his cheek and looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "You had a lunch picnic with Thai food on the beach. And then you got pasta for dinner. Do you have any other requests?" you asked, using your strict classroom voice which made Bradley's mouth water. 

"I do, actually," he whispered, melting into your touch. "How about some of that lingerie you picked out in Paris?"

The honeymoon was almost three months ago, but not an hour went by where Bradley didn't reminisce about the days he got to enjoy the view of the Eiffel Tower and the view of your ass while he fucked you. It always left him with a smile on his face. But his smile started to falter when he remembered that he was shipping out tomorrow, and he wouldn't return until after the New Year. At least he would be allowed to communicate with you this time. That was the only thing saving him from almost certain despair.

"I think that can be arranged," you told him with a smile, unbuttoning your top as he stumbled along after you. "But you have to wait out here until I'm ready."

Bradley groaned and leaned on the wall in the hallway, watching you bounce along to the bedroom without him while you laughed. He didn't mind waiting a few minutes, because he was going to love whatever you were about to do. He was also going to miss you desperately. The honeymoon stage was still going strong, and quitting you cold turkey right now was going to be rough. There wasn't a moment when you and he were together that you weren't touching each other.

He hadn't even finished packing his duffle yet, because he didn't want this to feel real. He was planning on doing that tonight with your help, kissing you as you folded up his shirts and lined up his socks on the bed. But that was going to have to wait a few minutes. You opened the door to reveal the sheer nightie hugging your body as you pressed your thighs together and bit your lip.

Bradley was pushing away from the wall, heading right for you. "Gorgeous," he murmured, pulling you against him and walking you backwards to the bed. "Baby, I'm going to miss this too much."

His heart was pounding in his ears, hands full of your lace covered ass before you dropped to the bed on your back. "I'm going to have to wear all of my honeymoon goodies for my own entertainment for months," you whispered, tits spilling out of the lace as you arched your back.

"No, no, no," he scolded softly, tossing his shirt aside and unzipping his jeans. "Don't be a tease, Baby." You grinned as you turned your head to the side, and Bradley stepped out of his remaining clothing before he climbed in bed. He was hovering above you, lips pressed to your ear as he whispered, "You'll wear the goodies for me, too. And you'll email me every mouth watering photo that you take of your fingers shoved deep in your pussy."

"Bradley," you whined, bucking your hips up until he had to hold you in place with his big hands on your body.

"I want a little treat every time you touch yourself. And I want to know that you're thinking about me."

"I'm always thinking about you."

Your words were an ego boost. Just the kind of thing that would get him through this work assignment and back into your arms. "When you're alone and thinking about me, I want some pictures, pretty girl. A whole inbox full of them. Some sweet ones," he crooned, kissing his way along your jaw to your lips. "And some dirty ones," he added, mouth teasing your skin until your nipple was between his lips and you were whining. He sucked gently, tugging until his lips popped free, leaving you begging for more with your fingers in his hair.

You stopped taking birth control a few weeks ago. The two of you decided to go with the flow and see what happens next. It felt nice to keep that kind of pressure out of the bedroom, especially when Bradley knew he'd be just as content with six kids or none. It's not like he needed anything besides you, and he told you that every single day.

"I'm going to miss my wife," he crooned, guiding his cock inside your slick perfection as soon as you spread your legs. He rocked in and out of you slowly, enjoying the feel of your body and your voice and your sweet scent. Memorizing everything. Telling himself he could get through the time away from you as long as he could come back to this.

It was so late when Bradley finally left the bed. You and he were wrung out and fucked out. Fingers laced together, barely moving, unable to go for a fourth round. "That was wild," you laughed when he finally rolled away from you, dizzy as he stood and looked at the wrecked bedding around your naked body.

"Shit, Gorgeous." He was laughing, too as he said, "I still need to finish packing in the next five hours."

You eased yourself up and stood next to him, assessing the blankets and his open duffle sitting on the floor against the wall. "What if I told you this was all just a ploy to keep you here with me instead of getting you ready to leave?"

"Then I would say I love you."

----------------------------------

Waking up for work in a bed that was half cold was not your idea of a good time. You shivered every morning that Bradley was gone, especially when November brought with it a chilly bite to the air. The commute from Coronado to Mira Mesa and back each day felt like a punishment when you knew you weren't going to arrive home to a husband who was excited to see you and hear about your adventures in teaching.

Instead, you did the best you could to make it home to your computer where you could type paragraph after paragraph to him, letting him know what was going on back in California. You sent him a plethora of photos, some of which didn't include your face as a precaution. You even went into detail about how much you missed him at bedtime.

And the best part was, you got just as much, if not more, in return. His days were largely repetitious, but there was always something new he was telling you about. His gym selfies never disappointed, and neither did the paragraphs where he told you in an abundance of detail how much he missed waking up next to you.

While you made it a point to spend time with Natasha, Edith, Ruby and Marty, the loneliness was somehow worse now that you had rings on your finger. The best thing to happen was the arrival of the day when your new fourth grade class started their unit on aviation.

Your students had been anticipating it for weeks, and you had some eager faces looking back at you on the Monday morning when you stood at the front of your classroom and said, "We're about to embark on a flight that will take us through our math, science and language arts classes for weeks to come. As we learn all about aviation, we'll be writing to a naval aviator on an aircraft carrier, and we'll even get to visit a local naval base for a field trip. Let's start out by learning the definitions of a few words that we'll be using frequently."

Later that week, you had a sizable cardboard box packed up with letters and snacks for your husband. Instead of telling him exactly when the first package would arrive, you left it as a surprise for him to stumble upon.

-------------------------------

Bradley was exhausted. The mechanical crew on this deployment was nowhere near as kind or competent as Marty, and he found himself constantly visiting their shop to work through issues with his aircraft. He missed his friends and his home and his wife. He missed you so fucking much. All of the letters and emails you sent him were fantastic, but he even missed having a bunch of pen pals to converse with at the end of the day.

Every happy thought that entered his mind seemed to be pushed aside when he realized he was still a long way from returning to San Diego. He considered skipping dinner in favor of collapsing in his bunk, but he could tell he was already losing weight. You weren't around to keep him well fed, so when his stomach started to rumble, he made a point to head for the noisy mess hall. 

The cabbage rolls were disgusting, but at least the aircraft carriers were consistent. He picked at his meal and then ate two plates of dessert to make himself feel a little bit better. When he was sorting his dirty dishes and tray into the appropriate place, he was surprised to hear his name being called amongst some others.

"Bradshaw! You've got unclaimed mail!"

He perked up immediately. How did he have something else to claim? He picked up an enormous envelope from you the other day along with a card from Edith. Did you send him a handwritten note again already?

When he went to the small window in front of the mail center and gave his name, a box was thrust into his hands. Bradley's heart leapt when he saw the return address was from Mira Mesa Elementary School. He should have been expecting this, but he was suddenly happy you kept it as a surprise. A smile curled along his lips. He could have some regular pen pals to correspond with again. His smile grew wider when he looked at the way you addressed the box to him in your tidy handwriting.

To MY US Naval Aviator (Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw)

---------------------------------

Bradley has the ultimate pen pal in his wife. Thanks for reading this series which ended up being so much longer than originally intended! Thanks for all of the love and feedback along the way! Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

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[dpspcehntr]

Hello 🤗 I have a question that has crossed my mind from time to time and I would like your (and maybe your followers) opinion on this, if you don't mind.

Thinking realistically, rather than with a romantic notion, do you think the LaDs men have had much, if any, sexual experience that hasn't been with MC?

Would God of the Tides have concubines brought to him, or gone on dates as a land lubber? Or do you think his bond with MC would prevent him from 'engaging' with anyone else?

Did Xavier date anyone before MC joined the guardians (I don't know the name I forget lol)?

I don't know anything about Sylus

Would Zayne have had a prom date or a girlfriend before he met with the current timeline MC? I know he says we are his only experience, but does that include just kissing someone?

I’M SO GLAD YOU ASKED!! One, I have also been rotating this around in my brain for quite some time and how I feel very lightly colors how I write for them! I haven't read much (if any at all) of the myths so I will just be looking at the present. I love thinking about this cause tbh sometimes the characterizations in game are not as full as I would like. I won’t keep this long but if you want more detail I’m happy to add to this post! Anyway! Here are my thoughts!

Rafayel is literally the reason I had this thought in the first place. I thought it was so silly to think that he as a rich artsy boy had never ONCE hooked up with someone. He absolutely is a FUCKBOY! I will hear nothing else about it. I can't image he's not when so much of his overall characterization just oozes that kind of energy for me. My exception to this is that I don't think he enjoyed himself very much. Used sex kind of like a numbing thing cause he felt the void of your absence hard. He's not like a community dick kind of fuckboy but he has definitely been passed around a few times, if not as a professional then in art school.

Xavier is another one who I feel has some experience before (re)meeting MC. His experience is alot more clumsy and unsure compared to Rafayel. More of a situation like 'I want to be ready when I find her so I'm going to try it with someone else to be good at it. There may only be one person he's had sex with before MC and it was so bad she just had to leave. When that failed he just turned to erotica and p*rn to fill in the gaps. Eventually getting used to using his own imagination and getting off when needed. So when the time comes he's very prepared and VERY horny.

Sylus is a bit of a hard one because yes absolutely he is having sex with people before meeting MC. His overall vibe very much eludes to the fact that he has lived a life and I'm sure that is included. I don't think he's slinging it out to anyone who asks but he has been in some kind of relationship before. If anything we can say he is very comfortable having sex and has had sex before meeting MC. I have some more thoughts on this but I will keep it there for now!

Zayne from what I know has said that he isn't experienced and we are his first and I believe that. He very much gives full focus on the task at hand kind of man. Definitely not in high school but in med school I image him having a non serious fling with someone just to say he tried. They broke up soon after and he just never tried again until he and MC reconnected. That being said, he is a bit of a perv and has ALOT of pent up energy so once they start they literally don't stop. Like a weekend stuck in an endless loop of sleep, eat, fuck until he's at work desperate for you once again. The problem for him is learning how to control himself now that has MC.

My ask box is open for further conversations on this cause I genuinely love talking about this! Lets keep the conversation going!

[stuckyslut8]

Gimme gimme

(this is just a glimpse of my new series.)

Warning: dom Bucky, sub reader, bratty reader, chubby Bucky. Chubby Bucky. Absolute filth. Bucky's Rules Riding Bucky. Baker reader. Not proofread.

Summary: future congressman Bucky being an absolute hottie and dominating man in bed.

A/N : I just found out about Bucky being a congressman, and it made me an absolute whore. Also idk all of this congressman shit it detail so ignore all the plotholes .18+Minors DNI.

You were currently laying in bed with Bucky after your passionate love making session, Bucky was on his back, you were cuddled next to him wrapping an arm around his torse, over his chubby belly that you loved so much. "Hmm Bucky?"

"yeah babygirl" he said , still recovering from his release.

"so you're really gonna be a congressman?" You ask rubbing his belly, hands slowly trailing towards his cock, stroking it teasingly. Bucky tried to ignore your actions, as he was clearly used to your shenanigans at this point, he wouldn't be surprised if you got down on your knees while he was delivering a public speech,just to show your bratiness.

"yes doll, given everything i think i really wanna do it -" he stopped mid sentence due to your very unholy actions, but continued "i think it my help get my mind off things and focus on...making amends" he continued.

"hmm i think you'd make one hot congressman baby." You say stroking him faster ,you knew he was about to cum. Just then he stopped you, looking at you sternly, "come on doll you know the rules don't be a brat" he said as he neared his release.

"hmm"

"go on say it, you know the rules".

"rule number 1, you can't do anything illegal." You said cheekily

"not that...those are my rules what are the rules for you?" He said groaning, on the edge of his release you knew he wanted to cum so badly but he still wasn't willing to let go of his power.

"hmm...never let your cum go to waste Sargent " you said pouting.

"right ,I'm not gonna fucking cum over the sheets and waste it, where do you want it?" He asked ,trying to sound calm about it .

"in my pussy sarge obviously." You said as a matter of fact.

He smirked at your response," hmm good girl, now come on ride me." You get on top of him and sink your still wet cunt, that already had three rounds of his load onto his cock, you had certainly gotten better at taking him from this angle, which had been a struggle for you in the beginning of the relationship, but Bucky trained you well, "good girl " he said as you started bouncing on his cock, soon after he came filling you up again with his hot spurts of cum, Bucky was hazy from the release but that hadn't stopped you from riding him , you Rode him through his high until he came again, and so did you this time.

"good girl" he said patting your thigh.

"mmph you're gonna look so hot giving commands like this at the Congress baby, i'd get myself off watching you on tv." You said still on top of him , cock deep in your pussy.

"you say the filthiest things sweet girl..." he said pulling you in for a kiss.

"Never would have expected this from the sweet baker i met in Brooklyn." He said clearly admiring your view on top of him.

"hmm well if clearly didn't expect this from the sweet boy i met at my bakery,either the one who was scared to even ask my name., you're quite horny for an old man." I joked.

"hmm maybe the first thing i'd do as a congressman would be to pass a bill to stop your bratiness sweetheart." He said, tracing a finger down your thigh.

"mmph you love it." Bucky can't deny that , he clearly loved how bratty and shameless you are when you're around him.

"or maybe pass a bill that would make it illegal for you to wear any panties around the house ." He said with a smirk.

"hmm I can always find a loophole sarge ." I challenged him

"hmm loophole? Sounds like a creative way to get punished again bratty girl." He said.

"hmm maybe I'll get out of my punishment by getting on my knees sarge, how does that sound." I said biting his lower lip.

"hmm no way, bad girls always get punished." He added before he flipped you both, while he was still in you, and put you on your back, placing your legs over his shoulder, with a grin on his face, "ready for round four doll?"

[vickytaa]

Music keeps me alive. M.S. Chapter II

summery: y/n's father passed away, and she moved to Boston to finish school. She always keeps her headphones on, only she knows the reason why. What happens when she meets Matt?

Chapter I

As she arrived home, her mind couldn't stop thinking about how lucky she was to have met such kind people as Nick and Anna. She had only spoken to them for a short time, yes, but the fact that they had taken the initiative to approach her when she was alone and had continued the conversation until there was no more time was an act that would undoubtedly remain etched in her memory.

Her mother wasn't home yet, as her new job started at the same time y/n got out of school. Because of that, y/n walked to the kitchen, grabbed a piece of fruit, and returned to the living room. Without hesitation, she grabbed the TV remote, searched for Spotify, and played her favorite playlist. It was moments like these that she loved to enjoy some jazz while doing homework, reading a book, or simply enjoying some alone time to think.

The windows were shut, all the lights in the house were off, the only light visible was that coming from the fireplace in front of the armchair. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, the vibrations of the music filling her ears. Everything was perfect... well, almost everything. Y/n had always loved being alone, since she never had anyone to show her the beauty of the moment, or anyone to share it with. Why has this changed now? Should it change? It wasn't necessary, she'd always enjoyed being like this. Y/n thought as the hours ticked by.

After a long time of pondering, Y/n realized it was quite late, so she decided to skip dinner and go straight to sleep. She went to her bed, after putting on her pajamas, and closed her eyes to drift off into a long, deep sleep.

The next morning, Y/n got up as usual, got dressed, ate breakfast, packed her backpack, and got ready for school. "You look very happy, honey. It's so nice that you're enjoying going back to school," her mother said. " Thanks, Mom, Nick and Anna seem like really good people and I'm so glad I met them," Y/n smiled. Her mother returned the smile and hugged her tightly. They said goodbye and Y/n started her journey to school.

On the way, thinking to herself and listening to music, she realized her mother was right. She felt happier herself the day she came back from her first day of school. But this had just started, and it was too early to say that she already liked going as much as when she was little, but you never know.

While swapping a few things in her locker and backpack, Y/n felt someone tap her shoulder. She turned around and quickly noticed Nick and Anna standing beside her, and a little further back were Matt and Chris. Y/n took out her headphones and let them hang around her neck. "Good morning, ready for your second day?" Nick asked with his usual kind and welcoming smile. Y/n simply nodded, closed her locker, and started a conversation with the four kids beside her, about some rather irrelevant topic.

Whenever Y/n spoke, she felt everyone's eyes on her, but Matt's were the most noticeable. He looked at her as if he were really listening, paying attention to every detail, every movement. And she also noticed that her cheeks were getting redder and redder, but luckily it seemed like no one had noticed, least of all Matt.

The five of them entered the classroom and sat in their respective seats, except Y/n who switched places with another boy to be closer to her new friends. The class went by normally for everyone, except Matt. Just like yesterday, he was distracted by the figure with straight hair and headphones in front of him, because the seat she had found was right in front of him. Luckily, no one noticed, or so he thought. "Matt, you're going to look obsessed with Y/n if you keep staring at her like that," Chris whispered in his ear. Matt just looked at him with a serious look, as if telling him to shut up. Chris chuckled lightly and went back to paying attention to the class.

“And you will have to form groups of five members to present the first big project of the year," Professor Thomas dictated. And suddenly, Y/n felt four heads turn to look at her, who was thinking about what she was going to do because she didn't know if they were really going to invite her. She was about to stand up to ask the professor if she could do it alone when she heard a deep but soft voice call her name. "Yes?" she asked. "Do you want to... maybe do the project with us?" Matt asked, clearly nervous, but she was too. It was the first time she had heard his voice, and damn, she was going to remember that voice, it was unmatched, its tone of kindness and gentleness, its softness and feelings, all in a simple voice.

She quickly accepted and sat back down at her desk, this time turning around to face her classmates. "If you want, you can come to our house today, my mom will be there and she can make us some snacks," Nick suggested. Anna and Y/n quickly agreed. Y/n's eyes quickly met Matt's and for a second she could swear she couldn't breathe. Her cheeks were burning, and the air was stuck in her throat. It was such an intimate moment, between the two of them, and public at the same time, since everyone could see. Her heart started beating faster, but all she did was smile. Matt quickly returned the smile, and they stayed that way for a few seconds that felt like years, studying each other, without caring about anyone else, just the two of them.

Their little moment was interrupted by Nick and Chris's shouts as they fought over who knew what Mom was going to cook when they arrived. "You don't even know if she's going to cook," Matt said, interrupting their fight. "Don't get involved, Matt," Chris said and went back to arguing with Nick, causing Matt and Y/n to laugh.

Later that day, Y/n sent a message to her mom saying she was going to hang out at Nick's house. It was the first time she was going to someone's house who wasn't family or a friend of her parents. And she was very nervous, it was a little noticeable. The five of them walked to the brothers' house and when they entered, they left their backpacks, Chris and Nick went straight to the kitchen to see what Mom had cooked, while Anna went to the bathroom, leaving Y/n and Matt alone for the first time. "Why are you nervous?" Matt asked, he didn't know Y/n, so he didn't know why she was nervous. "It's the first time I've been to a friend's house," Y/n confessed. As I said before, she never had friends, so this moment was very special to her. "Were your parents that strict?" Matt asked, trying not to sound too surprised, because he was, and Y/n was 17 years old and had never been to any friend's house before, which seemed strange to him. "No, they always let me go wherever I wanted, I just... never had... friends." Y/n said, so low it was almost like a whisper. She had never said it out loud, that's why she was 'ashamed'. Being 17 and having 0 friends was something she felt very ashamed of, not because she thought she was a bad person, she just wasn't very outgoing, or it was really because the place where she grew up didn't let her make friends because of how toxic it was. "I- Uh, I'm sorry, I didn't know," Matt started to say nervously, his words overlapped and his ideas crossed. "Don't worry, I'm so grateful to have met you." Y/n smiled at him and the knot of ideas in Matt's head was undone just by seeing her smile. He returned it and once again they stayed like that for a few seconds, the outside world didn't matter anymore than the two of them. Matt looked at Y/n's lips and then back at her eyes, he wanted to kiss her, and it showed, but he couldn't, they had just met. Y/n noticed and did the same, this time she looked at his lips a little longer than he did. The tension in the air could be felt, and they both felt this push towards each other. "Matt, Y/n!! Come to the living room!!" They both heard Chris shout.

Once there, they started taking out their folders and Nick brought his computer. "Okay, so we have to do a presentation on some monument and recreate it," Nick said. "Uh, I have an idea, what if we do the Statue of Liberty?" Chris suggested, "But so many people are going to do it for sure," Anna said. "Yeah, Anna's right, what about Christ the Redeemer in Brazil?" Nick said, "I don't know, I think we should do something with more history behind it, what do you think?" Matt asked. Everyone nodded and thought. "What if we do the monument at the Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park? I think the story is very interesting, I was reading a book about a survivor and it's very moving..." Y/n said but stopped when she saw that everyone was looking at her with a smile on their faces. "Um, is everything okay?" she asked nervously. "If you want, we can do something else..." She couldn't stop talking from nervousness, plus no one was saying anything and everyone looking at her made her even more nervous. "It's a great idea!" Nick said happily. And so, they all started thinking about how they were going to do it, what they were going to say, among other things.

After a long time working, they decided to relax a bit and play board games, as well as chat and chat for hours. They laughed a lot and shared a lot of stories, everyone listening to the other when they spoke. Y/n felt very happy, too much, and comfortable, being there, despite not knowing anyone well enough, she felt like she had known them for years.

At one point, Y/n looked at her watch to realize that it had gotten quite late, and walking alone in a new neighborhood at night... let's just say it wasn't a good idea. Matt noticed her worried face and asked, "Everything okay?" Y/n's gaze traveled from the clock to Matt's eyes, "Yes, it's just a bit late and I don't know if I can walk alone at this time..." "I can take you" Matt said, this took her by surprise, 'being alone with Matt always became... weird' she thought. But she also wanted to spend more time alone with him because she found him an interesting person. "No, it's okay, really" "Guys, I'm going to take Y/n home and I'll be right back" Matt announced. Y/n said goodbye to everyone and headed to the door where Matt was waiting for her. They went outside and got into the car, Matt opened the door for her and quickly ran to his. "Thank you, really, you didn't have to" Y/n said, a little embarrassed. "Don't worry, it's nothing to me. Besides, I want to have some alone time with you to get to know you better," Matt said, looking into Y/n's eyes and they stayed looking at each other again. "Uh, I think we should go" Matt said, interrupting the comfortable silence that invaded the car.

Y/n turned on the radio, as she hadn't listened to so much music all day and already felt like something was missing. "And now we'll be playing 'There's a light that never goes out' by The Smiths" the radio voice announced. "Uh, that's a good song" Y/n said and started turning up the volume. "Do you like The Smiths?" Matt asked, looking at her. "I love them" Y/n replied. The song started and they both began to sing along to it. "And if a double-decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side, is such a heavenly way to die" They both laughed and sang along with the song.

When they arrived, Matt got out again to open the door for Y/n, who thanked him and hugged him without warning, which took Matt by surprise, but he quickly wrapped his long arms around her waist and squeezed her gently. "Thank you for bringing me back." Y/n thanked him, pulling away a little to say goodbye and go into her house. Matt just smiled and watched her go into her house. His heart was beating very fast and happiness overflowed from his face.

V: Uhh I can feel the tension building 👀

Masterlist:))

[deiastormborn]

Gale of Waterdeep; A much needed look beneath the surface 

Hey all. This is a script for the video I made in defense of Gale. I never had a place to put the text version of it anywhere else, but... if Tumblr isn't a good place for it, then what is?

Warning: Long Read!

________________________

Hi, my name is Stormborn. I’ve been playing Baldur’s Gate for some time, enjoyed it quite a bit. As much as I can appreciate every companion that the game has introduced, Gale of Waterdeep, a charming lil’ wizard, has caught my attention the most. At glance, he is this sarcastic happy-to-go man, always joking around, trying to do the right thing. But, the more you get to know him, the more you slowly uncover his trauma, as much as he, himself, is trying to deny it.

Honestly, I thought that Gale would be liked by many people, I genuinely expected him to be one of the most chosen companions, and one of the most romanced ones. But, to my surprise, I’ve been seeing him getting more hate than I anticipated. Some people call his way of speaking way too annoying and complicated, some people call him clingy and creepy, mostly due to the glitch that would skyrocket his approval of you, probing him to romance you. Genuinely, it is okay to dislike some companion in favor of the other one. But I could not get rid of the feeling that people just despise his guts unjustifiably. 

One of the main reasons, besides the ones I covered earlier, is that people hate his ‘obsession’ with Mystra, the goddess of magic he happened to romance. I saw people complain that he just cannot stop talking about her, even while you romance him, and I can’t help but wonder if people were paying attention to his story at all. And I cannot blame them, as Gale always portrays his romance with Mystra as something so special, so unique, and as something to be proud of. But, let me explain to why you should be able to judge his story for yourself, rather than simply listen to what he is saying.

Gale is a talented wizard, so talented that he got attention from Mystra herself for his talent of channeling the weave. The story says that he is so powerful, that he could potentially destroy a whole village by basically sneezing in its direction. However, we all need to remember that he got attention from Mystra at the very, very young age. If I am not mistaken, the first time Mystra clawed onto him was when he turned 16. Ever since then, Mystra was feeding him all kinds of praise, prompting him to seek power, ensuring him that he can become Mystra’s chosen, and, mind you, *started romancing him ever since*. It is not a secret that Gale was not the first, however, if you really think of it, such revelation can seriously mess with a mind of a teenager. Not only it might boost the self-esteem, but also make him think that he is better than anyone else. And, I assure you, it is exactly what Mystra wanted. By giving him some form of attention, minimum affection, she had Gale on the hook. And Gale, as a boy obsessed with magic, who has been worshiping Mystra before he even met her, didn’t require much effort in getting hooked. But here comes the problem: as much as it is uplifting to get a praise from a literal Goddess of all magic, it is also as equally devastating to get any kind of critique or a cold shoulder.

Mystra was messing with his mind, making him feel like, no matter how well he does, he can always do better, as he has so much potential. With such authority, Gale would believe her. And it would make him always chase something more to impress her, rather than settle and appreciate what he has. It is also a reason to why the whole mess with the Orb began in the first place. People seem to call Gale power hungry, which, as any companion in the game, it is possible for him to go down that route. But they seem to forget one important detail: Gale thought that the Orb was a missing relic of Mystra’s magic, and he wanted to, yet again, impress her by bringing it back. Please remember that Gale was still a young adult, if not a teenager, when this happened. And it would all be resolved if Mystra would not shatter his self-esteem as much as she did. So, he made a mistake, and the Orb became his burden. And yet again, rather than explain this to her ‘chosen one’, she basically banished him, and left him with no answers for many years to come.

Gale isolated himself to keep people around him safe, with nothing but the books and the cat for the company. I think I do not need to mention on how that can play with your mind, too. But, in spite of all, Gale’s blind loyalty and obsession with Mystra kept him wanting for more attention, more answers, so he kept seeking more power, and more ways to get Mystra’s approval. At the day you first meet him, this is the first time he has been amongst people. Yet he still kept his jolly appearance, messing around with Tav, and appreciating everything that surrounds him.

I do not know if this is obvious just yet, but Mystra has basically groomed the kid. If we look at the very definition of grooming, Grooming is when someone builds a relationship, trust and emotional connection with a child or young person so they can manipulate, exploit and abuse them. And it is most prominent when it comes from the place of higher authority. I think I do not need to explain that, in the fantasy setting, there is no higher authority than the God or a Goddess. Yet, for one reason or another, this seems to not be taken serious. And I think I have an explanation as to why.

When you talk to Gale about Mystra, or when you let him talk about her first, he is still full of admiration, obsession, and the unending pride. There is still some bitterness lingering somewhere in him, yet it Is not as powerful as any other feeling he has towards her. I’ve noticed people basically hating him for saying something like ‘Yeah, I banged Mystra, that’s pretty cool, right?’. But think of it this way: wouldn’t Mystra *want* him to think that it’s ‘pretty cool’? And who are we to say that it was the real Mystra he had an intimate moment with? For all we know, she might have conjured an illusion, to satisfy him and feed into his ego. If the romance between them was as real as Gale thinks it was, do you really think Mystra would just abandon him with no answers for a mistake such as this? After all, Gale was young, and had barely any experience. All he had was wizards, such as him, or more powerful than him, and her. If she truly cared about putting him to a right path, rather than using him for her needs, the outcome would be ever so different. 

I would also like to address that people do not think of it as a simple coping mechanism. Even if you look at the society these days, most of the time, when a man comes with a confession of, say, a woman taking advantage of him, it is often met with ‘wow dude, you got lucky’, rather than with a serious concern. Who are we to say that Gale, rather than simply try to reflect and recognize his relationship with Mystra as an illusion, didn’t just decide to get along with it and be proud instead? Even then, when you romance him further, he is slowly realizing that it was not as real as he once thought. In Gale’s own words: ‘there is no love between us. I was not the first, and I certainly won’t be the last’. Gale finally, ever so slowly, starts to understand that he was simply used by Mystra for his talent. Being a deity means that you are only powered by the followers you still have. It is in the god’s interests to keep people interested in them, or they will loose power. Using Gale, knowing he was an extremely skillful wizard, was in Mystra’s interests. She does not give him answers, but keeps him interested in her enough to keep him in her claws, spreading more words of her, attracting more people to follow her godhood. There was no real romance, she was interested in his power more than himself. And you can help him realize that.

But, with such dynamic comes a price, which also becomes more prominent when you play the game further: Gale never feels good enough. With the first chance he can sacrifice himself for a greater good, he takes it. He has no real appreciation of his life, he does not take it as something valuable. He is deeply depressed and traumatized. When a person moves away from the environment that scarred them, it can become extremely overbearing, difficult, and overwhelming. People also seem to act as if it is weird that, with any kind of hurt, Gale’s first reaction is to ‘blow himself up’. It doesn’t take much to know that he won’t do it if it were to mean that someone can get hurt, but he is saying that because, maybe, partially, he *wanted* to die. He has finally found appreciation amongst other people, who are not wizards like him, people who do not know him well, and people who do not want him to constantly be the best version of himself. He falls in love with Tav, because Tav is showing him kindness, and proving to him that he does not have to be someone that he is not to be loved. In that very vulnerable state, any kind of hurt or rejection hits you more. Not to mention that, the only time he ever says it, was after the night he spent with you. After he opened up, shared his fears, more of his past, even said out loud that, in truth, he does not want to die. He let himself be vulnerable, the most vulnerable he has probably been in years, so it is not a question of his ego being hurt: it is a situation where a man, who always kept to himself, has finally let someone in, and got hurt. I am sure one of us, at one point in life, said something like ‘well guess I go die’ as a joke. This is the only way Gale knows how to respond: joking about his pain. He does not mean it, but says it anyway, because it is the first thing that came to his mind. He has been a very reserved companion through the whole time, always seemed to know what to say, and he acted on an emotion after a very emotional night. 

It is also a fact that, even while he is slowly realizing that Mystra used him, he does not mind dying because she asked him to do so. That does not only prove a point that Mystra does not have any real regards to him other than a tool, but also that she was using him for her own sake. With The Absolute getting more followers, her power also weakens. The Absolute is a threat, not only because of the infection and danger to mere humans, but also to her godhood. And who better to deal with it than the man she has so methodically conditioned to do as she wishes? You would think that, a goddess as powerful as Mystra, could try to take care of things on her own. And yet again, the only time Mystra ever gives him any answers, is when she needs him to be used. That is, yet again, a definition of the grooming.

Gale will do anything for a little bit of appreciation, anything to be noticed, and we cannot blame him. This is why you, a player, as a Tav, have a power in you to make him realize that he, as he is now, is valid. It is almost as if Gale forgot that he is such a talented wizard after all the stuff with Mystra. You, as a player, have it in you to remind him. And once you do, Gale slowly separated himself from Mystra as her ex-lover, and only answers to her as his deity. After all, she is a goddess of all magic, it will be hard to reject her entirely.

Victims of grooming or any kind of abuse often can’t let go of the person who harmed them. They will talk about them, they will mention them, they might even try to grasp onto good things, or make it seem like bad things that happened weren’t really all that bad. Combine that with a constant feeling of never being good enough, and not knowing a genuine kindness outside of his very small circle, and you have Gale. A charming, sarcastic, jolly Wizard, who is also as ever troubled. 

Moving on to other topic that people seem to judge Gale for, is that, once a chance arrives, he starts grasping onto Godhood, wishing to become a God himself. It is also in that situation where he starts to say that he would have the power to completely overthrow Mystra. People seem to criticize him for his hunger for power, and also, altogether, call him ungrateful. I would like to add another opinion on that: while Gale is slowly realizing that he was being used, he went through all 5 stages of grief. But here comes the other one, that is mentioned much less: revenge. He wants to show Mystra that she was wrong about him. He wants to prove to her that, after all this time, he *was* good, if not better than her. On top of that, he is still trying to fix his never-ending self-esteem issues. While he is seeking godhood, he still thinks that, him, as he is now, will never be enough, and only by becoming God he can truly become worthy… of anything. If you romance him, he later apologizes to you, but also asks to let him explain to why the Godhood would be good for him, and you, as a couple. Gale wants to give you everything. The entire world. He wants to be the very best version of himself, for you, his lover. He thinks that he can only achieve that by becoming a God. He doesn’t realize that, maybe, without it, he can still be a valuable partner. He even talks to you about it, openly, saying that you deserve better. It is, yet again, in your power to remind him that you do not need him to be anything more than he is now. And, rather than with anger, he answers to you with a surprise. He truly, genuinely, can’t believe that you would take him as he is now. This is how deeply his trauma runs in his mind. And, once he finally believes you, this is where he finally calms down. This is finally when he accepts himself, and lets it all go. He is not repaired, but he is on his path towards healing. All because you, a player, convinced him, and reminded him of his value.

I think Gale’s approach towards things have deeply changed the perception of the players. Because he is in so much denial, people seem to just go along with what he says. He is proud of sleeping with Mystra - so people take it for what it is. Gale might not be your type, or even the most interesting companion to you compared to others, but I truly, genuinely think, that the hate he has received has been a little too much. Every companion has a burden, everyone expresses it differently, on their own pace. Gale has chosen the approach that makes the most sense in his situation. He is just a guy who was thrown into a mess made by the Goddess he worshiped at the young age. He is just someone who is trying to do good. And I hope that a small essay such as this helped and shed some light on his story. 

Men can be groomed, they can be taken advantage of. I think it is our duty to also recognize it, and show a little patience. After all, Gale is not the first example of such abuse. And, sadly, won’t be the last.

Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAnZHJtYkcg

[moonesaiky]

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤWorld Falls at a glance! ₊ ⊹

⟢ First of all, what is this AU?

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎OW is an AU where Stanford since his birth was manipulated by Bill Cipher, and when Bill offered Stanford to go with him to take over the world Ford accepted to go with him in the 80s. ㅤIn other words, this happens at a time when Stanford was originally trying to prevent Bill from opening the portal. In that case, Ford wouldn't refuse the real reason for the portal.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Characters and Designs: ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⊹★🔭๋࣭ ⭑⋆｡˚ Stanford ˚｡⋆⭑

ㅤㅤAn egocentric who feels like a freak. Ford was convinced that he would never be accepted on earth by Bill and gave up what humanity he had left.

ㅤㅤHe still cares about Stanley, his family and friends, but wishes to distance himself from them currently enjoys traveling through the multidimension with Bill while they're not busy taking care of the party on earth. Shares powers with Bill through a ritual.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤAlthough he seems cruel, he still cares a lot about living beings in general and is a very sweet person.

★彡 Trivia

ㅤ✧ Feel very guilty about having opened the portal, even though you're living your best life. ✧ Avoid talking to Stanley because he makes this feeling unbearable. ㅤ✧ Is obsessed with Bill, like a prayer. ✧ Has several tattoos of Bill-related symbols.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ٠ ࣪⭑ Bill Cipher ⋆⭒👁️˚.⋆

ㅤㅤThis Bill is still the same, but he knows how to look like a Muse in an impressive way, showing elegance and wisdom when necessary. A first-rate manipulator, even though he genuinely loves Ford.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ You wouldn't want him as a pal, much less a muse.

★彡 Trivia ㅤ✧ Ford made him love the stars again... ✧ Hates Stanley, he knows that his is the key to Ford leaving him. ㅤ✧ Doesn't know how to deal with feelings. ✧ Has developed a taste for painting pictures. ㅤ✧ Watch Ford from the beginning. ༘⋆ Stanley Pines ── .✦

ㅤㅤSpared when the “party” started. His mission became to save his brother from Bill Cipher. Learned to live in the multidimension, and well, he did well with his entrepreneurial streak.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤHe's now wanted in several dimensions and is a space pirate!

彡 Trivia ✧He wears a mask because, unlike Ford, he can't breathe in certain dimensions. This mask generates oxygen and stores it. ㅤ✧ The sunglasses are purely for style, honestly. Or is it to go unnoticed? ✧ He has a scar on his mouth because of Bill.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ Mabel Cipher ★彡

ㅤㅤAll she knows is that she was brought up by Bill because Ford wanted his great-nephews - after all, what it is? ㅤㅤLoves partying with the Henchmaniacs, but doesn't understand why they avoid the “Earth”. She considers Bill and Ford her parents.

彡 Trivia

✧ Like Ford and Dipper, she has the surname Cipher and has always known herself that way. ㅤ✧ Doesn't know who Stanley is. ✧ Loves Bill, and Bill loves her, he considers her to have “chaotic potential”, she thinks that's a compliment.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖࣪ Dipper Cipher

ㅤㅤDoesn't really mind that began to exist at the age of 12, but he is very curious about his origin. ㅤㅤ Loves exploring the multidimension with his sister and is completely inspired by Ford. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤHe still wants to understand what humans are. ㅤ彡 Trivia

ㅤ✧ He's very proud of his birthmark ✧ Copies Ford's style, even though he tells Dipper to create his own. ㅤ✧ Not very close to the Henchmaniacs, but likes talking to Pyronica, she's quite intelligent! ✧ Transboy 🏳️‍⚧️

༘⋆ Fiddleford McGucket ── .✦

ㅤㅤAlmost gave it all up after the Weirdmaggedon, but he still had enough sanity to carry on. ㅤㅤHe deleted details and stored them in his memory, currently wandering the multiverse with Stanley in search of defeating Bill Cipher.

ᵗʰᵃᵗˢ ᵃˡˡ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ⁿᵒʷ

(yeah i changed the name..)

[hard-core-super-star]

sudden desire [K.Bishop + Y.Belova]

pairing: dom!yelena belova x sub!reader x switch!kate bishop

summary: after yelena dissapears on an unknown mission for a month, kate decides to take things into her own hands and encourage her to come home. things don't go exactly as planned for her on the blonde's return.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! -> dom/sub dynamics; implied pet play {collars, yelena using 'pet' and 'kotenok'}; orgasm denial; bondage; fingering; oral; sex toys; a dash of overstimulation; praise + degredation; kate's a brat and proud of it; yelena's mean but a secret softie; a SEVERE lack of proof-reading!

wordcount: 4.8k

a/n: SURPRISE! kinktober may be over but i got too attached to this idea and had to finish it. i have so many thoughts and feelings about this fic but i will save them and let you guys read it and form your own opinions about this dynamic. personally, i am OBSESSED with them and i would love to expand this little universe a little more. despite this being mostly shameless smut, there are quite a few feelings involved, especially regarding yelena and how being in this dynamic helps her unwind in a way without things being strictly sexual. so yeah, there's a lot but i really hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

It doesn't take a genius to figure out Yelena has been acting off for the past few weeks.

It isn't unusual for her to be a little distant. Still a little rough around the edges, thanks to the unbelievable amounts of trauma she keeps hidden inside herself. Things are different this time, though.

It's been days since she's shown up at the apartment, even longer since she's returned one of your calls. She never goes more than a few days without letting you know where she is, that she's okay and simply busy on whatever mission has taken her attention this time.

Kate tells you not to worry, that the Russian is probably just caught up in whatever mess she's discovered. You know better than that.

Unfortunately for the archer, you learned what the constant furrowing of her eyebrows means a long time ago.

Unfortunately for you, she's far too good at distracting you, always knowing exactly what to do, exactly what to say to steal all your thoughts away.

She can't fully erase your worry, though. Not that she'd even try, considering she feels the same way. Underneath all her stupid jokes, there's an edge of uncertainty she can't quite hide. It weighs her down more than anything else.

You both know Yelena could disappear in an instant if she wanted to. She could throw it all to the wind and never be heard from again if she so pleased.

She'd promised she wouldn't do it, though. Reassured you and Kate that after spending so long without a stable place to call home, she wanted to stay with you two. She wanted to be with you two.

It had taken very little to convince Kate to agree. Despite their rocky beginning, the chemistry they shared was obvious to even the most oblivious. Instead of being jealous about it like you maybe should have, you were intrigued and maybe more than a little attracted to it.

To them and the borderline overwhelming confidence they seem to exude together.

You've never been one for liking simple things, though, and the challenge of keeping them from going at each other's throats acts like an aphrodisiac most nights.

For all their bickering, they're surprisingly easy to manage. Except when it comes to the intricate play sessions Yelena enjoys setting up.

The details of what your relationship had turned into were mostly lost on you. All you knew was that whatever the Russian says goes...and Kate was bound to get punished for not doing as she was told.

As much as Yelena loves to complain about it, you all know she secretly loves it. Loves the thrill that comes with being in charge. That safe rush that takes over her mind and allows her to act without thinking. To command respect in a way she'd never experienced before.

It was a change of pace from what you were used to with Kate, that was for sure. Despite the uncharted territory, you'd gotten used to it far faster than you would have ever imagined. They both made it easy and there was something about the submission Yelena expected from you that made your heart race.

You'd never experienced anything like it before, but you couldn't deny how much you liked it. How much you craved it when she was gone.

Kate does what she can to make the time without the blonde more bearable. You're thankful for her, for the way she knows what you need without even having to ask, but it's not the same. A part of you feels guilty about it. Like there's something wrong with you for wanting to have both of your girlfriends with you.

The archer doesn't seem to mind, though. You know she feels the exact same way you do. As incredible as being with each other is, Yelena brings something different to your relationship. Something extra that you both thrive off of.

Maybe that's what makes Kate employ such...interesting persuasion tactics.

Once the days turn into weeks which turn into a month, the archer's patience wears thin. Just because you both know Yelena's silence must be due to a dangerous mission doesn't mean you're okay with the lack of communication.

Your impatience starts blending with Kate's and before you know it, you're caught in the middle of one of her "incredible" plans.

"Come on, babe," she says, her lips pulling into that all-familiar smirk. "Maybe all Yelena needs is a good incentive. Don't you want her to see what a good girl you're being for me?"

Her words do a good job convincing you, but they're not enough. You know all too well how cruel the Russian can be when she feels she's been disrespected. And the archer playing with you without permission is definitely off-limits.

It's hard to deny Kate when she's looking at you like that, though. With those sparkling eyes and that suggestive smirk.

"I don't know, Katie, it feels like a bad idea," you reply, ignoring the way she keeps leaning closer and closer to you.

"Maybe but bad ideas are the most fun, aren't they?"

You can't exactly argue with that, considering the many stupid things you've done together that have led to incredible pleasure. Although, truth be told, the archer is usually the one who has to bear the burden of whatever punishment comes after. You wish you could say you feel bad about that but...she is the one who comes up with most ideas.

You're in the middle of trying to form a response when Kate leans in to capture your lips in a heated kiss. It's impossible to stop yourself from kissing her back, your hands moving up to tangle in her messy hair.

You pull her closer to you until she's straddling your lap, practically trapping you between her and the couch. You'd love to complain, but she feels far too good against you for you to even try.

Her kisses make your mind spin until nothing remains except her. She knows this, of course, because she knows you so damn well.

When she pulls away, she's breathless yet somehow still smiling like you put the stars in the sky. "I think you're coming around to my idea."

She's not wrong but the smugness in her tone pisses you off a little. "I still think it's stupid."

"I never said it wasn't." Kate rolls her hips, tantalizingly grinding down against you. "But I promise you'll have a good time."

You groan as your head leans back against the couch with a soft thump. "You're gonna get us in so much trouble."

"Yelena loves her little troublemakers, though."

"Oh my God, please stop talking."

"Not until you agree." Her lips find their way onto your jaw, pressing soft kisses and teasing bites to your skin. "...please."

It's a low blow and he knows it, but it's impossible to deny the archer when she asks for things so nicely. "Ugh, fine, just don't tie the ropes so tight this time."

Kate agrees and before you know it, you're naked and tied up with the purple rope the archer loves to use on you. To top everything off, she wrapped her collar around your neck, something that was bound to get a reaction out of the Russian.

You and Kate were her pets and while she allowed the archer to stake some claims of dominance over you, this one was off-limits. Not that Kate cared much. She was usually a lot better at doing things behind the blonde's back, though.

What Yelena didn't know didn't hurt her, but now, she was about to be dragged into something she wasn't going to be very happy to see.

Sending her pictures of the evidence is one thing, but Kate wants more. She always does.

So, she brings out more toys, stuffing your cunt with a thick dildo and pressing a relentless vibrator to your puffy clit. The pleasure is more than enough to drown out your thoughts and objections which means you barely flinch when Kate takes her phone out again. She records the way you squirm for her, the way you moan her name like a prayer, and then, to top it all off, she sends the videos to a very pissed off Russian.

It takes a while for the consequences of the archer's actions to catch up to you.

Since Yelena's obviously busy, it takes her a few days to come back. You're not home when she arrives, having gone out to run a quick errand, but Kate is. 

Which means you're met with quite the situation on your return.

The second you close the apartment door behind you, you're slammed against it, a gentle yet firm hand wrapping itself around your throat. You freak out for about a second until your senses catch up to reality and the smoky scent of Yelena's cologne hits your nose.

Almost instantly, you relax into her hold and meet her dark green eyes. There are so many words on the tip of your tongue, but you can tell she's not in the mood for it. Her mind is completely set on the scene she already started without you.

"Hi, detka. Did you miss me?"

You do your best to nod despite how difficult her grip on your throat makes it.

"Yes? Well, that is not what Kate Bishop told me a few days ago. She said you were being a naughty slut for her."

Her words make your heart drop into your stomach. You knew Kate's plan was stupid, but you didn't think she would throw you under the bus like that. What a cheeky little traitor.

"Do not worry, kotenok, Kate and I already worked things out. Would you like to see?"

Without waiting for a response, she moves her hand from your throat to your hand, gently tugging on it to lead you toward the living room. You go with her and your eyes are instantly drawn to Kate's figure on the couch, tied up in a pattern strikingly similar to the one she'd used on you mere days ago.

The biggest difference, though, is the large, purple dildo stuffed inside her cunt. Just from looking at her, you know exactly what her punishment is going to be for stepping out of line the way she did. You have to admit, though, she looks incredible like this. Gagged and wearing her purple collar with the leash attached.

"What do you think?" Yelena asks, her tone giving away how proud she is of herself.

"She looks good," you reply, earning yourself a smile from the Russian and a muffled whine from the archer.

As much as you sympathize with Kate, you can't say you didn't warn her.

A soft squeeze to your hand makes you turn to look at Yelena again. There's a familiar softness in her features as she looks at you, almost as if she's trying to read you, trying to figure out if you're on the same page as her. You know where that insecurity comes from and you're more than ready to wipe any and all doubts from her mind.

It's easier said than done, though, and the first step is always the hardest.

Thankfully, Yelena takes it for you.

"Kneel."

It's a single word, barely a command, but the storms hidden in her green eyes don't lie. She needs this just as much as you need her.

So, even though you crave comfort more than submission right now, you do exactly what she says. You drop down onto your knees in the middle of the living room, doing your best to ignore the way Kate squirms on the couch.

Yelena steps forward, her hand reaching out to caress your face. "You look so good like this, malishka. You understand pets should be seen and not heard, right? Or do I need to teach you a lesson too?"

You shake your head, not feeling particularly enthused about receiving a punishment already. Then again, you're sure if the blonde really wanted to, she'd do it anyway, regardless of your good behavior.

"Good."

It's not entirely praise, but her voice carries a twinge of affection that makes Kate whine. You don't know what happened between them, what exactly the archer did to piss off the blonde so much, but you know she's paying for it now. Which means, in some weird way, you're paying for it too.

Yelena admires you for a long moment, silently watching your reactions, watching the way you submit deeper and deeper with eveyr second that goes by. She loves Kate, she really does, but there's something about the ease with which she can control you that does things to her that she can't explain.

It's not about the pleasure. At least, not fully.

It's not even about the power she holds over you right now.

It's about the control. About being able to not worry and know you'll do exactly what she wants.

She doesn't have to guess or think too hard. 

You're both on opposite ends of the same spectrum. You both need each other to stop the fears and the worries. To quiet your thoughts until nothing remains but each other...and the whiny, puppy-like switch squirming on the couch.

It's strange, but it works. You all work. And it's absolutely terrifying because none of you have ever experienced anything like this before. You've never wanted anything the way you want each other.

"What do you want from me tonight, detka?" The blonde asks, her voice still soft despite the hardness on her face. "I will give you anything you desire."

Her words carry far more weight than you want to think about right now. You want to simply focus on the scene. On the role you have to play here.

It's hard, though, when Yelena's looking at you with an adoration that rivals Kate's. It's not like the Russian doesn't love you. You know she does. She just shows it in ways that aren't super compatible with you.

Right now, though...right now, it's working for you far more than it should be. All you can think about is how much you missed her, how badly you want to be under her control once more.

You're not sure how to articulate what you're looking for. All you can do is hope the blonde can make sense of the messy thoughts in your head.

"I just want you," you reply, your words a touch too vulnerable for your liking. "Want you to take control. To touch me until I can't take it anymore."

After spending the past few weeks taking orders from rich people who pay well but don't understand what it takes to kill a person, your request sounds like music to her ears. It's almost laughable how easy it'll be to fufill your desires, to give you exactly what you want until you can't think about anything else but her.

"I can work with that," she says, the corners of her mouth curling up into a wicked smirk. "As long as you are okay without Kate Bishop?"

The question catches you a little off-guard. Not because you're particuarly in need of the stubborn archer, but because she is. Yelena's a good domme, no one can deny that, and yet she hesitates to use you without Kate breathing down her neck.

She must be really pissed off if she wants to keep her off to the side and away from the action.

"Yeah, I'm okay with that." Your words are true, but you can't deny your curiosity so you push a little more. "Is she only allowed to watch?"

"Until I decide she has learned her lesson."

 Yelena's response makes Kate cry out again. All the blonde has to do is look up and glare to get her to quiet down. It's scary how angry she seems to be...and also really, really hot.

Especially when she looks back down at you and her eyes soften. "Present yourself for me, kotenok. Remind me what I have been missing."

You don't waste any time in scrambling into position. Kate's eyes seem to burn through you while you get onto your hands and knees in front of Yelena, pushing your ass back just a little. 

Despite the clothes you're still wearing, you feel incredibly exposed.

That feeling only intensifies as the blonde walks around you, circling you slowly and taking in every inch of your body. You're not sure where to look, stuck between wanting to duck your head in a show of submission and keeping your eyes on Kate, watching the frustration that blooms across her beautiful features.

Thankfully, Yelena doesn't like keeping you guessing. She enjoys clear commands, leaving none of you with doubts about what she's looking for. "Keep your eyes on her, datka. You too, Kate Bishop."

You let out a hum in response while the archer in front of you huffs and squirms around in her restraints. You have to admit...the sight is incredible.

The Russian settles behind you, a callused hand reaching out to caress down your spine. It takes you a second longer to realize you feel more than just her hand. However, as soon as the thought hits you, she steals them all away with a precise slice of her trusty combat knife.

It shouldn't be surprising, and yet you still gasp, your back arching while she cuts away your clothes. "Do not worry, detka, Kate Bishop will you buy a new outfit. Isn't that right, pet?"

Kate all but glares at you. You know it's not about you. Whatever issues they're having are unfortunatly being worked out through you, but you're not the problem. Hell, maybe there isn't even a problem. Maybe they're just having fun pushing back against each other because they can.

You honestly don't know. But the uncertainty makes everything all the more pleasurable. At least for you. You're not sure the archer can say the same thing.

Yelena makes quick work of your clothes, allowing them to drop to the ground and reveal your dripping cunt. You can't see her smirk, but you feel it in the way her fingers skim over your skin. Light enough to tease but hard enough to remind you not to move. To stay nice and still while she has her fun.

"Look at you. So desperate already. You truly amaze me, kotenok. Always so ready for me to use your pretty holes."

Your walls clench around pure air, making the smirk on the blonde's face grow wider. She can't stop herself from sinking onto her knees behind you and reaching out to touch you.

Two fingers tease and prod at your entrance while she watches you shake and shudder under her touch. She spreads your lips apart just to watch the way your cunt flutters around nothing. A part of her wants to draw this out, you're sure of it, but she's missed you just as much as you've missed her. (Maybe more, but she'd never admit that out loud. Especially not with Kate around)

"You are so good for me, so perfect. All for me to use."

You open your mouth to reply, more out of instinct than a need to say something, but all that comes out is borderline pathetic moan as the blonde works her fingers into your pussy. 

She sets a slow pace, almost as if she's taking her time exploring you. The slow speed does little to soothe the fire burning low in your belly but it does help ease your desperation. Not by much, of course, and you're sure the blonde knows that.

Almost as if on cue, Yelena's other hand joins the fun, thumb drawing circles on your sensitive clit. The action catches you off-guard and you barely manage to balance yourself instead of falling face-first onto the ground below you.

Your reaction makes her laugh, but what really entertains her is the struggle Kate is visibly going through. 

The archer has always thrived off your pleasure. Always gotten off on your desperate sounds, on the way you lose control over your body, on the palpable desperation that stretches itself over your features. Today is no different. Except for the fact she can't get off.

Sure, her cunt is stuffed full and the dildo keeps rubbing up against her in the best way whenever she squirms around too much, but it's not nearly enough. Her clit throbs painfully, swollen and in desperate need of attention. She won't be getting anything right now, though. Not until Yelena decides she's learned her lesson...or until Kate manages to make herself cum.

"Look at her, malyshka. And here I thought you were the needy one."

You do look at Kate, more out of habit than anything else. She's a vision. Flushed, desperate, and so squirmy it's a miracle she hasn't fallen off the couch.

The sight of her makes you clench around Yelena's fingers, greedily trying to pull them in deeeper. Neither of you are surprised, but it does make the blonde a little more competitive than usual.

She suddenly increases her speed, curling her fingers just enough to have you pushing back against her in search of more. "Such a greedy little pet. You are lucky I like seeing you like this. Although..."

Her words trail off and you instantly know she's coming up with something new. Some other way of making you submit to her, of playing with both of you until Kate stops trying to be a smartass. You doubt that'll happen, but you know Yelena will try anyway.

Whatever the Russian comes up with, she doesn't say anything more, instead going right back to fucking into your cunt. She works a third finger into your walls, stretching you on the digits while she mercilessly rubs your clit.

You can feel it building. The pleasure reaching and reaching toward a fever pitch that will leave you fuzzy-headed and thoughtless. It's so close. You open your mouth, obediently getting ready to ask for permission like a good pet, when suddenly...she removes her fingers from you.

You try your hardest to hold on to some semblance of composure, but you can't. Not when you were so close and full and feeling so good.

A whine makes its way out of your throat and you promptly earn yourself a hard smack to your ass.

"Do not be a brat. You do not want to join Kate Bishop, correct?"

Your response is instantaneous. "No. I'm sorry."

"I know you are, kotenok. But I still need you to behave, okay?"

You nod and Yelena smiles at your quick change of mood. She doesn't say anything else, merely motions for you to crawl forward, toward Kate and the mess between her legs.

Your body moves before you can even comprehend what you're doing. You crawl toward the archer, coming to a stop right between her spread legs, courtesy of Yelena shifting her around until she was sitting up. You tilt your head back to look up at the blonde, waiting slightly impatiently for her command.

You have a feeling you already know what it's going to be.

Yelena takes her time, though. Pretending to be busy adjusting Kate's posture and spreading her thighs for you to see the mess she's made of herself.

Once she's satisfied, and your nose is full of the scent of the archer's arousal, she finally tells you to move. "You know what to do, detka. Make the brat scream your name."

If Kate has any objections, they're swallowed up by her moans once your tongue finds its way onto her clit. It practically pulses beneath you and you waste no time wrapping your lips around the bud and sucking. Hard.

The archer tries to squirm away from you, caught somewhere between her sensitivity and her desperate need for an orgasm. Yelena holds her steady while she keeps her eyes on you. She doesn't really need to, she already knows you know what to do.

You technically don't have permission to touch so you put all your focus into making Kate fall apart with just your mouth. The frantic bucking of her hips tells you all you need to know about how she's feeling. You've never been so jealous of a dildo before, wishing it was your fingers she was clenching around instead.

The archer doesn't seem to mind, though, head thrown back against Yelena, muffled whines leaving her gagged mouth. Whatever the blonde is saying to her is a mere whisper, a secret between them, perfectly crafted to make her fall apart.

You double your efforts, sucking her clit and dragging your tongue along the surface. Your eyes are glued to her face, to the pleasure that spreads along every inch of it, to the rapid heaving of her chest as she tries to keep herself under control. It's useless, though. You all know she's on the edge of losing her composure. Of letting her usual brattiness fade away until all that remains is Yelena's power over her.

Kate's shaking increases in intensity, giving away just how close she is to falling apart. She can't exactly ask for permission due to being gagged but then again, she doesn't need to. Yelena already knows. She always knows.

"Come on, Kate Bishop. Do not tell me you forgot the rules already. I was hoping I would be able to reward you for doing such a good job."

The archer bucks into your mouth, making you moan against her. The vibrations do little to soothe the burning in her core and it takes all her willpower to not fall apart right then and there.

All she can do, though, is let out a string of incoherent mumbles, tinged with a whiny edge that makes Yelena smirk. Those sounds are nowhere near the words she's meant to be saying, the desperate begging the blonde loves hearing from her.

"It sounds like someone does not want the reward I'm offering. What a shame..." She trails off purposely, doing it just to mess with the archer's head.

Kate bites. Of course, she does. As much as she loves to pretend, and as stubborn as she can be most days, she loves this. Loves the rush that comes with the blonde's power over her. There's pleasure in the pushback, but it's when she lets go that she truly feels the weight of it.

You don't slow down for a second. You know it makes things much harder for your girlfriend, but you can't really help it. You're intoxicated by the smell of her, by the taste of her never-ending arousal.

She continues to let out strings of mumbles and whines, each sound growing more desperate than the last. Her thighs shake uncontrollably, giving away just how much she's struggling to hold her orgasm off.

As mean as Yelena can be sometimes, she's not cruel. She only drags the moment out for a few extra seconds before her hand curls into Kate's hair, dragging her head back to expose her delicate throat. "I know, I know. Go ahead, cum for me, darling. You did good."

It's unclear which part of the Russian's words gets to the archer, but it doesn't matter, the effect is the same.

Her whole body stills for a second, a strangled cry getting caught in her throat as she comes undone.

You moan with her which helps drag out the pleasure crashing into her like waves. You work overtime to lap up her release, drinking in her essence and soothing her overwhelming sensitivity as best as you can. It doesn't seem to work considering how violent her shaking becomes, but you don't have any complaints.

Yelena's hand somehow finds its way onto your hair next and she pulls you off the whining archer. "Such a good pet for me. Good girl, kotenok. Will you help me with Kate? She is...a little out of it."

You know what she means. Mainly because you can see it but also because of the way the blonde drops off Kate's last name. You're not fully sure why she has such a fascination with using your girlfriend's full name all the time. All you know is her habit instantly dissapears when the archer's submissive side comes out.

It's not too surprising, though, considering how badly Kate craves comfort and connection in those moments.

A part of you wants to complain since you still haven't gotten your orgasm, but you know better.

You stand up on shaky legs and help Yelena untie the brunette. Leaving the collar on is a no-brainer and even though her whines are pitiful, you slide the dildo out of her.

You pepper kisses across her skin the entire time, instantly recognizing how glossy her eyes are, how far away her mind seems to be. She's as beautiful as ever, in your opinion.

In no time, the three of you are snuggled up in bed. Kate's still really floaty, you're on the edge of going totally fuzzy, and Yelena is happier than she's been in weeks. 

Maybe it's weird but you really don't fucking care. Not when Kate's head is resting in your lap and you're completely relaxed lounging in between Yelena's legs.

[nightoncydonia]

It's WIP Wednesday again so I thought I'd share a little bit of a thing I've been working on for a while now. I don't know if or when it will ever see the light but well, we'll see...

“I can’t lose you, Obi-Wan. I know it’s not the Jedi way, I know you would lecture me about attachment and how there is no death, only the Force and I should learn to trust It, but I just can’t.” His eyes were brimming with unshed tears, the expression painted on his features so serious as his hands faintly shook in Obi-Wan’s grasp. “I can’t lose you.” He repeated softly, a murmur that broke Obi-Wan’s heart in his vulnerability, as if Anakin was still that trembling nine year old who fisted at his robe, the flames of Qui-Gon’s pire dancing on his face.

“I can’t lose you.” Anakin said again, tears finally spilling down his cheeks as he let go of Obi-Wan’s hands to hold onto his tunics instead and bury his face in the other man’s chest, body shaking from sobs. Obi-Wan froze for a moment, a retort about what his old Master could possibly still do for Anakin dying on his lips as the full force of the younger man’s fear finally settled in.

Anakin was terrified, holding onto Obi-Wan as if he was afraid he would slip from his fingers were he to loosen his grasp, and could Obi-Wan really blame him? Would he react so differently were their roles reversed? Was it still so important to pretend Anakin wasn’t everything for him, that he wasn’t attached beyond repair and had been for quite some time, perhaps even before the war had started?

So he held Anakin back, circling him with his arms and pressing him closer against his chest, kissing the crown of his head and burying his nose in his golden curls. And Anakin squeezed him back, harder, lifting his head until his face was a breath away from Obi-Wan’s. His eyes were glassy and red and his voice quivered as he whispered against Obi-Wan’s lips “Take me, please.”

Obi-Wan’s conflict was, once again, short lived. Because Anakin was right, come tomorrow night he really could be dead, as a matter of fact both of them could, so why deny themselves further?

Would taking him now make that much of a difference? Would it really matter so much that he finally gave in to his desires and cross this last bridge when he already loved Anakin with every fibre of his being? What was sex when they had already belonged to each other in every possible way, when they already lived inside each other’s mind through that bond neither of them had ever dared to sever?

And so he complied, kissing the salty streaks of tears from Anakin’s cheeks, devouring his soft mouth until they were both breathless and shuddering with desire. They stumbled towards Obi-Wan’s bedroom, peeling each other’s clothes off with urgency and kissing fervently, but when Obi-Wan had Anakin splayed naked on his bed he slowed his pace, taking his time.

It was the first time they came together like this and it might very well be the last, so Obi-Wan was bent on committing every single detail of Anakin’s body to his mind, on cataloguing each and every sound that left the other man’s lips, every sigh and moan.

His fingers trembled as he ever so gently carved a space for himself in Anakin’s body, slowly opening him up with the utmost care. And when he finally pushed into him, he let go of all his shields, all his defences, taking his pleasure and giving equally until they became one, hands entwined and heated whispers of love on their lips.

In the dark of the night, with only the moons of Coruscant as their witnesses he had promised to never leave him, that once he returned victorious from having defeated Grievous they would live their truth, leave the Order if it came down to it, because there was nothing, nothing in the entire galaxy, not even the Jedi, that to Obi-Wan mattered more than Anakin.

And Anakin, in turn, had told him that he loved him, that he wanted nothing more than to be with Obi-Wan for as long as Obi-Wan would allow him to and that he dreamed of raising his children with him and grow old together and Obi-Wan’s heart had swelled with more love than he could possibly hope to contain.

So it spilled across their bond, enveloping them both in warmth and light for what they prayed wasn’t the last time.

But oh, how cruel could the Force be.

[carlzy-berryz]

Neo 3 ^^

Ref sheet done, lol. This took forever ahhh!! Ik it's not the neatest, but it gets the job done XD.

I'll go into more detail under the cut.. (lore)

Everleigh used to live in Inkpolis Plaza but her family had to move to the Splatlands a couple years back, to take care of her grandma. Her life kinda changed from then XD. The treatment for her grandma was expensive and turf war just wasn't cutting it anymore... so her parents suggested Salmon Run (Everleigh had no idea what this was at the time) but she agreed, nonetheless, after all if it pays well it can't be that bad, right?

Well this is where she developed weird "attachment issues" to the salmonids, she thought they were cute (especially smallfry), and wondered why so many people wanted to take their eggs, they didn't deserve that... So she started slacking off, not getting quota on purpose, giving eggs to snatchers, not reviving teammates ect... nobody ever suspected her though..

How she met Waffle..

One day at the end of a shift, Everleigh noticed an injured Smallfry near the shore, struggling to move, she went to help him but she could hear the helicopter about to leave, so she put him in her bag and scrambled back. She looked after him for weeks and weeks, feeding him, giving him a place to sleep, going on morning runs all to get his strength back! It wasnt easy though, as she had to hide him from everbody, she even took him to work (while bribing him with food as a reward, lol) he just stayed in her bag the whole time!

Eventually he was back to his bubbly self and fully recovered which meant Everleigh had to return him to the sea... She had always intended this, but she had grown far too attached to him, she couldn't stomach the thought of a co-worker killing him.. so she decided to keep him and named him Waffle!

The day she became an agent...

As usual she was on her way to work with Waffle, she was about to walk up the stairs when she heard a voice, it was coming from a manhole, she looked over and a strange old man was signaling her to walk over, he disappeared down the manhole and they follow him...

*I'll spare you the whole story mode Alterna plot you already know what happens XD*

After defeating Mr Grizz she knew for a fact she couldn't work for him anymore. She told her parents that she wanted to quit but they wouldn't let her, they said it was too much money to give up, then they started guilt tripping her saying things like "you really don't want to help your grandma..?" This made her feel terrible and she reluctantly continued working for a few more weeks... until she just couldn't take it anymore, she stomped into grizzco, slammed her things on the desk and shouted "I quit!" and she never set foot in there again. She traded the gold scales she'd earned over the years to a random octoling for money, (she sure wouldn't need those anymore) and managed to pay for her grandma's treatments! She now lives with her grandma and Waffle in a small apartment and works full time as an agent, getting paid now by the captain! She rarely speaks to her parents and will leave the apartment when they visit.

Side effects of becoming an agent..

.She doesn't have much time to do things anymore as she's always busy doing missions

.Her hair now looks a little fluffy, this is due to all the fuzzy ooze she fell in..

.She kinda developed ptsd from fighting her way through the missions.

.Feels like she can't meet Waffle's needs and doesn't want to overwork him.

These are just a few things, but she can't say she regrets anything, after all, it was her release from everything. She made new friends, defeated Grizz, participates in turf and anarchy again (with the other agents) and best of all she's happier now, that's what really matters!

That's about it really, sorry for the long story, 😭 I just wanted to get it out there since she didn't have much character development before, so if you made it here,thank you so much for reading the whole thing, I appreciate you!! ^^ I apologise if it didn't really make sense...

Here's a close up of Waffle as a reward XP

🫶

[celerifleuri]

i often worry about some aspects being too implicit/obscure so seeing things being picked up on makes me incredibly happy!!

i think you can never truly achieve a perfect balance of implicit vs explicit because it depends heavily on the individual and how willing they are to engage with the text

as a reader who loves specificity, word choice and generally reading into things, i try to write so that one line can be read in multiple ways

this kind of writing may not be for everyone but it's a kind that's very fun to me and knowing that im not alone in this is always quite reassuring !

to your comment on the title and tongues, im going to add a silly expression

silence is a key part of maelyn's character (the game as a whole even) and she quite literally holds her own tongue at times!

depending on how you read hold and which tongues you associate it with, the title can also refer to the tongues maelyn physically held in her hands, the tongues held together as feathers for the wing, anything you see fit!

(was going to put a screenshot there but it'd be quite long so just go ahead and google 'hold meaning' and have fun 😭)

eric is one hell of a character and i have plans to really highlight the facade he used to have back when everything seemed fine

that will probably be easier to see in bonus episodes but at its core, his character is all about the duality of abusers. how no matter how good someone may seem, you can't know how they think and what they can do, especially when things don't go how they want them to

you mention the dress (rightfully so) and there's also another thing he gives/leaves her with! the braid and ribbons!

he used to tie her hair (//trap her into a sort of feminine ideal) and you'll notice that no matter how loose, she still keeps her hair tied. until a specific ending!

but even there, she didn't untie them herself, she simply became the doll of another. so no matter how free she can appear then, she is very much dead (you could totally argue that death freed her of everything but if she/her mind was freed, her body was not!)

more things can be said about the hair and the doll but ill stop there, you can think of them yourself !

thank you for the 'grounding yourself again' because yes!! it might be in the details but here and there, feelings will take her out of her thoughts and bring her back to reality

for the 'to be kept' part too, thank you

not commenting on everything but i am very much chewing on your words, i love reading interpretations!!

the 'so she could breathe' is also quite ironic because if you're not deluding yourself like he is, maelyn is dead, so what is the point of giving her room to breathe now? like many out there, she needed that way before. it's pointless now, it only serves the one that does the act, it only makes them feel better, considerate

feel free to share your thoughts anytime, i love reading them and rambling in response!

MERU😭😭😭 i finally had a free moment to relax and the first thing i wanted to do was play hold your tongues and i've spent the last few hours pouring over how absolutely beautiful of a piece it is in storytelling and visuals. i genuinely have so much to gush over and idk where i should be doing it so into your inbox it goes. i apologise in advance, you also don't have to respond to this bc 1) i am aware it's gonna get vv long and 2) spoilers will definitely be mentioned

i hope sel knows what an absolute gem of a writer she is for executing all of this bc i am fucking gobsmacked by how well certain ideas and concepts were interwoven throughout the entire piece. maybe a lot of the things following are just my interpretations, but that's another thing i really really love — there's enough ambiguity in the prose to be able to infer it in so many different ways

first to the namesake of the game, ‘hold your tongues’ and the many connotations of tongues that are explored throughout; as symbols of liberation and entrapment that intermingle so so well. i feel like the game really delves into the struggles that women face in society, in relationships, just in general and i like how since it's done so through maelyn's own perspective, we're privy to a more complex and raw display of how deeply emotionally scarring it can be.

eric is a little bitch imo (i won't retract that statement ever) but the ever judgmental, taunting and superior tone he has as the ‘voice’ in maelyn's head speaks volumes of the character he possessed and the lasting impact it had on her. giving her dress to another man makes her ‘unfaithful’, the fact that it's emphasised that these are only ‘remains’ of a dress too — bc eric left her with shreds, physically, mentally. 

if we take the dress to act as a metaphor for maelyn herself, he left her in shreds.

in response to this, maelyn bites her tongue, so hard that it bleeds. it's restraint, quite literally biting back your anger and the feeling of being wronged. grounding yourself again to the harsh reality of it all, and it brings her back to the present moment when starling points it out.

we see a similar occurrence later on when maelyn relays her tongue ‘longing for a taste, was to be kept down.' so again, she stops herself (and i think the wording here is particularly interesting, that it was to be kept, so intrinsically this too may also link to how women are commonly taught to be submissive and forced to fit to certain standards). 

in both contexts, the act of biting the tongue can be taken as a suppression of some sort of desire — the first is the desire to be mad, and the second is the desire of lust. both which women have been criticised for through the ages.

i also like to think that the tongue is a representation of freedom. starling is very much making wings to fly out of them, and taking them away from ppl has ‘forever deprived of their ability to lie’ (in which case lying = freedom, i won't expand on this too much bc it'll be another whole essay😭) so going back to maelyn, her biting hers can also be seen as her freedom being hurt, prevented.

another thing is, the line just before ‘he never ran out of tongues’, we can take this as starling never having his freedom threatened. and it poses further questions. is this because of his strength? is it because he has the ocean ‘wholly’? is it because he's a ‘man’?

on my first run through, one of the most prominent questions i came away w/ was what was it that attracted maelyn to starling? to the concept of these monsters of the sea that had surpassed human constraints that had her waiting out all those hours to catch a glimpse of one to begin with. what was it that kept her coming back? time and time again, day after day when she could've not gone back to that shore after leaving.

the text narrates a couple of things that i think contributed, there's a sense of warring humanity and animosity in the repetitive motifs of dirt and uncleanliness, in her noting that starling looked ‘half a man’ and that one half could've ‘consumed’ the other. maelyn has an envy that's touched upon frequently. does maelyn want to be closer to a monster so that no one can hurt her? or does she feel like a monster is all she can be now?

then there's a dynamic with power that was honestly done so well. again, my praise to sel for how well thought out it all was. that part where she put her hand into his guts and he made sounds he was ‘unable to control’, another when she tells him ‘cut’ and he does so without question — she recognises she holds the reins in that moment, acknowledges, ‘in control, I breathed.’ 

starling listens to her for the most part, it's a reoccuring theme. even when making his wings, he's following her instructions although it's made clear that he learns quick and is capable. perhaps this gives her comfortability.

but we see this turn on its head when things start to go left, starling begins to do as he pleases and maelyn is taken back into her trauma, back to feeling ‘disgusting’ and ‘unclean’, she even apologises and promises to do better.

leashes are mentioned a few times, maelyn first describes them as a sort of ‘necklace’ — perhaps this is tribute to the way a woman's submission is often beautified and normalised. the ‘leash’ starling puts on her in one of the ends is made of pearls, he keeps it in his mouth before this. could this be a reference to eric's sweet words that bound maelyn before he revealed himself? starling ties it somewhat loosely ‘so she could breathe’ yet that doesn't take away the fact that it's still there. it has a sort of your cage is not small, but that doesn't mean you're not locked in it kinda feel.

there's so much more i could say but i think ive alr said too much😭 i didnt even get to touch on the cuddle ending which was my favourite, or the symbolism of losing fingers, the significance of the numbers two, three and four to the story. I DIDN'T EVEN TALK MUCH ABT THE ART😭😭 MERU SORRY I GOT DISTRACTED BUT THE ART WAS PHENOMENAL❗️❗️❗️❗️

maelyn is super pretty and i love how her and starling contrast each other in design so nicely. starling's expressions were stellar ++ the bgs and cgs were beautiful (you're right, if you didn't clarify it i would think you were behind the chest one haha). also the body horror aspect was really brought to life with the visuals and ik it definitely mustn't have been easy drawing all those organs, thank you for your service meruuuu

i'll shut up here before i write another 3k, but both you and sel did such a great job w/ this. the two of you deserve a nice break to rest so pls make sure to take things easy and take care of yourselves!! drink water and sleep when you can, and know that you've made a masterpiece♥️

OH MY GOD THIS ASK IS MAKING ME GO FERAL

It's so well written??? You did such a good job picking up the details hidden behind their lines??? I fish you continued writing because I for sure did not want to finish it and please do send the other thoughts you had if you can, I love this so much

I'm sure @celerifleuri will too so I'll tag her

You already mentioned the spoilers at the start but I'll also note it down here for people who haven't played the game yet. I'm sure sel will do a much better job answering your story analyses but I'll also say you're completely right with most things you've said.

The story takes place in 1800s with dated gender roles we unfortunately can still relate to. Maelyn is a curious woman who wants to study and experiment, but is being held back by society and even people who she thought she could trust, but again Sel will do a better job explaining those.

I'll talk about the art a bit. One thing I really enjoyed that was kinda unintentional on my part was the use of night and day.

The story starts at night time, the first ever cg we get of Maelyn is her jumping down the cliff, with the moon's reflection on her left and the waves giving an illusion of wings as she looks up, in that very moment she is free.

On the other hand the first ever cg of Starling is day time. The sun is shining brightly from his left, almost blindingly, as he looks down. His hair covering the screen like spider webs.

To contrast these, it's night time in the wood ending. Just like the first cg of Maelyn, we can see the soft moonight shining upon them but not quite reaching Starling's face. Maelyn is alive.

Meanwhile in the bone ending, even though they are underwater we can tell it's day time, just like the first Starling cg. We get to see a glimpse of them through the seaweeds covering our view, the sunlight showering them gently. Starling is alive.

For the character designs too, a bit of a reverse but I'd say Maelyn resembles the sun, meanwhile Starling is like the moon.

They both share green eyes, although quite different shades. Maelyn has bright red hair that contrasts Starling's red tongue tail.

I also like that Maelyn's hair, albeit a bit loosely, is braided and kept tidy. Meanwhile Starling's hair is usually all over the place and quite messy.

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Walking In Two Worlds & The Everlasting Road

YA sff set in the near future where an opensource augmented reality is commonly used like social media, and there’s also a completely virtual fantasy game version

follows an Anishinaabe girl who who’s the top player in the VR game, and is constantly fighting to keep her place against the misogynist neo-nazi group in second place

as well as her real life, dealing with being a shy and self-conscious teen growing up on the Rez, and her brother having cancer

and a Uyghur boy who’s moved to her community from China after finding acceptance in an online community (even when he doesn’t agree with their more extreme views) - but when he gets to know Bugz, he has to decide who truly deserves his loyalty

great mix of sff and culture, the future while also very real community traumas of the past (and present)

[sskk-manifesto]

Ep 4 :)

[cak31ssuperi04]

Do you have any general hcs of the 1bit/1beat cast? Anythings fine

Kind of rough but

-I've played around with the idea with Eruno being from an orphanage/foster home(the "because you've got a proper family" bit) but I go back and forth on this one.

-Nio and Sakuma are friends! He does shifts at Bitwave they hang out there. The poor boy needs someone to fend off the fangirls.

-Eruno and Akitaka accompany Haruya on deliveries sometimes. Pals.

-When Aira's mimetic muscles get installed she doesn't really quite get how to use them immediately. Her expressions start out real stiff(which she expresses dissatisfaction with, and gets help from the others) to real exaggerated and overplayed(think unbridled rage or pained anguish at things that just kind of annoy her).

-Also she has Kiri make her taller so she can grow alongside her friends!

-Also Also by 1beat she has at LEAST one sibling who's just, a really muscled out doll in frilly clothes.

-Meru listens to death metal. She'd hoped it'd help her stay up better but now she just kind of likes it.

-Outside of tending to the shrine, Hakuhi has embroidery as a hobby.

-Izuchi took piano lessons when he was younger(parents made him do it to try and play up the prodigy genius image). He quit.

-That potion thing he made in 1beat was ripped from Kirai's anime but in part he'd made it after Eruno came to him Demanding a way to make her dog live longer.

-He went to Blue sun college(less because he thought he needed to and more for the benefits a degree there would give him) and got into an apprenticeship with Kiri. He keeps the lab when Kiri moves to Coco Alley(easier to skirt by the law). Familiar with the Blue Sun Trio to some extent.

-He has a sweet tooth but doesn't really admit it because he deems it unhealthy.

-While he did have a hand in the creation of the master program, he doesn't stay on the team after it's finished. Does continue to get occasional updates about it from Hiyu and Nanase though.

-His room is all clean and organized on the surface(maybe a few seashell displays, a poster covering a hole in the wall) but he keeps all the goofy weird shit stored away in drawers and under his bed.*

-I've played around with the idea of there being a 3rd Nasuga sibling who's just too young to be relevant in the game(<-no canon basis i just thought it'd be fun) but I'm not sure if I'd keep that.

-Enri has a pet hamster! He's like the band's son.

-The gang Kirara used to be a part of was like a sparkly gyaru girl gang. She never really enjoyed fighting but took a lot of lessons growing up so she was really good at it. The gang is still going strong though and at least a few of her Gyaru Friends are members(and there's at least one member who's just a plain normal ass girl that hangs around them but that's getting into oc territory).

-Rocca ends up growing up to be like Really Fucking Tall. Momori models clothes on her and remarks that she could be a model if she didn't trip over herself so much(not that she'd want to be one anyways).

-Mary has 3 siblings, they've done a way better job at staying out of the public eye(and have grown somewhat distant from her as a result).

-On account of being friends with a lot of the townspeople and having a lot of relatives, Hitohito is just one of those guys with a lot of connections. In a "guy who knows a guy" way.

-Chino is Coco Alley's mom jkasdsa.

--She brings Sora(was familiar with his family and doesn't want him to get too lonely) cookies and flowers sometimes and while he's dismissive about it he does secretly appreciate it.

-Tobari is the heiress to a big tea emporium who dipped because she got bored and/or got into a disagreement with someone over there, but continues playing up her Elegant Fancy Lady image despite living paycheck to paycheck(which I mean, good for her I guess.)

-Although Sagara knows Asuto through Hitohito, they actually interact fairly regularly in anime forums.

-Hitohito, Izuchi, and Sagara were on friendly terms when they were kids but grew distant for reasons. Hitohito and Sagara had gotten back in touch and still hang out. Heat reached out to Izuchi but was promptly brushed off, still looks out for him. Izuchi and Sagara have a weird frenemy/rival thing going on.

-Sagara has no siblings she just kind of lives alone with her mom who may or may not hate her.(although it's less "hate" so much as disappointment)

-Sagara's chicken avatar is modeled after one of her childhood pets.

-Sagara definitely Naruto runs.

-She holds DnD(\Dnd adjacent. Just some ttrpg I'm not an expert) sessions at every couple of weeks. I'm not saying Izuchi willingly participates(those commoners are hopeless without his guidance), just that she didn't exactly have very many other people to invite(Hitohito and sometimes Meu and eventually Nanashi).

-She has a knack for trying to help townspeople as part of some sort of Magical Girl Code but isn't as good at it as she thinks she is.

-She has a compartment in her arm warmers that's full of bird feed, she's made an alliance with the pigeons.

-While she does cool it with the Organization stuff, she never drops the chuuni behavior. Eventually opens a small cake shop with some edgy chuuni-esque title(debated on whether it should be in the same place Little Berry was, like after little berry closes its doors).

-Nomiya and Hiyu butt heads a lot but they both get along fine with Azusa. Somebody needs to be nice to her god damn it.

-The Kujohs have a pet dog but it's actually Azusa's. Following with the rest of the family, it's a big intimidating dog that's actually just really chill. Enri has tried to look past it but he's always very leery about visiting them.

-Nomiya's riding an adrenaline high throughout most of the game but his more calm demeanor in his events is just him going in the opposite extreme as a result of coming down from it. He's usually fairly loud and confrontational, just not THAT loud and confrontational.

-He keeps in closest touch with Tobari after the hackers are disbanded. Somewhat on account of her being able to hold her own in Break Passage the best out of the other three. She views him as a weird little brother.

-The hackers hold gatherings in memory(or what little of that memory they even retained. It's mostly secondhand from Nanashi) of Mikado where they commit minor crimes. The gathering was Kotora's idea the crime was Nomiya's.

-Sagara has a journal that she calls the Abyss Tome that's just full of fanfiction and anime drawings of herself and her friends(/enemies). Has a bunch of spell names listed down in it.

-Saaya and Meu are friends! Saaya comes to her for divinations about her love life a lot and just ends up venting. Meu's happy to listen though and tries to comfort her the best she can.

-Speaking of therapy though, Saaya does get therapy sometime post-canon and distances herself from Nanase(while a lot of Nanashi's friendships that start off on the wrong foot have room for growth, the memory thing makes things kind of... weird with her). She's in a much better state by 1beat.

-Saaya writes a lot of poetry.

-Yoh and Sagara are related. Somehow(I did consider nephew at one point but that didn't really pan out).

-So are Hiyu and Arumu. They've got that green hair and funky eyebrows.

-Akuta and Kaori date briefly(well, she's a fan of his work, and he is rich, and while he can't speak multiple languages he is well-spoken, what could go wrong?) which just ends in them breaking up over a disagreement over a book's ending. That was more the final straw though, actually getting to know him put into perspective just how far from her expectations he actually is and she's not super pleased about it. They do stay friends but something something important lesson about your idols being people.

-I feel like I've said somewhere that Kotora leaves the cafe to Rocca when he retires but I need to clarify that Kotora keeps being the cafe guy well into old age and that Rocca would be a whole adult by then.

-Kaori was the youngest of her siblings and only one to stay with her mother, she sees her dad as a good for nothing deadbeat(it wasn't an amicable divorce) and the ordeal heavily influenced how she views romantic relationships as a whole. Grew up somewhat distant from Kotora and their sister but reconnected in adulthood.

-Her "ideal guy" is just the best traits of her favorite book leads cobbled together like some kind of frankenguy. (And she might be internalizing something... who knows)

-The world did enter a more 'cyberpunk dystopia'-esque futuristic state a long time ago and the return to more traditional old timey ways is sort of in response to that, but Yasune is the only one who'd actually lived through it. Although then again the 2nd oldest character in the game is only 36 so...

The post is starting to not process so I'm going to cut it off here.

[obey-me-headquarters]

..... After playing the new Baxter Dlc for Our Life I don't think this will be a purely Obey Me blog...

Listen I ALWAYS loved Cove, but I played Our Life before making this blog! Now that I've played the Baxter Dlc I'm itching to write something for him! And Cove to!

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[stunies]

very messy word dump below the cut + in tags :^) heh

okay it’s officially been a full day since reading this and i’m going to write down everything i remember feeling from day 1! and then in the tags im going to reread this (for the third time within 24 hours) and add thoughts that i didn’t put down here. SORRY FOR THE MESS & NO PRESSURE TO READ ALL THIS SJKDMF IT IS JUST A LOT OF WORD VOMIT BC IM INSANE OVER THIS FIC

okay i should start from the beginning. Wait I’ll use caps so it’s easier to read if you’re reading it bahahhaa OKAY. The way you write alpha / omega!!! It’s different from what I’m used to reading— and I mean it has a lot of a depth. The way you wrote reader being an alpha = being so protective over Aventurine fucked me up so bad /pos. Reader just wants him safe and they’re so real for that.

Going off on that, I LOVE HOW U WROTE THE READER. Understands Aventurine so well. Will literally do anything to keep him safe. Understands what sets him off and what he’s comfortable with. The part where Aventurine was talking about the next mission & reader seeing right through him ): are you serious /pos. WAIT I SKIPPED TOO FAR AHEAD. When Aventurine was trying to get reader to join the IPC? Dead. Evie DEAD. Reader saw right through him omg. Being able to notice the little changes in his scent, the way he tries to mask it etc etc. I love that so bad.

WHEN READER FOUND HIM IN HEAT FUUUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS /pos. Fighting the urge to help him vs waiting to just make it better because reader has the power to ): I loved that so much. The struggle was so real. Literally bringing a doctor just to hear that he needs an alpha to help anyways omg. Lowkey when the doctor said that I was like PLEASE LET US HELP YOU PLEASEEEEEEE. But also. I didn’t want him to be scared either you know ):

I skipped over another scene sighs. THE part where reader said ‘I like your eyes because they’re yours” and then the end. Him saying he likes our scent because it’s ours. Are you serious /pos. Be so serious /pos.

Okay the scent gland scenes actually fucked me up so bad (I unfortunately did not dream about anything but maybe that is for the best because I’m still recovering from this scene). The part where he asks for just the wrist. Reader struggling when they FEEL HIS TEETH GRAZE THE WRIST IM GONNA EXPLODE OMFG. The immediate pulling away because we don’t want to scare him please. + the scent gland scene at the end. HE DIDN’T FEEL LIKE HE HAD TO BE ON TOP. We could lay side by side ): I was so happy that he was okay with that omg. Literally all giddy like aaaaa!!!!!! IM NOT A THREAT!! Actually that’s a lie I wasn’t giddy. I was literally in tears jejdkckckckk Aventurine 😭😭 ughhhhhhh /pos

I won’t comment on the actual scene (I am commenting on it right now actually) because I was literally so sad and my heart hurt so badly for him. I wanted him to see himself from our POV for just one moment so he can understand that we genuinely love him and treasure him & want to keep him safe. ):

ABOUT YOUR WRITING ITSELF : insanity. I will just say insanity. How should I put it in words….. just thinking about this fic again is taking all the words out of my mouth shejdjfjj (I say this as I type a 27738 page essay about it). I love how you write. I really do. Your writing style is so beautiful. I haven’t read the other tags under your fic but I’m sure many others have said the same thing!!! They word it better than me I’m sure bsjsjsjsjsk

I just love everything about it. How you add in little details (oh! Speaking of details— Aventurine’s reaction to reader cozying up to her husband in the other fic) HEJDJJDJDJ omg. But in this fic, the little signs of him being scared. Scared 24/7 actually ): I love how you conveyed his fear so much. And the way he tries so hard to hide it. HIM CRUMBLING DOWN TO HIS RAW SELF WHEN HES IN HEAT. AND THE FEAR THERE TOO. INSANE.

^^ How you wrote him so adamant about not needing help at first …. To him asking for the scent gland ….. to him agreeing to use reader. It was all so real. He didn’t just change his mind like oh okay! It took him a while to be okay with it and I love how real it all felt. You write dialogue & little details so well— it actually drives me nuts (/compliment /pos)

Oh this just reminded me. Your description of how Aventurine smells killed me /pos. And how you describe his scent as sweet. I’m really not okay /pos. It fits him so well. And … for reader…. the scent after rain ? Oh my god ???? I love that smell so much. It’s so comforting…. OMG. COMFORTING????????? BECAUSE. Oh wow. I’m really not okay now. I JUST LOVE ALL THE DETAILS LIKE THAT )))): it’s so clear you put so much thought into all these things because your fic has so much depth. I lowkey yanked out Notibility for your other Aventurine fic to highlight the parts I wanted to comment on ehdjdkkck I was annotating it like a book (I’m so sorry if this is creepy I promise I don’t do this on a regular basis. I don’t annotate fics normally. Actually please disregard this because I’m a bit red admitting this) (I just have the memory of a goldfish and can only remember feelings and not actual content) (That’s a lie because here I am remembering a lot of this fic MOST LIKELY BECAUSE I READ IT WITH MY EYES AN INCH FROM THE SCREEN PROBABLY I WAS LIKE O_O) /pos

NIGHT FLOWER: part i

Your place in the world was one of a tool. This was true of every slave: you were all things to be used. Kakavasha understood this about you, and he understood this about himself. It was how he survived all those years ago, and it’s how he survives now. And so, when Aventurine goes into his first heat in years and decides to suffer it alone, you can only think of one way to get him to accept your help: You offer to let him use you.

written for @/lorelune's spring fever collab & @ficsforgaza

13.5k words of omegaverse, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst with an eventual happy ending. gn alpha reader + omega aventurine (they each have both amab and afab genitalia). explicit piv sex, reader bottoms, the sex is consensual but emotionally complicated and deeply sad. cw slavery, racism, gendered violence, including very brief and non-graphic (but direct) references to sexual abuse during slavery. the sa and slavery are not eroticized. dead dove do not eat, mdni.

thank you to @acerathia, @minnaci, @owlespresso for all your help with beta reading and to @kosmiccarma for brainstorming omega aventurine hcs!

“I’ve alw███ l█ved ███, Ka██v█s███”

You knew it from the moment you met him.

Gaunt, pallid, weighed down by heavy chains. Irises that glowed like the auroras back in your world. Delicate features that made every passerby in the market stop to read the description on the placard. (Sigonian, it said, although you couldn’t read at the time. Avgin. Male. Omega. Sixteen years old. Sixty Tanba, no tax.) He had an all-consuming scent that was impossible to ignore—one that possessed you, made your heels dig into the dirt, every atom in your body resisting the impatient jerk of the chains at your wrist. Even through your muzzle, through the perpetual stench of carbon-steel and blood, you could smell it: honey and wildflowers. A fragrance that settled deep within you, flooded you with a warmth that felt like home.

Aventurine is not a spiritual person. He once told you this, his smile cold in the glow of an artificial moon. He'd been deeply religious as a child, but hasn’t since cared for fairy tales about fortune and fate, three-eyed goddesses or merciful rainfalls. Hasn't thought about anything like a destined love. He thinks the idea of a true mate is laughable, that no such bond could ever be forged between an omega and an alpha. That nothing so unconditional could ever exist.

You know differently, of course. You've known it from the moment you met him, from the second you laid eyes on him and thought, I need to help you, and I need to protect you, and I need you to be safe, and you’d never once heard the word ‘love’ in your life—slaves are never loved by their masters, after all, and you'd always been nothing but a slave—but every atom of your being knew that you loved him, that you'd always love him.

And when your master cradled your face that night and crooned that he owned you, that you'd always be his obedient, alpha pet—for the first time in your life, you knew that he was wrong.

You didn't belong to your slaver.

You belonged to him.

To Kakavasha.

These days, Aventurine does not smell like honey, and your jaw is not restrained.

Your muzzle was one of the first things that Aventurine threw away when he bought your freedom. According to the Amber Era system, it had been several months since the murder of your shared master. Ninety-five Star Calendar days after the Interastral Peace Corps had arrested Kakavasha. An entire rotation around the black hole at the centre of your wretched galaxy, all of which had been spent in the captivity of some new mistress. She picked you out because she liked your calming scent and the look of your face, but mostly she used you for the fighting pits just like your old master.

Aventurine had been sitting in the audience of your final match, then bought you out right after you won. “I’m in need of a fighter,” he’d said, smiling in his thick furs and jewels. He played the part of a slavemaster perfectly, his gloved hands wandering the span of your aching shoulders, touching the bloodied maw of your mask. “And I’d be willing to pay top credit for yours.”

She protested. You were her most prized possession, one of her greatest investments. Slaves from your planet were hard enough to come by—alphas capable of reproduction, nearly impossible. And you were so well-behaved, so poised, so endearing in a way that was rare for alphas. She was fond of you. Her omega slaves were fond of you too. They would be distraught if you left, and that would complicate her household affairs—and surely Aventurine, as a respectable owner of human capital like herself, could understand how inconvenient that would be?

Aventurine bared his teeth in a gracious smile. (You’d never seen Kakavasha make such an expression before—so disarming, so cunning, a crescent moon beneath snake eyes. He’d never smelt like this either, like an expensive cologne layered with bleach, and it left you feeling nauseous, wondering if he was ill.) He flirted his way into her good graces, made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, and then he brought you into the first-class ship on which he’d arrived. You were so stunned by its luxury—the handwoven carpets, the crushed velvet seats, the imported tea from several galaxies away and the custom-ordered outfit he had bought for you—that you nearly missed the tremble in his hands as he punched numbers into the remote control lock for your chains.

He had regained his composure by the time he pulled away your muzzle, though. He threw it carelessly to the ground—your titanium chains, too. Then kicked both away with his shined leather shoes.

“There,” Aventurine said, smiling cheerfully. “Much better, don’t you think?”

“Vasha—” you started, voice thick with wasted grief, and all you wanted to was reach for him, to double check that he was real, but he placed a finger to your lips and stopped you. You stiffened at the satin touch, but he seemed unbothered.

“‘Aventurine’,” he corrected.

You stared blankly. “What?”

“‘Aventurine’. Like the gemstone. That’s my name now.”

“You—” Your voice caught in your throat. You realized that you’d been holding your breath. You always had the habit of holding your breath in the luxurious, private rooms of very rich men, because you never liked what happened in them. Forcing yourself to breathe, you asked, “You gave yourself a new name?”

“No. The IPC gave me a new name. They gave me a job, too.”

“A job?” you asked, voice faint. Now that you were breathing again, you were noticing once more just how bizarre he smelled. Sterile and expensive and completely foreign. “You’re free now?”

“Well, I’m a freedman, but I don’t know if I’d call myself free. I’m a bit… indebted to the IPC, let’s say. But that’s fine. I can’t complain. I mean—look around. This beats the fighting pits, doesn’t it?” He gestured lazily at your surroundings, and you nodded.

“It’s nice here,” you replied, feeling absurd but not knowing what else to say. Once Kakavasha got talking, it was impossible to get a word in edgewise.

“You like it here? Good. This room’s yours. Mine is the next one over. You’ll live and work here, with me. I’ll make sure you’re paid well. Full benefits, vacation, salary, and overtime. The standard pay for your role is seventy-thousand credits per month, but I’ll see if I can get you more. HR is pretty strict about their hiring policies, but—”

���You’re hiring me?”

Aventurine went very still, his smile tightly controlled. His eyes remained fixed on you, but they seemed less snake-like, now. They looked more familiar. More afraid.

“I’m offering, yes,” he said neatly. “You’ll be part of my personal security detail. I don’t have the contract for you to review yet, unfortunately. I didn’t arrange one ahead of time because, well”—he laughed, as if this were polite conversation and he were making a joke about the weather—“I didn’t know if I’d find you alive. But things worked out in my favour. They always work out in my favour. I’ll make sure they’ll work out in your favour too, so long as you’re with me. So you’ll consider it, won’t you? Staying with—working for me, I mean.”

Your eyes went soft. Beneath the artificial fragrance, you finally caught a hint of his familiar scent—more wildflower than honey at that moment, the way it always is when he’s scared.

“Kakavasha—”

“Name your price,” he said loudly, “and I’ll match it.”

You sighed. “Vasha,” you said more gently, and his shoulders relaxed at the subvocal shift in your timbre, at the famed alpha Voice that necessitated your muzzle, “I don’t care about the money. Of course I’ll stay here. But—what happened? Why did you kill him yourself? Why didn't you let me do it? That was the plan. It was always supposed to be me.”

It was my job, you thought then, just as you had thought to yourself every night, curled up in your bed and trying to recall the scent of fresh honey, to keep you safe.

He shrugged and said, “It would have been too risky to involve you.”

“You were caught and sentenced to death. The risk was already too high.”

“But the stakes weren’t,” he replied simply, and before you could ask what he meant by that, he continued, “and it worked out, didn’t it? I work for the IPC. You work for me. We’re freedmen now. Whatever I've lost, it doesn't matter. Our gains far outweigh it.”

“And what have you lost, Vasha?”

He smiled at you, charming and distracting. A crescent moon beneath snake eyes. “Nothing of value,” he reassured you, and even though you could feel the calm of an omega’s voice washing over you, even though it released all the tension in your body, all you could smell was cologne and wildflowers, and you knew that he was lying.

Vasha once told you, curled up and quiet on the basement floor, that he despised his eyes. They were supposed to be a sign of blessing from Gaiathra Triclops, but they'd never brought him anything but trouble. They were the first thing that the slavers always noticed about him, the feature that made him such an alluring commodity. Their aurora glow, their strange beauty, their promise of a rare opportunity: a chance at owning a specimen of an exotic, endangered species, possibly the last of its kind. These are all things that you've heard in the parlour of your master’s house as he entertained rich company, the crowd of them gawking at his human curios.

Avgin are said to make the most beautiful slaves, he'd often say. And Avgin omegas are said to be the most beautiful among them. What do you all think? They'd all hum, peering closely at Kakavasha’s features, and inevitably someone would joke, I think I'd like to borrow him sometime, and then they would all laugh while your pulse ticked up and you imagined tearing at their throats. Vasha would search for your gaze in these moments, giving you a long, pointed look: Don't do anything stupid.

He’d always been so blasé about it, the way people fixated on his Avgin blood. You'll never understand how. He didn't react to any of the comments, the groping, the innuendos. He was, however, distinctly unimpressed at the way that your master liked to play him up as a rare and expensive acquisition, as a sign of his own status. It's embarrassing to watch, Kakavasha had remarked. Everyone knows that Sigonian slaves are uncommon but cheap—people always think we’ll bring them more trouble than our worth. This was how Kakavasha had ended up in the market in the first place: because his last master had been robbed, and he'd been wrongly blamed for it.

The blame, to this day, has never stopped. People—powerful people, politicians, businessmen, socialites—look at Aventurine’s eyes and immediately reach for their pockets. You've seen it for yourself, these spineless despots and scammers feeling for their wallets. Sigonian, you know they're thinking. Liar, cheat, thief, whore, worthless, worthless, worthless. Your hands tighten around your blade each time, a loaded gun with a finger on the trigger.

Alphas are said to be violent by nature. Aventurine has often called you the one exception to this rule: the most docile, good-hearted alpha he's ever met. But this is a lie. You do have a predator instinct, and it comes out in full-force whenever you’re around these particular types of men. These types who notice Aventurine’s eyes and see a thief; these monsters who see his irises and imagine what it would be like to bed him. You’d kill them if you could. It would be so easy, especially now that you are an IPC dog. The Company is already such a violent force; what would be one more murder?

But Aventurine has never ordered you to punish anyone. (Don't do anything stupid, he always tells you with a glance, smiling through every humiliation.) Nor has he ever seemed bothered enough by these meetings to try concealing his heritage.

A fellow Asset Liquidation Specialist once asked why he didn't just hide his eye colour—it would likely be better for fostering relationships, negotiating deals—but Aventurine had shrugged it off. I'm a gambler working with the IPC, he'd said. Do you really think a pair of coloured contacts would make anyone trust me? He'd laughed, and his voice had carried a threatening edge, and his coworker had shifted visibly at it. Being an Avgin is the least threatening thing about me, wouldn't you say?

You think that Aventurine likes being seen as a threat. Sometimes you wonder if this is why he doesn't mind wearing his eyes so much, but abhors keeping his scent. He washes his clothes until they're free of his disarming sweetness and then masks himself with an unsettling blend of ambergris, jasmine, and wood. And he is on suppressants all the time—hasn’t had a single heat since the day he killed his master. Hasn't smelled like himself, either.

At the end of the day, it’s manageable being an Avgin in this business, he often comments, spraying half a bottle of masking cologne on himself, but you can't be an Avgin and an omega. Wouldn’t you agree?

You'd know better than me, you reply, noncommittally—and truthfully.

But you're an alpha, he observes. Don't you have an opinion?

You don't pay me to have opinions, you always remind him, stone-faced. You pay me to stand here and look scary. And Aventurine always laughs at this, and he always wires you money and calls it a bonus as he pesters you for an answer, and he always gets distracted and starts scrolling through all his shopping wishlists instead. I saw this thing the other day and thought of you. And this too. Would you like either of them? Would you like them both? I’m a very generous manager, you know. I'll buy you anything you like.

But even though he always gets distracted, Aventurine never forgets. Sooner or later, he inevitably circles back to these questions—these anxieties about his scent, about his eyes, about his blood. He never cares for anyone else’s opinions, but he's always been curious about yours. Even when he was Vasha, he wanted to know what you thought.

He’d been sixteen years old and delirious with heat the first time he asked you, face wrinkling with pain as he spilled his thoughts. It was so incoherent, so sad, you thought it must have been about a fever dream. Mama Fenge, he kept saying. Mama Fenge blessed me, She blessed me, I'm blessed, it rained when I was born—did you know that? My luck, I was lucky. The Katicans, they never caught me. They got everyone else, but not me. I was blessed by Her. I'm going to save my people. I will. I'll save my sister. My eyes are proof. My mistress liked them. Said they're beautiful. Worth sixty whole coppers. A blessing. He pulled you close, pressed his scalding face to your scent gland, and his whole body shuddered with relief. This was the first and only time he'd allowed you to hold him, and it was only out of desperation, out of his mind. Do you like them, alpha? Do you like my eyes? Why? Is it because they're beautiful? Because they're from Gaiathra?

“I like them because they're yours,” you'd replied, and Kakavasha had laughed deliriously.

This is when he told you he hated them: I'd close them forever, if I could.

When you were younger—dumber—you had a habit of squirrelling away every spare coin you came across. You collected them in a little purse that one of the omega slaves had sewn for you—a thank-you for always keeping the other alphas away from her—and you hid it underneath a loose floorboard. By the time that Kakavasha was arrested, you'd saved up twenty-nine Tanba. You’d wanted enough to buy Kakavasha’s freedom and then to set him up for a comfortable life.

It had been a stupid plan. An embarrassing one. If you ever confessed it to Aventurine, he'd laugh at you. Slaves can't buy other slaves, he'd say. Leave the schemes to me next time. You’re too good-hearted for it.

You’d already known that, of course. You knew that you didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him, but you wanted to. God, did you want to—you spent every waking moment thinking about it, every sleeping moment dreaming of it. It wasn't even that you desired him, though he was beautiful and fragrant and more delicate than anything that had ever touched you in your life, which was only your master’s hands and your muzzle and your chains. Aventurine would feel so soft in comparison, you’d always figured. It made your heart ache, thinking about getting to hold something so lovely.

But really—that desire came second. What came first was how mated omegas feel safe around their alphas, and you so desperately wanted him to be safe. Kakavasha had looked so frail, so grim, as your master took his chains and led him home from the market, and you could smell the fear coming off him in waves. And you could do nothing to stop it. You had nothing you could use to stop it—nothing other than your hands that could kill for him and your pheromones that could soothe him and your useless heart that wanted to collect sixty Tanba for him. That was all you had.

So you failed in the end. Of course you did. You didn't have the status to buy him or mate him or even just provide for him. You couldn't even do for him the one thing you could have done—which was to kill. And Kakavasha suffered for your incompetence. He had to dirty his hands with blood and gamble his way into wealth and then suddenly he was freeing you, not the other way around.

And now you are comfortable. You'll lead an easy life from now, Aventurine reassured you when he brought you onto his ship all those years ago, and he's kept that promise. What about you? you'd asked him then. Will you lead an easy life with me, if you're working for the IPC? And he had smiled and lied to you: Yes.

It had been a painfully obvious lie. If you were a smarter person, you'd have never believed it in the first place. Aventurine has no interest in leading an easy life, because an easy life would be less profitable, and less profit would mean less safety. And he is always, always worried about being unsafe. It is indiscernible to everyone but you—an alpha (his alpha, always his, even if he doesn't want you) who has watched over him for so long that you can detect every shift in his scent. No matter how much cologne he drowns himself in and no matter how strong his suppressants are, you know when he is afraid.

And here is the bitter truth, the ultimate proof of your shortcomings:

Aventurine is always afraid.

It is a beautiful day on Agnisahr, and you can tell that Aventurine is about to throw up from worry.

You're sitting in the middle of stunning wealth—Aventurine in his feathers and jewellery, you in your tailored jacket—in a lobby made from marble and pale sandstone, with a view of palm trees and rolling, scarlet sand dunes beyond the window. The waitstaff addresses him as Honoured Guest and they keep his crystal chalice filled constantly with water—one of the most expensive commodities on the planet. Aventurine has been drinking from it religiously, which is strange as he typically has the habit of forgetting to hydrate. A faint wildflower scent is drifting from his slender form. These are the only giveaway to his mood: he's otherwise as pokerfaced as ever, smiling calmly as he discusses his plans to sabotage the local government and acquire the planet for the IPC.

“This is a very dangerous mission,” you state flatly.

“All my missions are dangerous.” He takes a sip, one pinky up. “The IPC pays me well for a reason. As they say—”

“‘High risk, high reward.’ I know.” You try not to sound bitter, though you allow yourself to sound tired. “I still do not think the risk is worth the reward in this case.”

“I think over 5.6 million in credits is a great reward, actually. We could do a lot with that kind of money.”

You raise a brow. “What could an extra 5.6 million get you that you can't already buy?” It is—as Topaz would say—‘chump change’ in comparison to his current wealth, which sums to a number so vast that you can't wrap your head around it.

Aventurine pretends to miss the point. “Tons! We could buy a new spacecraft. Get another mansion. Or—we could take a vacation to Penacony. I hear it's quite nice there.” A playful smile. “I could get us a penthouse unit. With a featherbed.”

You frown. Sometimes Aventurine likes to flirt when you're being stubborn—not out of interest, but as a ploy to distract you. He’d developed the habit after he joined the IPC. It used to fluster you, but now it only makes you cross your arms.

“You could die,” you point out.

“You'll protect me.”

“No, I won't. You always find a way to get rid of me when things are most dangerous.” You give him an accusatory stare. “You never let me do my job.”

He's too shameless to deny it. “And it's worked out fine, hasn't it? I haven't died so far.”

“Yes. Just by dumb luck.”

“I beg to differ. My luck is quite reliable.” He sets down his glass. Glances back outside. A microexpression, brows knotting for the briefest second as he studies the sky. “I'm not worried.”

“You're a shit liar.”

That gets him to look at you, letting a small frown pass over his face. “No, I'm actually a great liar. You're just too good at reading me. It's very inconvenient, you know.”

“I can't help it.” You lean toward him, making a show of it as you sniff. An orchid-like scent—faint but unmistakable—has seeped into artificial ambergris and wood. “It's hard to ignore.”

He hums. He isn't frowning anymore—but doesn't look happy, either. “I should change suppressants.” He taps the side of his empty glass, fidgeting. Aventurine never fidgets: it's an amateur giveaway. “These ones clearly don't work well enough.”

“That won't help. I know you too well.” Your eyes soften. He's looking outside again, the blues of his irises distant. “You're worried, Aventurine. More than usual. Let’s back out of this—let Jade handle it.”

“The mission isn't what's bothering me,” he says patiently. “I just don't like this planet.”

“Because you can tell it's dangerous.”

“No. Well—it is, but nothing I can't handle.” He leans back. “I just dislike the weather here.”

You arch a brow. “...the weather?”

“Yes,” he says neatly, “it's too dry here. I'll break out.”

You open your mouth. Close it. It is possibly the most absurd thing you've ever heard, and certainly the worst lie that's ever come from him. For as long as you've known him, Aventurine has had flawless skin, marble-smooth, and ever since being freed, he’s never really cared much for looking handsome so much as looking rich. But he maintains his serious expression: all-in on the farce. “Did you know that outside the capital, this planet hasn't had any natural rain in a quarter of an Amber Era? And the stellar winds are terrible. I don't know how people live on a planet like this.” His eyes narrow at the cloudless sky. “The IPC is going to need to do a lot of terraforming if they want to make this into a merchant hub.”

“Aventurine.”

“It'll be a pain crossing the desert—the elements will ruin my clothes, you know,” he continues. “It won't be so bad while we're on the ships, but we’ve got to go outside from time to time. Can't make any friends otherwise.”

“Aventurine.”

“And there's nothing to do for fun when we’re not working.” He sighs dramatically. “I can't wait to get our 5.6 billion and leave for someplace else. I'm being serious about Penacony, by the way—”

“Aventurine.”

“—though not about the featherbed. I'll get you your own room, obviously. And I'll buy whatever dream experience you’d like. What kind would you want?”

Finally allowed a chance to speak, you say, “One where you retire.”

“Retire? Why would I ever do that?”

“I don't know. Maybe you decide you've made enough money.”

“No such thing.”

“Then you can settle down with someone.”

That makes him smile. It feels mocking. “Me? Settling down? With who?”

“Who knows. Someone who will treat you better than the IPC, I hope.”

“Anyone that nice would run in the other direction. But never mind me. This would be your dream experience. What happens to you in it?”

“I stop chasing after you and get to live out the rest of my days in peace,” you say dryly, and Aventurine blinks. “Please stop deflecting. The IPC gave you a suicide mission. We will both die if we stay here.”

He looks serious now. “I wouldn't let you die.”

“You can't know that.”

“Well, I do. And I've got decent chances at surviving too—at least one in ten.”

You feel like sighing—a deep, aggravated noise is heavy in your throat—but Aventurine doesn't enjoy it when you show anger around him. It's the one omega instinct that he can't ignore, you suppose: unease around an aggressive alpha. Voice tightly controlled, you say, “You’re going to bet your life on one in ten?”

  “Sure. My chances were worse on the last planet, and things worked out great. It'll be the same on Agnisahr.” Aventurine raises a hand, calls for the bill. The conversation is over. You lean back in your seat, watching sourly as he pays tens of thousands of credits just for water.

“You know, they say the royal family is backed by an Aeon,” you can't help but point out, once the waiter is gone. A last-ditch effort. Aventurine smiles at it, amused. Like you're a child.

“So what?” He glances outside, at the desolate landscape beyond the oasis—nothing but red sand, a blue, rainless sky, and two radiant suns shining above it all. “The protection of a god is nothing compared to the schemes of human beings. And gods abandon their people all the time, anyway.”

During your tenth day on Agnisahr, you realise that something is deeply wrong.

It takes you some time to understand what’s happening. At first you think that whatever political danger you’ve intuited is much worse than you thought, and that’s why Aventurine has been so pale, so discomforted, so exhausted. Then his scent starts changing—he switches clothes two, three times a day (because of all this heat during Agnisahran days, he tells his new business associates) and spritzes his nape with his cologne almost religiously—and you wonder if he is sick with something. If the food in this planet has something that disagrees with his Sigonian biology, or if he has picked up one of the local filoviruses, or if someone’s poisoned one of his meals because they’ve correctly identified him as a threat. Aventurine dismisses every single one of these theories when you bring it up, and—as if in denial—only attributes it to the weather. (I’ve never done well in deserts, he tells you, his eyes on his phone screen. I'm not used to them. It is above 300 Kelvin, and you do not see a single bead of sweat on his neck, and his cheeks are not even a little flushed.)

You only figure it out when he is too ill to get out of bed one morning and forbids all the IPC staff from coming near his hotel room. It sets off alarms immediately—Aventurine, no matter how sick, will work and see through meetings as long as he is mentally capable of it—and so you naturally ignore his orders and check on him, using the spare key to his sleeping quarters that you're given as a policy. And as soon as the door cracks open—as soon as you step inside only to be hit with a violent, cloying sweetness—you realise what’s happening and slam the door shut behind you.

“You’re in heat,” you blurt out, and Aventurine—a shivering, panting mess on the bed—groans in response.

“Why are you here?” He turns toward you, still lucid enough to glare at you through the tangled mess of his hair. His voice is weak, but no less self-possessed: “I was very clear—no company today.”

“I am your personal bodyguard,” you remind him mildly. Your voice is calm—both non-threatening and non-condescending. “Those orders don’t apply to me. If things feel suspicious, I look into it. And they felt very suspicious.” Your brow knits as you study his clothes. Mulberry silk clings to his form, soaked through with sweat. Thin, eucalyptus sheets are tangled up around him. There are only two pillows. No water bottles. No knotting toys.

Nothing.

“You didn't know you'd be in heat,” you realise. “What happened to your suppressants?”

“I don't know.” There’s a quiet, frustrated edge to his voice. Vulnerable too. It makes you think of when you were both still slaves, and Aventurine was confined to the basement of the manor—the one that all omega slaves were made to ride out their heats in. Either they would do it alone or were ordered to spend it with some alpha, usually either a friend of the master or an alpha slave he wished to reward. That's when they're most pliable, he'd tell his guests, or sometimes even you. They get so desperate they'll present themselves to anyone. Then amused laughter from the other party—How obscene!—as you looked away, blood hammering in your ears.

You had been your master’s favourite. His most obedient, most profitable pet—striking enough for his guests to admire, deadly enough for his audiences to bet on, docile enough for him to enjoy. Good enough for him to reward, and he often rewarded you with his most beautiful slave: his Avgin omega. Just don't mark him, he’d said, fastening the muzzle around your mouth. It'll ruin his market value. Who knows if someday he'd sell Kakavasha off to some alpha master who wished to claim him, he said. Though I don't think there's anyone in this star system who'd want a Sigonian for a mate, let alone a Sigonian slave. Then he’d paused, eyes scanning over you. As if contemplating. But maybe they'd try to get Avgin whelps out of him, he added, and you felt like throwing up.

You'd never mate him in those moments, your muzzle always prevented you from saying. You didn't even want to think about touching him, and he didn't want to think about it either. Even in the cruel grip of his heats, with nothing but the thin mat beneath him and his slave’s rags around him, Kakavasha hadn't wanted any kind of contact from you, rejecting any chance of solace. Don't, don't—not again, not again, he'd begged. Then as the nights marched on and his mind grew hazier, he’d start whimpering too: It hurts, alpha. It hurts. Help me. It hurts. Don't touch me. Not again. It hurts. It hurts. Stop it, please stop it.

It gutted you.

It went against every instinct, not to touch him. To let him lie there, in scorching, lonely pain, when all you wanted to do was to dispel it. It would be so easy to press yourself against him and let his skin cool against yours, do the one thing that your body was good at other than killing. But not again, not again, I can't anymore, I don't want it, I never wanted it, and all you could do was sit there, unmoving. Watch as the most delicate, precious thing you had in your life shatter.

And standing here now, watching Aventurine shatter before you once more—it is unbearable. He needs a nest, you keep thinking. He needs a nest and some water and some kind of touch, some kind of relief, but not again, not again, and you’re still a slave, still a worthless and stupid slave, and Kakavasha is still crying on a basement floor and you can't do anything for him.

“You need help, Aventurine,” you say, voice soft, and his whole body tenses. His scent dips, and the scent of florals overwhelms you.

“No,” he breathes, “I don't.”

“You do. You're sick.” You bite your lip. Your heart splits as you suggest it, but you say, “I can call a professional.”

“No,” he spits. The facade is gone. The poker face has cracked. The anger and the pain and the fear are all on full display, and his voice sharpens: “No strangers.”

No foreign scents, you realise he's demanding. A new scent would probably make him feel unsafe.

Then let me help you, you think of pleading, but not again, not again, and you're filled with so much shame at the thought that all you can do is look away.

“Then—can I do anything?” He goes still. “Not—not that, but something to make you more comfortable. I can build you a nest, at least—”

“No.” He takes a deep, shaking breath. “No nests. I don't need one—”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't,” he says. His voice is wavering now, on the verge of crumbling with fever and pain. “I've never—I’ve never needed a nest, I don't—I don't want to—” He presses his face into his pillow. “I need—I need to be alone, fuck—”

He doesn't mean to whine. The cry for distress is instinct, something that all omegas are programmed to do in heat. You’ve heard that they’ve evolved to make this noise as a way of appealing to nearby alphas for help, but you think this must be a lie as you never once saw your alpha master giving mercy to any of his omega slaves. Still, whether it is your biology or not—the noise that Aventurine makes has your heart aching so much you can't help but step forward. But he shakes his head and inches away, shuddering violently, and then his voice echoes again in that cold basement—not again, not again, and don't touch it anymore, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore, not again, and it's all you can do to back away until your spine is pressed against the door.

“I'm sorry, Vasha,” you say, strained. “I’m sorry. I'll leave you now.”

As the door shuts behind you, you catch a final glimpse him—face pressed into the pillows, shivering.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was crying.

When you were both slaves, Aventurine hated seeing you during his heats.

Kakavasha was normally calm around you. Most of the time, he was even friendly (he was friendly to everyone whom he thought could be useful), but he was different during his heats. Sometimes he was vicious; mostly he was withdrawn. Nearly always, he wanted to be left alone. In those moments, all he could register was your alpha scent and his memories of what other people had done to him during his heats. And while you'd have hated to leave him, despised the idea of him being offered to another alpha—even more than that, you hated violating this boundary of his. Hated that you were allowed to do whatever you wanted to him. Hated being the reason he felt so unsafe.

Hated being an alpha.

Now that you no longer have the orders of your slavemaster hanging over you, it is the least you can do to respect Aventurine’s wish of being left alone. He has every right to privacy, and you have every obligation to give it to him. But instead you have been standing here, outside his door, for a full system-hour.

Every time you try to leave, your body is wracked with anxiety. The thought of other people—other alphas—coming near him in this state makes you seethe, your hands flexing at your side. The predator instinct comes out, and the people around you notice it. Every person unlucky enough to walk down this hall scurries away under your glare, even the other IPC staff wandering about to look for Aventurine: Must be their mate on the other side, they remark to one another, and then they're gone.

It is a hard thing to hear. You are not his mate. You are not even a heat partner. If you were, then he wouldn't be in so much pain. Not now, and not back then.

Aventurine has never had easy heats. You keep replaying your memories of all his past ones, each one a wound in your heart: the aching sweetness of nectar and honey; his withering body as he clutched his abdomen and curled up; the tears and sweat staining the mat beneath him. And above all: the fear. The scent of it, the sight of it, the sound of it in his voice. Stronger today than any other day.

By instinct, you know that he cannot persist like this. That this time is somehow worse than all those other times, and that he will become seriously ill if left alone.

After nearly an hour and a half, you finally open the door, fearing the worst.

“Aventurine?” you say quietly, but there's no response, and your stomach drops as you see him.

His body is pale, listless. If it weren't for the fragrance washing over you or the sweat on his temple, you'd worry that he was dead.

Tentatively, you reach out. Rest a hand on his forehead, and it scorches you. He stirs at the touch, doesn't open his eyes—but the quiet sigh of relief is unmistakable. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to reach for you.

“Aventurine,” you say gently. “Aventurine, I'm going to take care of you. Is that alright?”

He doesn't respond. You grimace, pulling away to fetch things for him: several spare pillows from the closet, an extra blanket too. From his suitcase, you grab a few of his sweaters, all thick cotton and fleece. He’d had a sense that Agnisahr would be cold at night. Deserts always get cold after sundown, since sand doesn’t retain heat, he'd told you while he was packing. Or I think so, anyway. Don't know why. Must have read it somewhere. Then he’d given you a long, unreadable look before saying, Make sure to bring a jacket. The warmest one you have. The elements on a planet like Agnisahr can kill a person—even a person like you.

I’m sure I’ll be fine, you’d dismissed him. I can survive anything. Any kind of weather, any kind of illness, any kind of pain: these are all things your species is known for being able to endure, the trait that made you such a prized slave in your master’s eyes, such a useful agent at the IPC. You hadn’t given Aventurine’s warning any thought and hardly paid attention to what you’d thrown into your own suitcase.

It surprises you, then, that you find one of your sweaters in his luggage. Made from Sedanian cashmere and heat tech designed by the Intelligentsia Guild. Cloud-soft and warm to the touch. Aventurine had bought it for you before you were deployed to Jarilo-IV to collect intelligence for Topaz. Warmest thing in the known universe, he’d commented. One of a kind, too. Remember to wear it, alright? Don't let my money go to waste, now.

You stare at it, kneading the fleece between your fingers. You hadn’t mentioned wanting to bring this sweater. You’d lost it in your closet some months ago and forgot about it. Aventurine must have remembered and gone looking for it, because—why? You aren't sure. Probably because it’s warmer and softer than anything he owns, you guess. Of course he’d want to wear it.

You throw it into the pile of things you’ve collected for him.

You take it all to his bed, the mattress dipping as you sit next to Aventurine. One by one, you scent each item with your wrist, watching him carefully the whole time. You’re quiet as you lay them out around him, leaving him undisturbed as you build a nest. You order water and electrolyte drinks too, and you’re quick about going to the door when you hear room service knocking—with how feverish he is, he probably badly needs it.

Aventurine is awake when you come back. His breathing is still laboured, pained—but calm.

“I said I didn’t need a nest,” Aventurine says, though he doesn’t sound angry. You wonder if he’s too weak to be. His voice is faint, and his eyes are barely open—focused on the pile of blankets and clothing around him.

“You’re welcome.” You open a bottle of water, hold it out to him. “Drink.”

Aventurine pauses, stares at the offering like it's some kind of foreign object. But he accepts it eventually, sitting up and taking it from you. He winces with the movement, which he tries to hide. He ignores your frown as he drinks, and he doesn't stop until the bottle is empty.

“There are more,” you say, pointing at the several additional bottles on the nightstand. “And some food and some painkillers. I don't know how well they’ll work. This isn't a normal heat. If you're alright with it, I'll call a doctor and—”

“Everything smells like you,” he says quietly, and you stop.

“...yes. Unless they’re mated, nests usually feel most comforting to an omega when they smell like an alpha.” You swallow, looking away. “...you don't have a mate, and you didn't want a professional, so this was the only option I could think of. I'm sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says. He picks out one of the sweaters that have made its way into the nest, the Sedanian one. “I don't mind it.”

“Oh.” You let out a breath. “Then—can I call a doctor?”

His grip on the sweater tightens. “No.”

You frown. “Aventurine—”

“I’ve never needed a doctor before,” he says. He sounds unbothered, but he's fidgeting with the sweater now. “I don't need one now.”

A lie. He almost certainly needed a doctor in some of his prior heats, but you don't push the matter. “Maybe you don't need one,” you say instead, “but it would help.”

“I don't need help,” he says, and you look at him in disbelief. He catches your expression, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Not more than you've already done, I mean.”

“I’ve barely—”

“Contact Topaz. Tell her I'm incapacitated. Tell her…” He hums. “Tell her I have food poisoning. The personnel too. It's not time-sensitive, our business on Agnisahr, so it shouldn't matter if I need a few days off.”

“You really need—”

“Give my regrets to our Agnisahran friends. Deliver it in person. They see you as my right hand, so they’ll most appreciate it coming from you. Topaz can help you with the verbiage. And—try to socialise with them a little, won't you? I think that little omega princess of theirs likes you. Some of the courtesans too, and they have surprising influence.”

“I do not want to be around any omega other than you right now,” you say before you can stop yourself, and Aventurine stops, blinking. His expression is blank, if perhaps a little curious—but his scent shifts. You can't identify how. You add quickly, “I’m not leaving you alone when you’re this sick.”

“Ah. Right.” Aventurine looks away. His voice sounds strange, and his heat must be getting to him again, because it carries a hint of pain. “But you have to. The IPC’s goals take priority.”

You frown. “Your life is more important than the IPC,” you say, and he laughs. Loudly.

“What? This is just a heat. I’m not going to die.”

“You don’t know that without seeing a doctor.”

“I do. I’m willing to bet money that I won’t die.” He cuts you off before you can reply: yes, you're always willing to bet on your life. “And even if I do, that would still be less important than Agnisahr. Do you know how many resources are on this lifeless rock?” His mouth slants. “If we mess up here, I’m dead anyway.”

“I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

“Yes, you would—because they would kill you too.” Aventurine sighs. His eyes close, and his brow creases—a sign that whatever reprieve he was lucky enough to get is about to end. “Go do what I asked. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll… see a doctor if you do.”

You stand immediately. “Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.”

“I know.”

You stop at the door, giving him a long look. Seeing him like this—lying on a proper bed, cradled in a warm nest, with water and food and medicine nearby—you feel a little better. This is leagues beyond what he’d been afforded in his days as a slave, at the very least. Even if he isn’t free, at least he isn’t trapped.

But it still doesn’t feel good, having to step away. The last thing you want to do is talk to other people, pretend to have interest in other omegas. There are an astonishing number of them who are interested in you on this planet—that princess, and some baron’s son, and one of the prince’s favourite paramours—but you can’t bring yourself to care even for business purposes when Aventurine is like this. You can't act as if you are enjoying yourself when you know he is in pain.

You wonder about telling Topaz the truth. You wonder if she’d be worried enough about Aventurine to let you neglect this mission and cover for you instead, without letting Jade or Diamond or anyone else dangerous know. Not that you think that anyone at the Company particularly cares about Kakavasha—it’s only that he’s valuable. Aventurine of Stratagems is valuable. How many worlds have fallen because of him?

But he seemed unwilling to bet on his worth to them. Which is startling, given how often he's bet on it in the past.

“What’s so important about this planet,” you can’t help but ask, “that the IPC would rather you die than lose it?”

He’s silent for a long moment. His eyes are closed—hidden—but you can see his knuckles whiten as he clutches the Sedanian sweater.

“Copper,” he says. “They want it for the copper.”

When Kakavasha first suggested a friendship to you, it had felt like something in between a proposition and a threat:

Go ahead, he'd said. Use me as you wish. You can even stab me in the back if you want. Just be mindful of this: I don't make deals that don't pay off.

It might have been a strange way of making friends in any other circumstance, but in a house of slaves, it was a natural one. You had not been a clever person—still aren't—but you understood that your place in the world was one of a tool. This was the place of all slaves: you were all things to be used. Your body was a thing to be used. It was valuable for its strength, for its hardiness, for its threat in the arena and for its convenience in your master’s bed (or in a dark basement, or within a heat house, or inside whichever omega your mistress ordered you to calm down). It did not surprise you that Kakavasha wanted to use it as well. It did not surprise you that Kakavasha expected you to use him in return.

You never would have, of course. Kakavasha was not a thing to be used—he had always been a mate. Though you were happy to let him use you, because all you were was a tool anyway, so it was really all you could offer him: to be used.

None of this has changed for you. You don't think any of this has changed for Aventurine, either. With each new friendship he makes, he repeats those familiar words: Use me as you wish. And with each person who accepts, this is exactly what they do: they use him, and they use him, and they use him until suddenly they notice he's tricked them and they've got the losing hand.

You damned gambler, they always spit. You Sigonian wretch. All you know is how to manipulate people. Thief, liar, cheat, whore. Despite all these insults, Aventurine always smiles at them. Cry as they might, he’s won his bet and has their world in his palms.

Winner takes all, he sometimes gloats.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. This is all Aventurine knows; these are his great guiding principles in life. (He's told you this point blank, stacking up chips in his favourite gambling dens with a self-satisfied grin.) You often find yourself coming back to these conversations, particularly when you need to convince him of something.

And right now, you very badly need to convince him of something.

Aventurine is ignoring his doctor’s advice. His suppressants are unstable in extreme temperatures, he's been told. During travel on Agnisahr, they'd degraded, and now he’s experiencing his first heat in several years. Of course it's going to be painful, his doctor had said. I can prescribe you some medication to ease the symptoms, but really—nothing will work better than a heat partner. It doesn't need to be a mate. Any alpha will do.

The doctor had been an alpha. You had asked for a beta or omega, but alphas tend to dominate in Interastral Medical Schools, so they're in short supply. Aventurine had been still the whole time, face unreadable, but you could tell he wanted to throw up at the stench of an unfamiliar alpha. You had stepped between the two of them, not bothering to hide the animosity in your voice. We’ll take the medication, you had said, and the doctor had sniffed the air and nodded at you in approval.

Probably won't need it. An alpha like you could sort him out with just a few rounds, he told you, and both of you stayed quiet as he left.

You still aren't talking, or even looking at each other. Aventurine has lay down in his nest again, closing his eyes, while you stand as far away as physically possible—at the door where you'd just shown the doctor out. With the room shut off again, windows closed and door locked, Aventurine’s scent is starting to flood your senses once more. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him shivering.

“What do you want to do?” you ask.

“Nothing.” He swallows. “I'll be fine.”

He's afraid. You can tell he's afraid. And you can tell he’ll be more afraid if you take even a single step closer to him, so you nod and say, “I'll go pick up your medication, then,” and Aventurine doesn't stop you. You can see him curling up in his nest, face pressed into the cashmere sweater.

But he still doesn't stop you.

After a few more days, Aventurine finally breaks.

There is a rare sag to his shoulders when he calls you to the room, along with a taste of dread in the air. You haven't seen him so vulnerable in years. Aventurine is not an open person, so cunning and self-possessed in his wealth—but Kakavasha was more brittle, more powerless, flayed raw and open even though he didn't often get the whip. (It would ruin his value if he ever scarred—his looks were his greatest selling point, your master said.) He was especially defeated when forced to spend his heats with an alpha he didn't want. You wonder, a vice grip of pain around your heart, whether this entire situation is simply an extension of that. Whether he is calling you here against his will, this time compelled by his pain, rather than his master. Whether this luxury suite feels like that wretched basement to him.

He doesn't look at you when he talks, nor does he sit up. He remains curled in his nest, nearly clinging onto the blankets and clothes.

“That stupid medication,” he pants out, sharp even in his heat, “isn't working.”

“I can tell.” Your brow knots. He’s in so much pain, it is palpable. “I”—you hesitate, voice dropping. “Can I help you?”

He goes quiet. As both Aventurine and Kakavasha, he has always been disinclined to accept help from other people. There is no such thing as unconditional help in his mind—only leverage and weakness. He hates it when people have leverage over him, and he hates being weak. Both are things that can be exploited, and Aventurine always needs to be the one doing the exploiting. He always needs to be in control.

Even like this, the last threads of his sanity about to snap, with every circuit of his omega biology trying to drag him into insensible lust, he fights viciously to be in control.

Winning and losing. Using and being used. Exploitation and treachery. Control and being controlled. This is how he's always lived. This is how he's always survived.

This is the only way to let him maintain control when he is most afraid of losing it.

“I don't mind,” you say quietly, “if you use me.”

Even through the haze of heat, Aventurine’s eyes sharpen. “What?”

“I don't mind if you use me,” you repeat, voice neutral. Unfeeling. The proposal might sound cruel to someone else, but not you. After all—your place in the world is one of a tool, and this is what you've always done as an alpha and a slave: sleeping with people to take care of their needs, or sometimes just their desires. It did always make you feel strangely hollow, but you think it will feel just fine with Aventurine. All you've ever wanted to do is keep him safe, and surely, this will do that, but—

“I'll only help if you want. I don't want to force it.” You lower your eyes. “But if you do want it, I'll be careful with you. You can lead. I promise.”

“...I know.” Aventurine’s voice is weak, cracks with pain, but you can tell he's speaking with clarity. “I know you will be.”

You look up. “Then you'll let me help?”

Aventurine looks away—a sign that he cannot adopt his usual smile. He’s clutching that sweater again, pressed close to his chest.

“Just your wrist,” he says quietly.

You listen carefully. “What?”

“I just—I just want your wrist.” He looks away. “Your—your scent gland. Only that.”

“Okay.”

You get up, then falter. When it was your job to comfort your mistress’ omega slaves, you were told to enter their nests—no permission needed from them, no permission needed from you, because only her permission ever mattered for anything. The omegas were usually too delirious to care, often had even begged for it with the state of mind that they were in. But Aventurine is different. He's not like you, and he's not like them. He's never bent to any of his masters’ wills. And even if he did, you wouldn't want to have him bend to yours.

Instead of climbing into his nest, you ask, “Can I sit on the bed?” He doesn't answer. “Just the edge of it,” you add, and you hear him exhale.

“Fine,” he says, breathing measured.

“Thank you,” you say, and he gives you a confused look. But then you're reaching out with a hand, offering it, and he is quickly distracted.

Aventurine drops the sweater, grabs your hand almost immediately. He turns over your palms, fingers tracing your heartlines—as if testing you, as if mapping out territory. He runs his thumbs along the veins of your wrists, too, right over your scent gland, and you have to force yourself not to shudder at the feeling. You only stay still, letting him explore the contours of your hands, letting him acclimate to the feeling of your skin. He laces his fingers with your own, a latticework trap, and he finally drags his wrist along yours.

Both of you inhale sharply.

You can't react. You know it'll scare him if you do, but it's hard to keep still. The way his scent blossoms, the way it mingles with yours, the way it all washes over you—what you're doing can hardly be called touching, but you feel like you're going mad. Especially when he flushes like that, his vibrant eyes fluttering shut. Especially when the sweetness of honey overtakes your senses. Especially when you can smell the way his body is reacting, all that wetness and heat and slick dripping between his legs. You don't miss the way his thighs rub together, nor the hard outline of his cock straining against his pants.

Aventurine shudders. He brings your hand up to his face, rests his cheek in your palm. His skin is flushed and burning with fever, and it's no wonder that he's sighing with relief at your touch. You try not to stare at the way his mouth falls open. He looks at you for a moment, his gaze a hazy violet and blue—before he closes his eyes again and presses his lips into your wrist.

Fuck.

“Aventurine—” You have to stop, voice strangled, when you feel the full softness of his lips working against your skin. He’s panting now, laboured breaths sweeping over your veins. Then you feel his teeth catch, a gentle nip on your flesh, and when he groans into your racing pulse—deep, relieved, desperate, a noise that makes your gut flare with heat—you realise you can't do this.

You pull back your hand, and Aventurine startles.

“Aventurine,” you say, voice strained. Maybe we should stop, you want to say, but he cuts you off.

“I need”—a shaky breath—“I need more.”

You watch Aventurine carefully. His pupils are dilated, blue irises nearly eclipsed. His cheeks are rosy, and he can't stop panting. You can fully smell his arousal now, even through his silk clothes. He's desperate, needing to be filled.

But he also looks torn. His brows are knotted, and you can taste a faint hint of fear in the air now. His knuckles clutch at the sheets, almost white, and he stares at them. He can't look up. He can't look at you. His whole body is tense, like he wants to bolt—and if he weren't so weak, you think he might actually.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He doesn't nod. He also doesn't shake his head. His arms clutch at his midsection as he winces. He doesn't look like Aventurine. He looks like Kakavasha. It makes your heart ache as you watch him give into his body’s demands, wearing the same expression he did on the day your master bought him.

“...don't use your Voice on me,” Aventurine—Kakavasha—says quietly.

It takes you a moment to realise what he's asking. “I won't.”

“And”—his eyes somehow grow even more evasive, hidden by his long lashes— “don’t touch my commodity code.”

His commodity code. His commodity code that is seared into his scent gland. His code that, if you kiss, will ease his agony instantly. His code that, if you bite—will chain him to you irreversibly.

“Of course I won't,” you say instantly.

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

“And—” Aventurine looks away, jaw tight. His voice is quiet but wrought with tension: “—I don't like when people put things inside me.”

Something claws the walls of your heart.

“That's fine too,” you reply. “I don't mind doing it the other way.”

Aventurine’s sigh is nearly inaudible, but unmistakable. His scent shifts a little bit, the wildflower fragrance fading ever so slightly. But he doesn't come to you. He merely sits there—waiting. Expecting. Maybe dreading. Even in the senseless daze of heat, he’s too anxious to move.

You approach slowly. Though you're overwhelmed by the bouquet of his scent, though you feel a curl of heat in your belly in response to it—you are slow. Alphas are supposedly victims of insatiable lust whenever around an omega in heat, absolved of every action they take, but you are convinced this is a lie. You have never once wanted to handle Aventurine with such cruelty. You think that inflicting violence on him, more than anything else, would go against your biology. Every molecule in your body would reject putting him in such pain or inciting such fear. So you are careful when you approach him, slow as you inch up to him—but you do not think it helps.

Aventurine lies down, his face turned away from yours. His eyes squeeze shut, like he's expecting this to hurt. Uncertainty gnaws at your gut as you lean over him, draping your body over his—the only position you've ever taken an omega in, other than mounting them from behind.

(You do not want to mount Aventurine. You never have. It is an impersonal position, a position that omega biology supposedly would force him to enjoy, a position that alphas have likely dictated him to enjoy. You think there is nothing you would hate more. In your weakest, most selfish moments, in your worst ruts, when you’ve allowed yourself to fantasise about mating Kakavasha—you are always facing each other, and he is always looking at you with his eyes you've always loved, and it always feels intimate. Never impersonal. Never dictated. Never forced.)

Aventurine is so honeysweet beneath you. More fragrant than any omega you’ve ever been with. You glance at his commodity code, trying to ignore the scent of his branded skin, then lean down to press your face against the other side of his neck, where a faint scar mars the otherwise flawless slope of his nape. Like every other omega slave you've ever slept with, the scent gland there has been excised: a precautionary measure to reduce the risk of an unwanted mating bite.

(Not unwanted by them—the wants of a slave never matter—but unwanted by their owners. A mating bite would ruin the code seared into their neck, claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. It would hurt their resale value. Only owners are allowed to claim slaves in such a permanent way—and the wants of a slave have no relevance there, either.)

It's a funny thing, this surgical scar. Even with their gland missing, you've noticed that most omegas like having their neck scented by you anyway, probably from some vestigial instinct. You guess that Aventurine won't be any different, that maybe it will comfort him. But when your lips skim the scar left on him by his owner, his entire body stiffens beneath you. His fragrance cuts into your lungs, sharp.

You recoil, as if burned by the touch of him.

“Sorry,” Aventurine is quick to say. He tries to glance at you, but his diamond pupils quickly avoid you again. “Don’t worry about me. Just do whatever you need to do.”

“But you're scared,” you point out, and you see his brow twitch. “You’re scared when I touch you.”

“Not scared,” he lies. “Just…”

When his eyes finally look at you—land on your lips—you understand.

A bite would claim an omega more deeply and permanently than any titanium collar or carbon steel chain. If you lost your mind—give into the insatiable lust of an alpha whenever around an omega in heat—you might bite him, and then you would own Aventurine.

And Aventurine would rather die than be owned by anyone again.

He doesn't need to finish his sentence. You already know what you need to do.

“It's okay,” you say gently, and his brow knots. “I have an idea.”

Aventurine is always afraid.

This is a fact that has haunted you since the day you met him. You've wondered about how to fix it—the bare minimum as his mate (always his, even if he doesn't want you)—and you’ve never quite pinned down how. Because when someone has spent their life in perpetual fear, how do you make them feel safe? When their life is constantly at risk, how do you ever make them feel calm?

You still aren't sure of the answer. But after seeing Kakavasha become Aventurine, you now have a good guess.

It is clear from his scent that Aventurine does not feel remotely safe right now. Not when you leave to fetch something from your own room, and not when you return. The anxiety thickens when he sees, in your hands, a very familiar muzzle.

Aventurine stares. He is not smiling, but he also does not reveal his discomfort on his face, even as beads of sweat line his temple. But his voice is too controlled, too calm, when he asks, “You kept the mask.”

You nod.

“I told you to throw it out,” he points out, “when I freed you.”

“I know. Sorry. I don't know why I kept it.” You remember how tightly you clutched it before the incinerator, thinking about how strange it would feel, discarding something that you'd worn everyday since you presented—but you don't tell him this. Instead, you say, “But it’s convenient.”

Before Aventurine can say anything, you toss him the remote.

“You’re afraid of my bite and my Voice, but you don't have to be with this,” you explain. Your tone is gentle, soothing. Probably disarming coming from an alpha, with how he is in heat. Perhaps that's why he’s studying the remote rather than chucking it away. “You'll be in full control if I wear this.”

Control. Mere seconds after you say it, you can smell his fragrance change again, mellowing. It's only a brief moment of calm that fades when you latch the mask onto your face, but he doesn't smell as nearly as stressed before.

Aventurine watches you carefully as the carbon steel swallows your maw, its old and familiar edges biting into you. For the first time in years, you cannot tell what he is thinking—truly poker-faced even to you.

“You aren't bothered by wearing that thing while we do this,” he says—asks?—and you shake your head. The muzzle was part of you for years. You were wearing it when you killed someone for the first time. You were wearing it when you went into rut for the first time. You were wearing it when your master had sex with you for the first time. It doesn't bother you that you’ll wear it when you have sex with Aventurine.

If you could speak, you would ask him, Why do you think it would bother me? But all you do is gesture for him to sit up. To switch places with you. You lie down—something you've never done with an omega—and wait for him to get on top.

Aventurine stares at you for a long, quiet moment. It's followed by a sigh of relief. Disarmed, he—for the first time in any heat you've witnessed—finally relaxes. His scent wafts over you as he climbs between your legs, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hands as he parts your thighs, almost scalding.

He doesn't bother getting you ready, too needy to think rationally, but he doesn't have to anyway. You've been wet ever since you felt his mouth touch your wrist, hard ever since you heard him groan into it. You're equally desperate to get some relief as you feel his cockhead sliding against your opening, leaking all over your entrance as his slick drips onto your thighs. His breath shakes as he enters you, and he can't hear it with how you're muzzled—but you groan just as deeply as him at the tight stretch.

You hear him swear when you clench around him, watch him lean over you. His arms shake as he supports himself, refusing to succumb to his heat even as he chases his relief. You seek out his gaze (just as in your dreams, facing each other, intimate), and his neon eyes catch on your eyes for a brief, breathtaking second—

—before he looks away.

There's a flash of—you don't know what, maybe pain? Or fear?—in his irises as he does. A twitch of the brow, a tell he'd normally rather die than let slip. You have the realisation, as Aventurine moves inside you, that even while you're muzzled, even while he has complete control over you—he still can't stand having sex with you. Probably because he can't stand being in heat in general, you tell yourself. Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't use it anymore, don't use me anymore. He'd have this reaction to anyone.

Still—you didn't expect him to have this reaction to you.

Your hands twitch, possessed by an old instinct to cover your eyes. But you'd probably scare Aventurine if you moved your arms, so all you do is dig your fingers into the sheets and squeeze them shut. You tell yourself again and again that he'd hate having sex with anyone in these circumstances—not just you. And then you tell yourself, as a desperate, broken moan leaves his branded throat, that he would also come inside anyone in these circumstances, caught within the cruel grip of his heat.

Aventurine stills inside you as he finishes. He pants, sweat dripping down his temple as he shudders in his ecstasy, his spend hot and thick inside you. You can feel his fever break as he comes down from his high, the heat coming off his body easing into a manageable warmth.

Do you feel better, you try to say, but you can't move your mouth while your mask is on. So you wait patiently for Aventurine to come back to himself, watching him carefully as he pulls out and rolls onto the mattress beside you. He finally glances at you then. His eyes narrow once they land on you, confusion flicking through them. Then displeasure. He reaches for the remote.

To your surprise, he immediately punches in the code to unlock your muzzle. Aventurine has apparently remembered the numbers after all these years, as if the moment he freed you has been since seared into his memory.

“Are you okay?” is the first thing you say, and Aventurine gives you a confused look. He’s still panting, dazed, so you ask, “Can I check your temperature?” And when he nods, you confirm your suspicion: he's still much too warm.

There is an ache between your legs and a strange hollow in your gut (because you aren't very experienced with receiving, you think—your body likely just isn't used to the feeling of it), but you quickly forget them. All you can think of is Aventurine, and how he’s still unwell, and how you need to comfort him. The instinct is so strong that you don't even say anything as you get up, straightening out your clothes.

“Are you leaving?” Aventurine asks. His voice is neutral, completely unbothered, but the thought is so horrific to you that you turn back to him with wide eyes.

“Of course not. I'm going to get you water and medicine.” A beat. You stare at Aventurine’s eyes, then think about how he hid them from you during sex. The hollow feeling comes back, but it's mostly eclipsed by your anxiety at the next thought: “...do you want me to leave?”

“Do you want to?”

“I—” I'd rather die, you think. Being forced to leave him right now would feel like tearing out a piece of yourself. You don't know if there's an alpha in this world who could leave their mate in the middle of a heat. And even if he is unmarked, unattached to you—you still think of yourself as his mate. (His, always his, even if he doesn't want you.) “I would prefer not to. I am your heat partner. I'm supposed to take care of you.”

You hear a quiet breath. “Right. Of course. You're always so conscientious.” Aventurine nods, as if convincing himself of something. “Try not to take too long.”

“I’ll come back soon,” you promise, and the air sweetens. Encouraged, you add, voice gentle: “I’ll bring that medication, and then we can have sex as many times as you need after I come back. I'll make sure you're not in any pain anymore.” You pause, studying him. “Is there anything else you need to feel better?”

His fragrance changes once more, this time in a way you don't totally recognize. “No.” His voice sounds strange. His scent is still foreign, fluctuating, possibly hinting at some kind of pain. The heat must be getting to him again—and of course it wasn't enough, what you just did, what you can provide. He likely needs to be filled to get any kind of lasting relief, but you left him empty. “No, that's all I want.”

You nod, forcing yourself to look calm. Ignoring the emptiness in your gut. It didn't feel bad, but you hope it'll feel better next time you have sex. You think it will. Alphas are supposed to be filled with an insatiable lust near omegas in heat, after all. And even though you’ve never felt that before—never felt anything sleeping with all those omegas in your mistress’ house—you are sure you'll eventually feel it around Aventurine.

But the feeling never comes. Even though you can tell that his heat has returned by the time you're back—sweat beading his temples, laboured breaths at his lips, his bottoms now discarded, with full evidence of arousal between his legs—you don't feel much of anything as you reach for your mask again.

“Don't,” Aventurine says, before it can clasp around your face. You give him a curious look. He explains, “Don't. I don't want to have sex again. Not yet.”

You stare at him, shifting. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. Not knowing how he wants to use you. “What can I do?”

He gives you a long look. “Come here. I… I want your scent gland.”

It's a sensible request. If there's a way to seek relief without fucking someone—without fucking you, which he clearly hated doing—you're sure Aventurine would prefer it. So you climb into his nest, holding your wrist out for him, and—

“No.” His voice is quiet. “I want the one on your neck.”

“...oh.”

You stand there, not sure where to move. If he wants you in his nest again, or if he’d rather do this standing. You’re relieved when he demands, “Lie down.”

You expect him to get on top of you when you do. Assume that he wants complete control—but he instead lies down beside you. Presses his body into yours, and then his face into your neck. His nose and lips brush against your scent gland, a full-body shudder running through him, and—

—and now you know for a fact that it is a lie that alphas want nothing other than to fuck an omega when they're in heat. Because even like this, with his lips sweet on your neck, with the sheets soaked with his slick, with his spend leaking out of you—you do not want to have sex with Aventurine. You only want to hold him. You only want him to keep scenting you. You only want to scent him back.

You only want him to feel safe.

You breathe in deeply, lungs flooded by honey. You think of what it felt like to hold him in that cold basement, when he was delirious with fever and pain, and you think about how different his scent is now. How much sweeter it is. How much calmer he feels.

“Do you feel better?” you ask, and he doesn't respond, but you know the answer. His hands come up to dig into your shirt, and he presses into you like you're a sweater in his nest. Silence blankets over you both, calm and warm. His laboured breath starts to improve.

He does eventually speak.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he says, “what you smell like?”

You stare at him. Your master used to say that you smelled good, but he'd never elaborated, and you hadn't wanted him to. “No.”

Aventurine breathes in.

“You smell like—” A little sigh, shaking and feverish, leaves him. “You smell like rain.”

Your eyebrows tick up. “Rain?”

“Yes. Or not just rain, but”—he pauses, next words quiet—“more Iike after it rains. You smell like the desert after a rainfall.”

“Oh.” You don't know what to say to that. Feeling distinctly like it's a silly question, you ask, “Is that a good scent?”

“Some would think so. Especially to people from the desert. You probably smell like a blessing to them. Although…”

Aventurine goes quiet again. You stare at the chandelier above you, all crystal and white gold, and wait.

“Although?” you prompt.

“...although I wouldn't really know,” he says. “It’s just a hunch. I bet it's why so many omegas on this planet like you.”

You couldn't care less about those other omegas. All you care about is Aventurine. “And?” you say. “Do you like my scent?”

His reply never comes. He just breathes deeply again, seeking relief from your neck—not intimacy. Any alpha’s scent would work; that doctor told you so. Any alpha’s touch would work, too. There are no special feelings involved here. Your place in the world is one of a tool, and tools are never especially liked nor disliked. Their value exists only in how they can be used.

You don't know why you even bothered to ask the question.

But then something strange happens: Aventurine curls against you, pressing even further into you. His lashes flutter against your pulse again; it ticks up in response, beating fast against his lips.

“I do,” he says quietly. “I do like it.”

You swallow. “But I guess that's because you're in heat. Any alpha would smell good to you, wouldn’t they?”

“No.” His fingers dig into the fabric of your shirt. “No, I like it because it's yours.”

You know better than to read too much into his response. Aventurine had already said it earlier: No foreign scents. He's only tolerating this whole arrangement because you don't smell unfamiliar to him. Only able to use you because you are the least threatening option.

But the words break something in you—break the thing that made you unable to throw out that little pouch of copper coins that you were saving up for Kakavasha’s freedom, the part of you that made you wear that carbon-steel mask for him. It is this part of you that has your eyes squeezing shut and your arms wrapping around him. You know he’ll recoil, reject you, but just this once—you need to try.

Aventurine doesn't push you away.

He melts into you instead, inhaling deeply. Your scent gland tingles with the warmth of his breath, the feeling of his lips. He seems—comfortable.

You can't fathom why he’s staying in your arms. Perhaps he's simply desperate for some kind of relief from his heat, just like when you held him in the basement while he was delirious from pain. But Aventurine had spoken to you with clarity just now, and his skin doesn't feel scalding so much as warm, and his scent is so different than from that moment. So sweet and so gentle, without a trace of fear. It makes your heart squeeze. As much as you've always wanted Aventurine to feel safe, you'd never imagined that his scent would be so beautiful when he is.

It makes your heart ache. You've never held anything so lovely before, and you’ve never felt so warm before, and it all makes up for how badly it hurt to let Aventurine inside you. How hollow it made you feel to let him use you. How none of that matters as long as you can keep him safe like this, because you belong to Kakavasha. You'll always belong to Kakavasha, in a fate that was chosen for you on the day you met him.

You're his, always his—even if he’ll never want you.

end part i

thank you so much to lore for hosting a fantastic collab and to my sponsors who funded this fic and got it over the finish line! please go check out @ficsforgaza to find other amazing hsr writers you can sponsor in order to help fundraise! here is my own wip list, if you are interested in seeing more from me!

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additional end notes