#i love fem aven

[moshaeu]

part two

[angelltheninth]

Honkai Star Rail Men + I Love it When You Moan My Name

Pairing: Argenti, Aventurine, Blade, Boothill, Dan Heng, Gepard, Jing Yuan, Sampo, Veritas Ratio, Welt x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, praise, moaning, being manhandled, fingering, kissing, blowjob, slight dom/sub dynamics, cock riding, pussyworship, cunnlingus, overstimulation, double-dick

A/N: I like doing these longer imagines. Like mini-fics.

He was always a man of words, a man of his oath. For him the fact that you said his name while he made love to you, almost every night at that, was the same as you taking an oath to him. "A bit louder pretty, I want to hear you. I love it when you moan my name." He kissed against your cheek as he lifted your hips slightly so his cock could slide in deeper.

"Why do you always insist on that?" You brushed his amber hair behind his cheek and his pale skin warmed with a pink flush instantly.

"It is wrong of a man to want to hear his name from the woman he loves?" His hips slowed to deeper thrusts, his cock dragging along your inner walls every time.

You sighed at the sensation of him going so deep. "Argenti."

His cock stirred immediately, pushing all the way inside your pulsing pussy. "You make me feel special, loved. I want to worship you when you say my name like that." Argenti whispered and felt your hands on his cheeks. "Can I… do that for you?"

"Argenti." You moaned and he began moving again, faster every time you moaned his name. "Argenti!" His name became your own prayer, a lifeline as your body pressed against his, shaking and pussy pulsing around his gushing cock.

Aventurine was a gambling man. He always has his eyes on the prize, in this case on the lovely hostess who just so happens to be his secret girlfriend. He loves you and he loves making bets with you. There's not a lot of risk involved, at least nothing bad.

"Stop staling." You demanded and rolled your hips to take his cock deeper into your pussy. "It's been the whole day, the entire damn shift of you and your fingers teasing me. Just fuck me like you said you would." It was one of the punishments for losing the bet. One among a few, there were also rules but when he looked at you with that shit-eating grin you wanted to break all the rules.

"Bold words for someone who should be happy to take orders now. Didn't I say you should endure this for as long as you can? And what was it that you said back to be? Oh yeah…" He pushed his cock balls deep and then fully out, leaving you empty. "You told me you could do this all day."

"You… god damn, smug piece of…" Your legs locked around him instantly upon his cock pushing back in. "I can't take it anymore." You bit your lip, remembering the other part of the bet. "Aventurine." His purple eyes shined when you called his name, his hips moved forward again. "Aventurine."

"Good girl. You need something, you call my name. I love it when you moan my name." Aventurine would never not honor a bet.

"Aven-turine." His name sounded broken on your lips, interrupted by his cock pounding at your insides. You wanted more. "Aventurine, Aventurine!" You kissed and called his name against his ear, licking around the shining earing, your cunt dripping on his cock and balls, "Av-!"

You swore you would never say his name no matter what. Be it trouble, pain, sadness, or even pleasure. And so far you managed to abstain from it in all those situations. He knew what you were doing, he knew all too well. Blade always called your name but it sounded like some kind of curse.

He pulled your hair back, your head following his grip. "Still so stubborn with me after all those orgasms. I commend you on that at least." The following snicker didn't sound like he was commending you though, it was more like he was mocking you and while you were still coming on his cock no less.

It didn't seem like he was stopping any time soon, still so hard inside of you he began moving again. Your pussy tightened again, overstimulated to the point of almost feeling pain.

"I won't say it." You gritted through clenched teeth and reached back to grab him by his hair too. Kissing was the only way to make absolutely sure now. You didn't trust your body or your heart anymore, you couldn't control them around… "Blade."

Blade gasped, barely audible under the sounds of your pussy taking his dick. He heard it, you knew he did because his pace quickened, more, deeper, "Yes, darling. I love when you moan my name. Finally, finally you're all mine."

His thrusts and his hands grew more possessive by the moment. He was intent on showing you you were his now, not just your body which was already his from the moment you first had sex but your heart and your soul as well. All of you, it belonged to Blade and Blade alone.

"You should have seen the guy, I swore he pissed his pants when he was standing down the barrel of my gun!" His barked out laughing at the men he was talking to.

In one hand he had his drink which he was casually swirling in the glass, the other hand was below the table, much more busy under your long dress. Thankfully the smooth sound of music and constant chatter and laughter helped cover up the little whimpers you occasionally made. As well as the squelches.

The men he was talking to were non the wiser to what he was doing either. After all you were Boothill's wife so it was a given that you'd cling to him when he just returned after weeks of being on the road.

One of the men leaned in a bit closer. "Those skills of yours are really something, enough to make your missy here happy. But I saw some men eyeing here while you were away, you might wanna consider staying a bit longer this time. Else you might come back and find her in someone's else's arms."

"Nah, my beautiful wife would never cheat on me. Isn't that right darlin'? Aren't I the best? Tell them who do you like the most." He grinned as you opened your mouth only to groan from his fingers curling and rubbing against your sensitive spot. Your pussy tightened around his digits. You swallowed hard before moaning.

"Boothill." His name fell from your lips for all to hear.

"There you have it everyone. She's my wife. Remember that." Boothill's voice dropped to a shaper threatening degree before he grinned with that toothy smile again. "And you, I love it when you moan my name like that, making everyone know you're my woman."

One of Dan Heng's cocks was more than enough to make you lose your mind. Two were almost too much but you took them both anyway, one in your pussy and the other in your ass, fucking you deep with the exact same ferocity.

"Dan Heng… faster, I can take it, I promise I can take both your cocks." You pushed yourself up and onto all fours, making the man behind you growl and surge forward. "That's better. More."

"I could hurt you. This is already a lot for a human. You don't have to- ah! Tight holes… damn it-!" He was breathing hard, shaking and trying to hold himself back. Ignoring his desires and instincts got easier over the years, at least he thought so before he met you and awakened to his true self again. "Must… not…"

"Yes you can my love. What ever it is you can. I'm letting you. I love you Dan Heng." You confessed as you pushed and rocked your body against his.

His arms embraced you around your hips, his thrusts getting wilder, not painful but so intense that the pleasure made you dizzy. "Moan my name again, I love it when you moan my name. I love… you… I want to fill you up." That was Dan Heng's confession.

Both your pussy and asshole squeezed his cocks at the same time, trapping them until they shot warm seed out, filling both your holes, making them drip and overflow with warmth.

The knight moaned between your legs. his tongue lapping at your dripping hole. When he said he would pamper you today you didn't realize he meant it like this. Not that you'd dream about complaining, no, never. "So good… Gepard, love when you get like this."

He chuckled as he licked his way up your pussy slowly, his tongue never leaving and wrapped his lips around your swollen clit.

"Right there, don't stop, keep going, I'm so close, Gepard!" You didn't even know what words you were saying anymore only that they made the blonde knight between your legs work harder to please you. "Gepard! C-Coming!" His mouth opened wide, thirty for the taste of you on his tongue. You heard him hiss when you pulled his hair, pushed him closer but he never stopped licking your clit, not until your body fell against the bed, boneless.

"Gods above, sweetheart. You uhm… that was a lot." Now that he sat back up you saw how hard he was blushing, and how wet his face was with your horny juices. "You kept calling my name over and over."

"So? Was it embarrassing?" You suddenly felt self-conscious about it. "If you don't like it I'll stop."

"What?! No! Please don't ever stop! I… I love it when you moan my name. I wanted to moan yours too, only… my mouth was quite busy." Gepard sheepishly smiled before reaching for his discarded shirt to clean his face with. "Perhaps I could learn to do that thing you mentioned, the one where I spell letters with me tongue." Oh. Oh, he was determined now.

He had you on his lap, in his office, on his cock, making noises for him. Yet you could tell by the relaxed look on his face that it wasn't enough. He was feeling good, his cock pulsing in your pussy, leaking with cum. But… "What do you need me to do, sir?"

"Hm?" He blinked, fingers tapping on your thighs. His smile made you melt on the inside. "What? I already have you where I want you."

"No." You cupped his cheeks and looked deep into his stormy eyes, "I want you to come. For that you seem to need me to do something for you. What is it? You know I'm at your disposal today." This was a secret arrangement, or as secret as your looks could keep it. Friend, secretary, lover, sparing partner, you had all those roles in Jing Yuan's life.

"Then would you moan my name as you come? I enjoy how it sounds." His grip intensified and your hips rolled forward, clit pressing against his hard abs. "Go on, no one is here this late. Only I will hear you. I love it when you moan my name, do it and I'll come inside of you. I know it's what you've been craving all day."

Damn him and his ability to read what was on your mind so easily. Not that you tried to hide it when you bent down and gave him a full view of your naked, dripping cunt, hidden only by your short skirt.

"Jing Yuan." It only took saying it once for him to come. You weren't far behind, riding his cock like your sanity depended on it. His head pushed between your tits, his mouth moaning what sounded like your name but you couldn't tell over the fast smacking sounds of your ass against his strong thighs.

"Sampo, Sampo slow down!" You moaned into your hand, trying to stifle your cries of pleasure. The assassin retaliated by nibbling on your clit, causing you to cry out and have to brace against the headboard of the large bed.

"Not possible, my sweet. I'm only here for a few hours and those hours are almost up you know. I won't leave without eating you out." He smiled against your shaking thighs and pushed them further apart with his hands. "Call my name again, let the whole estate hear their mistress moaning."

With misty eyes you looked down at your boyfriend, the lower half of his face hidden but his eyes betrayed his amusement of your situation. When ever he visited he fucked you like there wouldn't be a next time and in his line of work maybe there wouldnt be. But he never let you worry about that, only interested in making you scream his name over and over.

"Sampo, please, I can't- too much… too much…!" He bit your clit again and licked it a moment later, making you all but scream for him as you came all over his face.

"I know you can, you did, you did so well tonight. You moaned for me so much, I love it when you moan like that, moan my name so loud like you can't control yourself." Sampo went back to kissing your inner thighs, this time avoiding your puffy, sensitive pussy so he wouldn't realize make it uncomfortable for you.

Eventually he helped you get off of him and pulled you against his chest. "Don't you have to-" His arms tightened around you in retaliation of what you were about to say. A few more minutes won't kill anyone.

Veritas groaned as he looked under his desk and saw that you stopped moving. "Brat, why did you stop?" His hand left the pencil and went to your hair instead. "Keep sucking."

"How about you ask me nicely, Veritas." You smiled against his red tip.

His eye twitched at your attitude. Why were you always like this, putting up a fight, giving him this sort of responce, making things difficult when they could be so easy. All you had to do was listen to him. "We both know I don't need to do that for a whore like yourself to give me a blowjob."

You leaned your cheek against his leg and traced a finger up his twitching dick. "Veritas, you know what I want you to say." Two could play this game. If he thought he could make you do what ever he wanted when ever he wanted then there would be a price to pay. Oh not much, just his admission.

He groaned and leaned back, hand over his face, hiding his blush. "I… love it… when you moan my name. There I said it, now could you- fuck!" Veritas was a man of logic and reason as much as he was a man of lust and you knew how to make those things work in your favor.

A few words said in the right order, a formula, and you would give his cock all the pleasure it could ask for, you'd suck him dry as many times as he wanted to.

"Ah… Welt… don't tease me. Please not now." You clung onto your husband's jacket while he hovered above you, his glasses almost sliding off his face. His fingers flicked your clit again, quite quickly too.

"Tease you? Is that what I'm doing? I was under the impression I was making my lovely wife feel good after a long day. But if Im not then I can stop. Although then you wouldn't be moaning my name and you know how much I love it when you moan my name. I'm at a loss." He pretended like he was clueless about your frustrations.

You hissed and pushed your cunt closer to his fingers. "No, no, don't, don't stop, make me come, Welt."

Welt leaned down to kiss you softly, not too long of a kiss but enough to convey how much he missed you today. Two fingers spread your folds open and his middle finger swipped upwards to your aching clit, rolling against it, rubbing the slick over it.

"Thank you, yes, make me come with your fingers." Even if you tried you wouldn't be able to keep your voice down now.

Good thing that you didn't give in and do this while you were at work because you could have gotten caught very easily.

[rinneverse]

࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 — 𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒆 + 𝒅𝒓. 𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐. ˒ ⊹

cw fem reader / threesome / aventurine x f!reader x ratio / i wrote this directly into tumblr drafts; it is not proofread. proceed w caution EL O EL / usage of petnames (darling, sweetheart) / mentions of mindbreak / degradation and dirty talk / dacryphilia / light choking / teasing / oral (m!receiving) / spit-roast

love, oak! just a lil drabble. aven and veritas have me in a chokehold i fear.

i constantly think about how being in a relationship w both veritas ratio and aventurine would be...

i think, purposefully or not, things turn a little bit competitive with the two of them. who can take you out on the better date, who buys you the best gifts—and most importantly: who satisfies you the most.

and it’s not that they necessarily hate eachother so much they want to one-up the other (on the contrary; they like having you in common. being at your beck and call is what they live for, to your eternal surprise), they just find it fun. and it's the kind of fun they indulge in every night, making a symphony out of your sweet moans and pleasure-soaked whimpers.

this just happened to be one of those nights.

"look 't her. so depraved. our good girl, eh, ratio?"

"shut it, aventurine. i don't want to hear you talking when there's something much prettier to listen to right here."

seated on veritas's lap, he grasps your hips in his large hands as he guides you onto his thick length. a long moan falls from your lips as you feel the tip breach your dripping cunt, followed by a pleasant ache and stretch as he pulls your hips flush to his.

a warm breath ghosts the shell of your ear. aventurine crowds you from behind, the blazing heat of his chest pressing against your back. his hands ghost up your sides, leaving gooseflesh in their wake as they make their way up your body. he cups your tits, massaging the supple flesh and rolling your nipples, adding to the orchestra of stimulation the two men were making you feel.

"i suppose i can agree with you on that. she sounds just so delightful, doesn't she? makes me wanna break her—" a breathy whimper leaves you as aventurine licks up the skin of your neck, leaving a blazing trail of wetness as he kisses the shell of your ear. he continues in a soft whisper, "—yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

ratio holds your hips tightly, denying you the pleasure of grinding down against him. his smile is serpentine as he looks up at you. "go on—answer him, darling. would you like us to fuck you until you can't even remember your own name?"

ratio's golden eyes narrow, watching your every move. the way you squeeze your eyes shut, bottom lip taken between your teeth as you stifle a sob. he can't help himself—his hips buck slightly, drawing another breathy moan from your throat.

"she just clenched so nicely around me. i think she would like that. what do you think, aventurine?" ratio's voice drips with sultry honey as he speaks. his hands cup the globes of your ass, slowly coaxing you to move along his length. the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls is maddening, and you pulse around him in response as he forces you back down. his tip hits that spongy little spot inside you, bringing tears to line your pretty eyes, making your mascara run as droplets drip down your face.

aventurine pauses mouthing along your neck to smile. there's nothing pleasant in that grin though—only the feral need to please you, to take you in the palm of his hand and mold you to his liking. right now, he'd like nothing more than for you to be his pretty little cockslut, taking him and ratio until they had nothing left to give you.

"i think so too," aventurine responds. his hand grabs your face, squishing your cheeks together as he forces you to meet his gaze. there's so much love and adoration for you in those beautiful cerulean and lavender eyes, mixed with a cruel hunger that glimmers as he leans in, tongue peeking out to lick away the salty tears that run down your cheeks. "god, sweetheart. you look so pretty like this. is ratio's cock satisfying enough for you? is he making you feel good?"

you nod fervently, mouth falling open in a moan as aventurine's hand snakes down to play with your clit while ratio works you up and down his cock. they work in perfect tandem; of course, they've done this a million times before. ratio and aventurine have perfected the art of pleasing you.

"use your words, darling. am i making you feel good?" ratio hisses between gritted teeth. he's obviously feeling good too, if the way his cock twitches inside you is any indication. aventurine lets your face go in favor of letting it drift down, holding your neck gently. a promise, you think. it sends a thrilling feeling down your spine, your nerves alight with electricity as you try to roll your hips down against ratio. the hand around your neck tightens a fraction, the hand on your clit pausing, drifting away and caressing the sensitive skin of your thighs as aventurine waits for your response.

"yes, yes!" you cry out, desperate for any sort of friction. your hips buck fruitlessly. "feels s'good, veri!"

you're rewarded with aventurine's fingers deftly working at your clit again as ratio bucks his hips, fucking up into you. his pace isn't fast, but he hits you so deeply it sends your entire being into a frenzy. you can feel your stomach tighten, a telltale sign of what's to come.

"atta girl. you're taking him like a champ, aren't ya? don't forget about me, though. you can take more, surely?" aventurine drawls.

aventurine nods to ratio and suddenly you're being manhandled, forced onto your knees. you can feel ratio behind you while aventurine greets your face with a sanguine smile. you bite down the whimper that fights to escape you at the lack of stimulation—you were so close. with the way aventurine's smile is slowly poisoned with a smug satisfaction, he knows it too.

"hi, sweetheart." aventurine says as he unbuckles his belt with a clink. he pushes the fabric of his pants and boxers down, his cock obscenely slapping against his abdomen as its freed. he's already leaking pre; despite his put-together demeanor, you know he's desperate for you. you smile at him as he languidly pumps his cock.

you watch as aventurine seems to have a silent conversation with ratio. it lasts only a heartbeat—he looks back down at you as he brings his tip to your lips. your tongue darts out, running along the head, down the length of him, drawing a pretty moan from aventurine that makes your stomach do flips. as your lips close around him, you feel ratio push into you again, a lewd squelch sounding as he sinks into you.

they work you in tandem, aventurine holding your face as he guides your mouth on his cock, ratio fucking into you from behind. you're already close again. you can feel it.

"she loves this," ratio notes, a hint of smugness in his voice. "she's absolutely drooling around me. feel good, darling?"

of course, you can't respond. aventurine fucks your mouth gently, his eyebrows furrowed as he groans. you can see every twitch of his abs, the roll of his muscles as he fights down the pleasure your lips bring him.

"oh yeah. she’s definitely enjoying herself. don’t tire yourself out too fast though, i can go all night." aventurine smirks.

it feels like ratio’s thrusts grow a bit more punishing. his large hands grip the fat of your ass tightly as he says, "worry about yourself. i lasted longer than you last time, remember? not to worry though. i won’t stop until our darling is completely satisfied. isn’t that right?"

aventurine’s hips stutter slightly as you moan around his cock. "let’s see who makes her cum the most then, shall we?"

"fine then. we shall."

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

[hitomisuzuya]

Soft smut with Aventurine, I want to praise him, tell him how much I love him, and how he’s doing so well for me

I wasn’t sure if you were taking requests from Aventurine but then I saw what you just posted

If you don’t want to write this feel free to ignore!!

Anyways I love your writing so much and I’m glad you’ve picked up writing for Aven, now one of my favorite writers writes for by far my two favorite characters to read about :)

Aventurine x fem!reader. Soft smut. Cunnilingus. Praise. Pussy drunk! Aventurine. Aventurine cums from praise.

I am always taking requests for Aventurine. I want to spoil him with praise, so he cums from it. Spoiling him is the name of the game, isn't it? Thank you🥺❤️

It was Aventurine who seduced you into this position, using his silver tongue and teasing phrases that made you red faced and flustered. However, as his hand caressed your inner thigh, his eyes glinting satisfied hearing your shaky moan as he parted your folds with his tongue, you did something that softened the playful look in his eyes.

You'd reached down to stroke his hair. It was such a tender, and loving action. One that made that usual playful look melt into one of complete adoration. Adoration for you.

Aventurine sighed into your cunt, content as you ran your fingers through his hair again. A soft moan of pleasure escaped your parted lips, pleasure spiking through you as he lovingly kitten licked your clit. His eyes were trained on your every movement, ears keenly focused on your noises.

Between your thighs, he was looking up at you like you are the center of his whole world. Without you, he would have nothing left to grasp onto and cling to. It was hard for him to feel vulnerable, but you made him secure enough to show vulnerability.

And it was liberating for him.

Your back arched off the bed, your hips rolling up into his mouth as he latched his lips around your clit. The prodding and licking of his tongue sent your clit throbbing, louder noises of pleasure for Aventurine to feed off of keened from you.

"Y-You are doing so good for me," You stumbled over your words. And Aventurine loves when you do that. That told him he was really making you feel good.

He groaned into your cunt, his mouth leaving your clit. He flicked his tongue at your hole, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head feeling it clench around the tip of his tongue. He slowly lapped at your hole, moaning huskily as you pushed his face further onto your cunt.

Aventurine's fingers trembled as he held your thighs apart. Your body was starting to tremble in his hands, your legs shaking as you grinded against his mouth. "Good boy, Aventurine. Your tongue feels so good," Hearing more of your praise made his tongue feel more ravenous.

His cock pulsed hard between his legs, muffling the sweetest whimper into your cunt as he rutted into the mattress. He knew you were eager to please him too, but that was the furthest thing from his mind. He was soaking up your words of praise, lapping and sucking, starved.

"Please," Aventurine groaned, swirling his tongue around your clit as he held your cunt against his mouth, determined to soak the taste of you on his tongue. "I need to hear it," With every fiber of his being.

He couldn't even be embarrassed about already being so close to cumming just from hearing your praise. But he couldn't get enough of it. He knew it wouldn't take the much to push him over the edge.

"I-I--" Pleasure quaked so strongly through you that you stumbled over your words again. Aventurine vibrated a moan of anticipation on your clit. "I love you, Aventurine I love you so much!"

He moaned like he had just heard the one thing he'd been waiting to hear all his life.

"Good boy, good boy," Your words keened another whimper from Aventurine. "I'm so close, please don't stop!" You were writhing on the bed, your fingers urgently tugging on his soft hair.

Your pleas, utter praise, and chants of good boy finally pushed him over the edge. His body shook as cum soaked his pants. He rode out his orgasm by further tasting you. His tongue was frenzied on your clit.

He was determined to be worthy of soaking up and basking in your praise. And the way you looked at him, your body trembling in the wake of your orgasm told him that he deserves it.

[dumbification]

luxurious ft. aventurine

summary: aventurine's love for you was expensive, and having your lips meet his was pure euphoria.

cw: aventurine x fem!reader, nothing much just a hot make out sesh, listen to luxurious by gwen stefani while reading

you wonder how you got here.

someone pathetic like you, sipping champagne in one of the finest hotels of penacony.

you could really never imagine living a luxurious life, you've been working night and day from the pits of hell. now you're rolling in cashmere with aventurine---he's been there.

as you take another sip from your glass, you shyly shift in his lap. he softly laughs for a minute, wishing he could see your expression right now.

your face blushed with a tinge of crimson, a bead of sweat gathering at your temple. you've never been in a private room with him, you only met at busy parties.

he presses a kiss on your nape, lingering to fan his hot breath on you. you felt butterflies flutter in your stomach. you decide to stand to lean against your mini bar for a while, to give yourself a little break. intimacy stresses you out.

"is something wrong?" he swirls his drink in his hand, and takes a sip from his champagne along with you. "not really. i'm just.."

you know he's worried, but that fake smile plastered on him always said otherwise. "just what?" he stands up as well.

in the blink of an eye, he's right in front of you, so close.. "just nervous." he gives you a look that spawns even more butterflies in your stomach.

the two of you put away your drinks when you catch him taking a glimpse at your lips. you know what he wants. you want it too. so badly.

"is my lip gloss smudged, or what?"

"don't play dumb."

he takes a step closer to hold your chin, he gently raises it to have you look at him in his eyes. they're beautiful. you thought. you feel like you could swim in them, it's like they could hypnotize you into doing whatever he wants. you would, no matter what it was.

you were so lucky to have a beauty like him.

he licks his lips as he sees your own tremble in excitement. the two of you are desperate to feel each other.

before you could finish your next thought, his lips collide with yours, and it's absolute perfection. they're so delicate. he thought of your lips, and your lips only. you can feel the butterflies fluttering somewhere far deeper.

you find your hands in his hair, gently tugging at it to encourage him to keep on going. his hands are all over you. one hand resting on your waist, and the other stroking your back, having you gasp and arch.

"tell me how it feels.." his voice was silky and melodious. you would fold when he spoke softly. your voice was his harmony, your sounds perfectly blending with his own.

aventurine wouldn't give you a break, you might as well just share breath. he ushered you to be more vocal by languidly grinding against you.

and you were vocal. extremely vocal. he knew just what to do, and knew how to make you crumble in his arms.

you were practically melting. you were drenched in arousal, longing for something more euphoric. the passion in him multiplied rapidly when he felt how soaked you were.

he pulls away to look at the mess you are. your legs barely keep your balance as you struggle to put two words together. your face burns a deep, beet red.

"someone's excited." aventurine smirks as he plants a kiss against your cheek. he effortlessly slips your red dress off and tosses it aside.

you avert your eyes in embarrassment. "a-aven, I.." now he really gets to see how excited you are. he himself burns a deep, beet red.

he's just as excited as you are. butterflies flutter around his insides, urging him to release his throbbing member from it's confinements.

but your eyes gave him a silent plea to slow down, so he listened.

something was so luxurious about your love. when your lips meet, it all turns to gold. you were his hidden treasure.

he was so lucky to have a beauty like you.

[pxuvalentinx]

tags: aventurine x fem reader, nsfw, f!ngering, tiny degradation, fake empathy, edging, hand fetish‼️

a/n: i’m so sorry omgg, i’ve been so busy and tbh also not really motivated to finish any of my drafts. but to feed my starved children (you all) i cooked up some quick aven smut (in the span of 20 minutes). i got one more aven fic in my drafts but it’s kinda a fail ngl, it’s basically the pt2 to the aventurine gunplay thingie i wrote. so do let me know if you’d like to read that😭😭 as always, reqs are open🫶

Aventurine, one of the most talented men when it came to coin tricks. He’d always try to impress you with them, showing you how easily the coin would move from left to right and right to left, slipping so smoothly in between his gloved fingers. And you had to admit, it was indeed very impressive. You tried it once or twice, but without success. Aventurine would always just grin at you, talking about how your little hands just aren’t as talented as his. It would make you slightly pout, asking him to teach you, but he would just turn it down, saying he’d teach you another time.

You loved his hands anyway, slim and long fingers, short nails and a soft palm — whenever he wasn’t wearing those gloves at least. If he was, rings would decorate his hands even more, the gold shining and sparkling as he pushed your hips down. His fingers were hidden in your cunt, curling and thrusting. He didn’t even take off his glove before practically shoving his hand inside you, the fabric feeling rough and soft at the same time, creating a whole new sensation.

He’d always comment on how wet your pussy is, on how nicely it squeezes around his fingers, on how stupidly easy you go dumb only from his hand. Aventurine’s thumb was on your clit, pressing down on it whenever his fingers thrusted into you. The poor people in the hotel room next to you, having to hear your stupid cries and pleas for mercy all night long, all because Aventurine was just a little too talented with his hands.

He fucking loved bringing you to the edge just to deny you again, showing fake empathy. “Poor thing..Let’s try again, shall we?” His pants felt way too tight at this exact moment, watching you beg and beg and beg, while your cunt ruins his gloves and soaks even the skin underneath.

Eventually he would let you cum. Eventually he’d finally stop teasing you so much, and move his fingers in scissoring motions one last time before feeling you explode all over his hand. His other hand was intertwined with yours, his thumb rubbing circular motions over the back of your hand, while the other just abused your insides even further.

How silly that it all started with a little:”What other tricks do you have in store?”

[philistiniphagottini]

16, 26, 65 and 78 from the smut prompts for aventurine plz? 👀

Hi Anon. Since you didn't specify, I chose female reader when doing this request. Thanks for dropping by, hope you enjoy.

Smut Prompts

Prompts 16 + 26 + 65 + 78

cw. smut, penetrative sex, lingerie, praise, mirror sex, pet names ((Aventurine loves to yap lol)), slow and sensual, implied chubby reader, fem! reader, MDNI

"Look at you" Aventurine cooed softly against the shell of your ear. "My pretty baby is performing so well for me."

You stuffed your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing on the bruised skin as a spine-tingling shiver wracked your spine. You pressed your back against his sturdy chest, squirming in his lap as he blew cool air against your ear. A lazy smirk crawled over his lips as he caught the lobe between his teeth, radiant eyes shimmering with mirth as you continued to shiver from his touch. His fingers ghosted over your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps to prickle along your flesh as warmth coiled low in the pit of your stomach. His slender digits hooked around one of the straps of your bra, toying with the flimsy material with a curl of his wrist.

"You look so beautiful, wrapped in lace" he whispered with a husky purr of your name. "I told you I had a good eye for these things."

His lips grazed the soft spot just under your ear, his hot breathing puffing against your perspiring skin and making every hair on the nape of your neck stand up in anticipation. You squeaked as he let go of the strap of your bra, letting it snap back against your skin with a satisfying sound. A salacious moan tickled the back of your throat as Aventurine’s hands continued to knead at your pliant body, pawing at you like a needy cat vying for your rapt attention. You finally let go of your kiss swollen lips as his hips pressed up into you, digging into the soft globes of your ass cheeks as his cock slipped a little deeper into your sopping entrance, your wet pussy snug and warm around him.

A hum bubbled up Aventurine’s throat as your lips parted around a sweet sigh of his name, long lashes brushing over your burning cheeks as your eyes threatened to slip close. Your hands clawed at the fraying edges of the carpet beneath you, head tipping back as you rested it against your lover’s sturdy shoulder.

"Aven…rine…"

Your head felt dizzy and you could barely think past the thick haze of lust fogging up your mind. Your blood simmered in your veins as the tips of your fingers turned numb, your legs quivering as Aventurine languidly rolled his hips against your rump, dragging his cock through your soused walls slow enough that you could feel every steadily pulsing vein lining his girth. A warm chuckle blew past his lips as his hands squeezed the soft pudge of your belly, fingers sinking into generous amounts of skin until it spilled over between his digits. He hooked his chin over your shoulder, his gaze lingering briefly at the apex of your thighs where his cock parted your creamy folds and disappeared between the silky lips.

"Am I making you feel good, baby?" Aventurine asked with a teasing lilt to his voice.

Your nails threatened to tear holes in the carpet beneath you as you nodded, your throat bobbing as you swallowed around a harsh moan.

"Yes" you breathed. "Feels so, so good."

Golden locks of Aventurine’s hair tickled your skin as he fondly rubbed his cheek against yours, his fingers dancing along your torso as he continued to coo gentle praises against your ear. Your breathing stuttered as he rubbed his cock a little deeper inside you, the tip pressing against a white, hot nerve that caused the hot coil inside you to twist tighter, thrashing around inside your gut like a caged animal gnawing at the bars of its enclosure. Your back curved into a beautiful arch as you offered up your chest to his waiting hands, your perfect tits eagerly bouncing into the warm palms of his hands. He smiled devilishly as he squeezed your breasts, deft fingers tugging at the perky tips of your nipples that just peeked over the top of your bra. You whined his name loudly, the tips of your ears burning red hot at the sound of your pussy slobbering so filthily around his cock. Your hips wriggled, pussy eagerly swallowing around his cock as he pressed up against a soft spot.

"Good girl" Aventurine praised. "Keep moving your hips just like that."

Unshed tears clung to the corners of your lashes as your lungs pinched in your chest, hands still trying to find purchase on something; anything to stop your mind from spiralling out of control so rapidly. Your hands finally found something solid to grab onto as Aventurine’s hands slipped down your waist, the leather material of his gloves setting every single nerve on edge as your hands curled around his knees, fingers clawing at his pants as you tried to hold on. Aventurine’s gaze flicked to the full-length mirror situated in front of you, your reflection almost glowing as he observed you from a different angle. He kept his eyes trained on your figure reflected in the mirror as his fingers pranced along the insides of your plush thighs, scooping up the beads of arousal that dripped down your shaking legs.

"Pretty girl, look in the mirror for me" Aventurine purred against your skin.

You shook your head once his words registered, your eyes shyly averting from the mirror just a few feet away. A frown tugged at his lips.

"Baby, come on, no need to be shy~"

He gently nudged his nose against your cheek, encouraging you further. Still, you refused, a soft noise of protest rumbling in your chest when your head was tipped in the direction of the mirror.

"Come on, do it for me. Pretty please?" Aventurine asked, his voice flowing like honey from his tongue. "Just a little peek. I want you to see how pretty you are."

Aventurine was acutely aware of how you viewed yourself. He knew you were deathly scared of mirrors, adamant to avoid seeing your reflection at any cost. A negative habit he was gently trying to coax you out of. You looked so lovely dolled up for him in lingerie. He just wanted you to have a little glimpse at the image he had the blessing to gaze upon every single day. Maybe if you did, you might just realise why he was so sickeningly, endearing, maddingly in love with you.

You swallowed thickly as you hesitantly tilted your head towards the mirror. Aventurine encouraged you further, nose pressed into your hair as he inhaled your scent and let it curl deep in his lungs with each deep breath he took. Your eyes traced over your figure in the mirror, quickly darting over yourself. You tried not to let your gaze linger on the places you loathed to see the most, instead, trying to appreciate how well the expensive lingerie that Aventurine hand picked himself perfectly hugged your curves and complimented you so well it rendered you speechless.

Your hips shuddered when Aventurine’s fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your panties, moving the fabric aside as your neglected clit was exposed to the cool air of the room. You hissed through clenched teeth as a shiver crawled down your back, heat still bubbling in your stomach and fanned into even hotter flames when Aventurine’s fingers traced the pretty pearl of your clit. Aventurine chuckled softly as his teeth nipped at your exposed neck, tongue following the prominent pulse of your neck as it jumped beneath the press of his mouth. Your eyes caught his in the reflection of the mirror, his glowing gaze almost hypnotic as you lost yourself in their alluring depths.

"See? Aren’t you the most beautiful thing in this known universe?"

The second your eyes strayed from his own and you caught a glimpse of your own flushed expression in the mirror, the trance was broken. A sudden wave of bashfulness shook you down to your core and without hesitation you buried your burning face in the crook of Aventurine’s neck. He couldn’t contain the fond chuckle that tickled his throat. He weaved his free hand in your hair, damp locks curling around his fingertips as he kissed the top of your head.

"Good girl. I’m proud of you. You did well."

He kissed the top of your head once more as you shivered in his lap.

"You alright baby girl?"

You nodded softly. "Hmm. Just…keep going. Want you to make me feel good."

It was just your way of asking for a distraction to empty your head of every single thought so you didn’t have to think anymore. Aventurine smiled.

"Oh, I can do that. I’ll make you feel so, so damn good."

A contented purr stirred in your chest as his fingers rubbed around the hood of your clit, playing with the sensitive nub with such attentiveness you’d think it was his favourite toy. Your hot breath became trapped in the crook of his neck as you moaned and sighed his name against his skin, fingers digging into his knees as the overwhelming bliss sparking in the pit of your stomach like fireworks threatened to consume you. Your plush walls squeezed him tighter, the slow push of his hips matching each sensual rub of his fingers over the hot little button at the top of your pussy. His eyes flicked back to the mirror as he panted, fixated on the way your tight pussy clenched every time he bottomed out as your arousal dribbled down the sides of his cock. The sight alone already had his body teetering on the razor thin edge of oblivion.

He cradled the back of your head as your teeth nipped along his throat, your lips as soft as the touch of rose petals as the swollen flesh just barely ghosted over the deep scars of his past marred into his flesh. He swallowed thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing as his pulse quickened. His grip in your hair tightened, unable to contain his sudden urge as he wrenched your head up to smothered your lips with his. You both shared a delighted moan as Aventurine’s tongue pried your lips apart, tasting the shape of your mouth as he hungrily swallowed your whimpers and mewls of ecstasy. He sucked on your tongue as the head of his cock brushed against the soft, gummy patch deep inside, making stars swirl in your vision as the pressure inside of you suddenly snapped.

Aventurine whispered praises against your parted lips as you writhed in his lap, coil in your stomach shattering into a million, tiny pieces as your veins were flooded with liquid relief. It felt like your heart was lodged in your throat, ears ringing as your pulse drummed loudly in your ears. The cant of your hips came to a halt as your velvety walls squeezed Aventurine’s cock so tight it felt like you were trying to suffocate him. He buried his boiling cock deeper in your constricting walls, lapping at your sweet saliva as your pussy drowned his cock with thin strands of translucent fluids. The hot, wet feeling made his dick twitch, teeth clamping down on your lip as a groan rumbled in his chest as the coil inside of him unravelled.

Warmth blossomed across your abdomen amidst your own pleasure high, hips jolting as Aventurine’s cock kicked inside you and painted your walls with thick, sticky ropes of white. Your legs snapped shut on instinct, keeping his hand trapped between your thighs as your pussy squeezed and milked him dry until you were filled to the brim and overflowing. Everything felt like a hazy blur when the lingering dregs of pleasure started to fizzle out. You parted from Aventurine’s succulent lips with a loud pop, air heavy in your lungs as you gulped down ragged gasps. You struggled to keep your eyes uncrossed and focused on him, body warm and feeling completely boneless as you relaxed further against him. A warm hum rumbled in his chest as he lazily curled his arm around your waist, hand rubbing your round belly as he kissed your cheek. He couldn’t even be bothered yet to pry your supple thighs apart and retrieve his other hand, prefer to keep it stuffed there as you warmed his cock.

"Such a good girl for me, my pretty baby. Are you feeling full?"

You nodded with a contented hum. "Ask me again in a few minutes."

Aventurine chuckled warmly as he pressed his lips to your sweaty temple. "Anything for my Princess."

[bandaidrights]

I have more fem ratiorine ideas

1. First looks

Aven and paz were talking at this Cafe-like place at the IPC building, ratio just happens to walk past, not paying any mid to either of them. Aven notices her immediately and is just admiring her, after ratio leaves, aven turns to paz and is like "Who is that GORGEOUS woman?" Paz wasn't looking, too busy playing with numby, she looks around and is like "..who?" Aven goes "the really tall, purple haired, buff lady that just walked past, she had a white and blue outfit on, gorgeous eyes." "Oh, you mean Dr. Veritas Ratio?, she's from the intelligencia guild." Aven js nods and is all "doctor? Oh aeons she's smart too." As she sighs all dreamy like and rests her head on her hand. "8 doctorates" "EIGHT?"

2. Pillow

Ratio basically being used as a pillow, her muscles are all soft when not flexed and it makes for a great pillow. Ratio also is very warm all the time, so shes very comfortable to snuggle up to. Aven loves to use ratios thighs, stomach, chest, and arms as a pillow. Ratio let's her, bc ratios secretly (not so secretly) touch starved and really enjoys the comfort she gets from aven. She also enjoys avens weight on her, it's like a weighted blanket.

3. Food

Aven is under weight, she's always been that way, ratio is determined to get her to a healthy weight. Ratio never mentioned her plans, she didn't want aven to be turned off of the idea. Aven used to eat little, or just a few small snacks throughout the day, definitely not enough. Shes just never that hungry. Ratio cooks for her and makes sure she eats 3 meals a day. At first, aven ate 3 times a day, when ratio made her, but she only ate a small amount. Ratio didn't get mad at her for it, she was happy she was trying. So ratio gave her small amounts, each day she would add a little more then tbe last, hoping aven would eat it all. After a while, aven got better at eating, eating full meals and 3 times a day. Gaining a healthy amount of weight. Ratio is very happy that she's healthier, and often enjoys just watching aven eat her cooking. Aven often tells her it's delicious, and ratio would offer seconds.

I can't I love them sm, writers pls make more fem ratiorine I beg of you. Use my ideas or use ur own, I js need more fem

[vssail]

aventurine x fem! reader

warnings: boss x secretary, VERY out of character, reader is tired of avens gambling addiction

this is my first post here and also my first time trying to write something in english that isn't for school, so sorry if there are mistakes. hope someone likes it!

Many times you regretted picking up this job.

It was the 10th missing call you left to Aventurine. As always, he didn't picked the phone.

Sighing, you got up from your confy bed. You didn't even bother to change to proper clothes, judging by the time, almost 3 am, everyone at the casino would be too drunk to notice some girl walking in there in sleeping clothes. Your priority right now was to take Aventurine out of there and go back to your confy bed.

After a short ride in your car, you got in that demonic place. The bright lights were blinding you. You really hated casinos.

You didn't have to search too much to find the man you were looking for. A fight in the poker table was the only necessary hint you needed to find your boss. When you reached the scene, it was the same as always: some looser that doesn't accept his bad luck.

"There's no way you won five rounds in a row!" a guy shouted while holding the little peacock of your boss by the shirt collar.

This always happened, and you always appeared to save him from a beating. But this night you were tired, tired of all the paperwork he gave you last minute, tires of staying up because he didn't want to pick his fucking phone, tired for having to take the car at 3 am and tired of seeing the same scene every freaking night.

He saw you behind the guy, and a proud smile appeared on his face, thinking that you were going to save him like always. You could see his face change when he saw the guy holding him and you not moving to stop him. In your mind, this would be a good lesson for him to stop his bad habits.

Then, the first punch came, making his glasses to fly away of his face. That was the fact that changed your decision of not doing anything. With his eyes exposed to the angry looser, what you expected that was going to be some punches was going to turn into another thing beyond a game.

"A damn Avgin, I knew you were a liar!" he said. You could see your boss looking for you while trying to recover from the punch.

"I'm gonna beat you so hard that you-" he stopped talking to scream in pain from your sudden grip on his arm.

"He what, little fucker?" You encouradged him to continue. Aventurine was suddenly at your side, with that horrible proud smile again in his face.

After giving the guy a little warning to never mess up with your boss, you let him go.

"For a moment I though you were going to let me on my own" he joked.

"I was" you simply said, getting out of that damn place. You knew he would follow you.

"What?!" he shouted, stopping you in the hall of the casino "Why would you let that man beat me up? You know that if I'm dead, you won't be paid, right?"

Before speaking, you took a long, long breath, so you wouldn't scream at him.

"In my contract there's nothing about saving my boss at 3 am in casinos" you breathed again ", there's nothing about risking my own life to save him from fights." you didn't breathe this time "Do you know how much I sleep beetwin finishing the work that you give me in the last minute and searching for you?! For the love of the Aeons, I'm a secretary! I shouldn't be beating people up for you!"

You didn't notice, but you started crying in the first sentence. And you wouldn't notice if he didn't wipe the tears at your cheeks. You were too angry to let him touch you, and tried to push him away, but he got close again and hugged you. This time, you just accepted the hug, but didn't hug him back.

"I didn't know I was causing you so much stress and trouble," he whispered in your ear "I'm sorry for everything"

"Being sorry isn't enough"

"I know, just as you know that I can't promise you to stop gambling" he separated from you to see your face, and took off his jacket to put it over you (you didn't realise you were trembling) "but I can promise you that I'll try to control myself"

You didn't reply, just buried your face on his neck and hug him.

"When I started working with you and saw you risking your life like it is nothing, I wonder if you knew what self-love is" you asked, holding him tighter

"Why would I care about risking my life when no one cares?"

"I'm gonna kill you" you broke the hug and prepared to beat him.

"Wait wait wait, it's not the same as what I mean" he got away from you "you only care because I'm your boss"

"You little..." you breathed to calm yourself down "If i only cared about you professionaly, I wouldn't go to casinos in the middle of the night in sleeping clothes only to look for you and make sure that you're okay. You don't pay me enough to do all that shit"

He seemed to think about what you said.

"Do you mean that you do that because you care about me?"

He looked at you like he just had discovered a whole new galaxy.

"Yes"

"In a loving way?"

"Maybe, can we go now?" you started to get embarassed of all this sudden confession.

"Wait" he holded you, one hand in your arm and other on your cheek "That means that I can kiss you?"

You easily got away from his hold.

"Yes, but not tonight" you started to go to your car, taking your keys to open it "You won't get a kiss until you return every missing call that I left you this week"

"Oh, common!" he run after you, unable to hold back the genuine smile that appeared in his face.

I really went out of character but hope that someone likes this.

[soapssuds]

Could I request for some more hsr!various x aeon-of-finality|fem!reader headcannons or drabbles with boothill, aventurine, and king yuan. Where the reader is really lazy but always gets the job done. And likes eating food a lot so she's an amazing cook.

I'm basing her off of ihwa from hero killer webtoon.

Of course! I'll be happy to add them in for my aeon!reader au!!

Gotta love boothill, aven, and yuan <3

[octahedral-chaos]

Helloooo!

Question for you about some characters we talk about less - how do you tend to characterize Summum or Demon? Quimera? Yin-yang and Duality?

Second question that just occurred to me: How do you think the main cast of Worldless would handle an Exit game? What about the collective of Duos across the AUs, if put in the same room? The Avens? (For context if needed: Exit games are basically an escape room scenario, but condensed into cards, a booklet, a decoder, and a box.)

Also: *chucks a large weighted blanket through the door, with assorted plushies burritoed inside*

Thank you! Pretty sure everyone would love the plushies!

Also for the Exit game, I think the main cast would have a lot of fun (Especially Summum and Angel), the duos from across the timelines would also probably have fun (I could see Duality! Edda and Eclipsed! Aven having fun, correct me if I'm wrong @mystic-131).

As for the Avens, well, this is our first time hearing about Exit Rooms! It sounds like fun, maybe we should try it one of these days...

As for how I hc the other characters of Worldless? *Clasp hands* Oh boy, I have a LOT of ideas!

Summum - They/ it

Looks scary, but is actually a sweetheart.

Likes being around the duo, and is very curious.

Very protective of those who it considers its friends.

Demon - She/her

Yes... I hc Demon to be trans-

Anyways, I call her Ted and despite being scary-looking, she's quite chill.

Would LOVE TTRPGs if they existed in Worldless, also may or may not have a massive collection of figurines of different TTRPG characters.

Quimera -it/its

A silly little guy!

That's unfortunately all the characterisation I have so far-

Yin-Yang - they/he/she

The one brain-cell holder for the ENTIRE cast

Pretty chill though. Would yell at anyone who did anything dumb though.

Duality - she/they (lamp) and he/it (Shade)

Ah... Lamp and Shade... the chaotic duo...

Lamp is a bit of a cuckoolander, Shade is more grounded and can be quite blunt.

Lamp also likes to help with stuff to the best of her abilities, and is very, VERY optimistic at times.

Shade is a bit more realistic but is somewhat silly at times.

Dark Paladin -they/ she (Yes... I feel in love with fem! DP because of @many-faced)

Chill but will deck you if you mess with anyone.

Also would crack jokes at random times (Especially during the night)

Lightning Nightmare - it/its

Chaos. Absolute chaos

Very mischievous, loves to play pranks on everyone.

Very hyper too, literally can't stop fidgeting or teleporting around (Unless in spear form)

Unicorn and Phoenix

Literally just a random horse and bird that the duo encountered

Angel -they/ she

Very chill, goes by Chicken (they love chickens) and likes to help others.

Would fistfight anyone who mess with her.

Is in a relationship with Lamp... yes, they're all lesbian.

Old One - she/ xe

Yes, this version of Old One is a girl! Well... demigirl, but still

Her name is Gris, xe is not that old compared to other takes on them and she will fight someone.

Very different from canon Old One, instead of going insane when They came out, xe tried to help the duo and hide her deterioration from them until her death. To say that the duo was crying when they realised would be an understatement.

Also loves to make stuff. She gave Edda an bandana, which she wears all the time now!

Also unlike most Old Ones, she can be very feisty. She would use a bat as a weapon in all honesty.

[letssee2468]

Neteyem

Smoke over sun lilies

Love shack

Miguel O’Hara

Sweet Girl

Tom Holland

Countdown (soulmate au)

College fake dating Au

Peter Parker

James Potter

The fake date plot

I thought you were different

Steve Rogers

Kick-Ass

Masked

Chris Evan’s Characters

All of the characters I like

Clark Kent

Aaron Taylor

Recommendations

[yuansie]

morning yearning

pairing. aventurine x fem! reader

synopsis. a morning call brings overwhelming emotions for a blond and his lover

genres/aus. fluff, established relationship

warnings. none that i am aware of! just might be ooc HAWEHFAH

rating. sfw

wc. 0.6 k

a/n. i love aventurine he is my world i would do anything for him (this is NAWT proof read bc im lazy hfahwefha)

THERE’S AN OBNOXIOUS RINGING THAT PERMEATES THE AIR, rousing you from your lovely sleep. you blink three times exactly, each one being longer than the first in an attempt to get rid of the blurring your vision has. it’s still in the early hours of the morning where everything is still, where there’s nothing to worry about and one can just relax and let go of what holds them back or ties them down. yes, it’s still in the early hours of the morning, and you almost doze off again as soon as the ringing ends, the warmth that radiates from the body behind you seemingly wanting to lull you back to sleep so you can join him again in his dream. but the ringing starts up once more.

you heave a sigh, “aven, wake up.” you attempt to twist in your boyfriend’s hold but find it hard to do so when his arms tighten around your waist. his grip loosens when he realizes that you aren’t trying to get up, so you finally turn around to face him.

aventurine’s eyes are closed and his pale-blond hair sticks up in every direction. the sight brings a small smile to your face and a chuckle slips past your lips. you nudge his cheek with your nose and watch as the corner of his lips are tugged upwards.

“aven,” you whisper, “your phone.”

he huffs and grumbles underneath his breath, his eyes fluttering open to reveal the beautiful hues that you love so much. you press a kiss to one of his eyes as he reaches out to grab his phone, and feel as his skin gets hotter against yours. he shoots you a look that holds overflowing love before clearing his throat and answering the call. he keeps an arm underneath your head, acting as a pillow that you gladly cuddle into. 

aventurine listens half-heartedly at what the person on the phone tells him and instead thinks about going back to sleep with you after he’s done with this call… so the faster it ends, the quicker he can go back to you, right? oh, the things you do to him. you’re right next to him, your head on top of his arm, and yet he craves to be even closer to you. can you really blame him for being like this? for being so touch-starved? no, not really. you brought this upon yourself willingly with all your sweet words directed at him, with all of the love you shower him in…

“alright, let’s schedule the meeting for today.” he glances at you from the corner of his eye, his yearning intensifying by a tenfold. he wants to embrace you properly and dream with you, breathe with you as you both slumber in each other’s warmth and comfort.

“what time should i schedule it for, sir?” his underling’s voice brings aventurine’s attention back on him.

the male thinks for a moment, “at three. that should be a good time.”

“understood, s—”

aventurine doesn’t wait for his underling’s sentence to finish. he hangs up the phone and throws it off to the side, the device bouncing softly on the empty space of the bed. he throws half of his body over you, eager to feel you closer to him. you toss onto your other side so you can tuck your head underneath your lover’s chin, and a smile graces your lips as you snake your hands around his waist and under his shirt. aventurine trembles at the contact, your touch pleasantly warm against his cold skin.

when you lean back and look at him through your eyelashes, a smile still present on your features, he feels his heart thump loudly in his chests and soar. with a hand, he reaches out and caresses your cheek. 

oh, he thinks to himself, i love you.

and it seems like you read his mind because you beam at him and whisper those three words to him, making his cheeks turn red.

you both end up falling asleep afterwards, feeling content and happy.

[yinyuedijun]

HELLO STREI... can I just say your reaction pics always send me ahldhdkgfkje they always make me laugh. THANK YOU for reading and writing such a long and detailed comment 🥺💞💞 I appreciate it so much!! I hope you don't mind my super long reply below - I just couldn't not reply (especially not w that hilarious gorilla gripping comment which had me howling BUT ALSO IS SUCH A VALID QUESTION):

first of all I'm so happy to hear how much you enjoyed the reader!! it was very important to me to write a relatable gn alpha protag in a way that wouldn't alienate fem-aligned persons and/or women, since alpha readers are so rare especially for fem-aligned folks 🥹 so I'm super happy to hear how much you enjoyed them and found them sympathetic!!

ALSO I LOVED reading your observations on aven's and reader's characterization wrt being tools... one of my favourite things as a writer is when my intentions come through in my story so reading your interpretation had me kicking my feet and smiling IT'S LIKE YOU READ MY MIND!! thank you so much for sharing <3

I'm also so, so happy to hear that you liked how I handled aventurine's character here with respect to the gendered violence and sexual abuse... I was so worried that I was making him ooc or unrecognizable in trying to make the sexual violence so prominent rip (since canon only vaguely implies it and I haven't seen a lot of fanon exploring it directly), so I'm so happy to hear you felt I wrote his actions and motivations in a sensible way!

also please correct me if I'm wrong but are/were you an spn fan?!?! because I was too and that was also my gateway into omegaverse HAHAHFLSJSJ. I'm so glad you felt I handled the trope well as a fleshed out universe!! also as an avid spn omegaverse enjoyer I have indeed seen some locking/bracing fics and I'm surprised to hear it's a thing in bnha fandom as well???? I haven't read a ton of bnha a/b/o (though I've been meaning to), so I had no clue!!

but in any case LOL I decided not to go the locking route because reader actually also has a dick in addition to a coochie (I may have written this too vaguely in this chapter rip I'm sorry) and it's actually like. narratively critical that they dick down aventurine at some point and lock him in that way (💀💀💀), so bracing wasn't necessary and thus aventurine got to escape the gorilla grip 👍👍👍 bro can hit it without worrying that way... I had to throw him a bone there. LMAO

THANK YOU AGAIN FOR READING!! your comment abt father's day at your in-laws' is sending me glsjfdksk sorry for rotting your brain with a/b/o on father's day 💀 I hope the rest of your day is lovely though!!!! ♥️♥️♥️

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

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additional end notes

[author-morgan]

Title: The Queen's Gambit Pairing: King Harald x fem!Reader Rating: M Summary: All may be fair in love and war, but a king still must find his queen. Or King Harald Finehair finally meets a woman of equal measure and one he feels he can truly love.

THE MORNING SUN strikes a golden sail on the horizon —the reflection on the water painting a path of light to the trading center of the eastern kingdom. News spreads quickly along the docks of the sighting and overflows into the markets. Everyone eager to know if King Harald of Norway had finally answered their queen’s summons. There’d been much talk of late, of succession and marriage and of an ambitious king trying to assemble all the petty kingdoms of Norway under one crown. While this is not Norway, it is a vast and fertile land filled with strong men and women. An advantageous gain for a king growing his kingdom.

When word reaches the Great Hall of the longships with golden sails, your lady’s maid and shieldmaidens are already preparing you for the day, aiding in daily chores, and sparring with one another. They sing whispers of King Harald Finehair and his brother, Halfdan the Black —of their reputation, prowess, and charming looks. You will have the final say on if the rumors and whispers hold truths.

“King Harald,” you greet as he steps from the longship and onto the wharf accompanied by his brother, Halfdan, and nigh fifty shield men and woman. He looks more a warrior than a king, with his travelworn tunic and cloak —dark hair bound in a long braid, his face decorated with blue-black tattoos and small scars, and the first touch of silver in his beard. His eyes —clear and cold and blue— flick upward to meet yours. “It is an honor to meet one who I’ve heard so much about.”

The praise strokes his ego, his lips twitching upward as he takes your outstretched hand, bending to let his wind-chapped lips and coarse whiskers brush over your knuckles. “Likewise,” Harald replies. Tales of a good and generous queen have traveled far.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” you note, stepping back from the party. Sea voyages were often long and tiring, especially when fighting against the summer storms, and these seafarers have taken a beating —evident in their weary and disheveled appearance. “You all must be exhausted.” There’s a wave of agreement among King Harald’s crew. They’d been at sea since the last new moon, more than two weeks ago. Glancing over your shoulder, you nod to the shieldmaidens, who step forward and motion the crew to follow after them. They will need beds and a warm meal before the evening celebrations. “We shall feast and drink to the gods at sundown!”

Harald and Halfdan glance at each other and back to their people as they begin unloading what supplies were left and the gifts of good faith brought from Tamdrup. “I will see you and your men are well-tended,” you assure —soon tales would spread of the good queen and her kingdom’s hospitality. “King Harald” —you smile, gaze flitting over to his brother— “Halfdan. If you will follow me.”

THE FEAST IS bountiful, with roast boar and stag, fresh harvests from an orchard, warm bread, and soft cheeses delivered by a good friend and goat farmer to the north of the city. Harald and his brother exchange a look at the high table, awaiting the queen’s arrival. Tamdrup will never be able to provide in the same manner this land does. Any fool with half the brain for politics could see the benefit of allying with such a wealthy land.

The Great Hall falls silent when you emerge, garbed in grey and silver —flanked by two of your most trusted shieldmaidens— and wearing a woven summer crown of cornflowers and avens. You smile, pausing to speak with your people and guests, eyes flitting to the front of the hall where the two brothers sit as guests of honor. Halfdan reaches over, nudging Harald in the ribs —hard— nodding for his brother to stand as you turn from a conversation, moving to take your seat. Clumsily, Harald rises, pulling back your chair with a flourish. You nod in thanks at his display of chivalry as he takes his place next to you. Seated, you extend your hand toward the tables with a wave, and the revelries recommence. “You are a generous queen,” Harald says, truth and flattery; even his allies are often not so welcoming.

“Thank you, King Harald,” you smile.

He reaches out, resting his hand over yours. Halfdan raises a brow, knowing the game his brother is playing. “Please,” he says, “we are friends. Titles are not needed.” You nod. And while he has your attention, he will seek the answer to the question which has plagued him since receiving word from one of your riders. “If you are not at war nor planning for raids,” he pauses, gauging the look in your eyes, “then I must ask why did you call upon me?”

Halfdan leans over, eyeing his brother as if to say, you know why, fool. “You’ll have to excuse my brother,” he says, a tinge of laughter mingling with his half-smile, “he’s helpless when it comes to women.”

You can’t help but laugh a little at his chagrin; he is not bothered by the sweet sound. “Need I remind you, brother, you are not wed either,” Harald bites back.

“As you know, Harald, I am queen of this land. From the black sea to the frozen north. It is mine by right of conquest.” Your father did his share to bring the petty kingdoms under a single yoke, but it was not until your rise to power that the unification occurred. The long-lasting vision of your family finally fulfilled. The few remaining jarls and self-proclaimed kings calling for independence fell under heel at the hands of your army and the harsh winters. Those victories are a story for another time, though. Your attention flits between the brothers seated at your side and those gathered to celebrate their arrival. “My people are happy, well looked after” —the smile your wear falters, slipping into despair with a sigh— “but in the years since my ascension, some of those who pledged loyalty to me are having second thoughts.” Even your most stalwart friends and confidants expressed the same concerns. The past twenty years were prosperous and peaceful, but death comes for everyone and everything, even a good queen.

“They worry about the line of succession and it if shall end in bloodshed.” Even if the whispers sting of impending betrayal, you cannot deny the legitimacy behind them. Marriage had long been on your mind during this time of peace, but no man ever garnered both your approval and the approval of your advisors and people. Not even the great King Ragnar would have been a suitable match. You take a drink of ale from your cup, looking between Halfdan to your left and Harald on your right. “For who will take my crown if I do not bear a child before the gods call me home?” The question has brought you many sleepless nights.

“The burden of womanhood,” Halfdan muses, and Harald makes a rumble of agreement.

You shake your head, not wanting to sully the feast with such premature talks, and lay a hand on each of the brother’s arms, smiling once more —a gesture each of them returns. “I did not call upon you to gripe about the babbling of a handful of concerned Jarls and advisors, though,” you say, plucking a golden apple from the arrangement on the table and cutting into the soft flesh. “But I will not dawdle around the purpose of this meeting either.” Danes and Norsemen had never been known for a plethora of patience in political dealings. “Harald” —you lean toward him, resting your hand upon his arm again, fingers curling into the coarse red wool of his tunic— “should you accept, I would like to unite our kingdoms.”

He dips his head down, perhaps to hide the breadth of his smile or the way his eyes widen then twinkle, but when he looks back to you, his smile is reserved —kingly. “You honor me with such an offer” —he lifts a hand to his heart, brow wrinkling— “and though my heart is eager to accept, it is one I must carefully consider.”

While you nod, accepting his response, Halfdan scoffs, almost laughing as he picks off a hunk of boar meat from his plate. Any other time he knows his brother would rush into such a proposal cock first. “This is the time you choose wisdom, brother?” He leans forward, catching the heat of his brother’s harsh stare. Halfdan flicks his stringy blond hair aside, turning his dark gaze upward to the wooden rafters before settling back in his hair. You hide a smile behind your cup of ale at the brother’s back-and-forth banter, glad to have the weight off your chest for the rest of the evening.

“Now we have tended that matter” —you rise, bringing silence to the hall without a word— “bring out the mead! Our guests are thirsty.” There’s a thunderous uproar of empty cups knocking against the tables and excited chants as several men disperse to the edge of the hall, rolling forth large barrels. Once cracked open, the honey and berry sweetness filling the warm air. Your lady’s maids bring three cups forth to the high table, presenting them to you and your guests. “Skål!” You cry, lifting your cup. The hall echoes with the same cry.

The evening creeps by with the brothers retelling stories of their victories and even those of heartache. There’s something to them that makes it seem as if you are already the closest and oldest of friends. You tell them of your father, of the hard-fought battles fought to secure your crown and title. There is a fierceness to you, hidden behind a gentle smile and soul. Harald takes leave to relieve himself, and you lean toward Halfdan the Black, having kept eyes on where his attention lingered for most of the feast when not speaking of battles or taking a moment to humor you with tales of his brother’s follies.

“I see your gaze, Halfdan.” He snaps from the trance, looking at you with dark eyes warmed by the reflection of dancing flames. A smile crosses your lips as you cut your eyes to the group of women who ensnared Halfdan’s attention —the very same who spoke so fondly of the brothers and their looks in the morning hours while working the loom and braiding your hair. You wave your bedfellows over —the group have fawned over the king’s younger brother and scarcely taken their eyes off him since his arrival. “They will all be eager to bed a man such as yourself,” you note, lips curling as you lift the bronze cup of mead to take another drink, “if the journey here has left you enough vigor.”

His eyes burn at the challenge. “Skål,” Halfdan says, raising his cup to take another drink before excusing himself for the evening. Harald laughs —low and joyous— as he returns to his seat, seeing his brother stumble from the table with five women trailing after him. And yet, there is a seed of jealously at the thought of having to lie in a cold bed after many brisk nights at sea.

Shifting, you lean against your hand —elbow propped on the table— and skim over Harald Finehair’s features in the warm and low light. Perhaps the rumors about him and his brother are true —they are both handsome. He seems a good man who wears his heart on his sleeve, a good king who cares about his people, their success, and a true Viking.

Absently, you reach for him, pulling at one of the leather strings at the embroidered neck of his scarlet tunic. He leans toward you, warm hand finding your knee beneath the table —a bold move, but not unwanted. “Tell me about your raids on England.” You ask, suddenly breathless, spinning the knot at the end of the leather string between your thumb and forefinger. He smiles, eyes crinkling, and it sets your heart aflutter. Harald runs his hand over his face and leans closer, the hand on your knee sliding further up your thigh as he recounts his and Halfdan’s raids on English soil and the riches plundered from the land. You rest a hand on his thigh and hear his breath hitch as you lean to whisper at his ear —tongue loosened by the mead. “Surely your prowess is not restricted to the battlefield.”

Harald’s eyes flare with unspoken danger. He looks at you and swallows, the bob of his Adam’s apple a shadow that quivers, half-hidden beneath his beard and the tattoos curling around his neck. “You challenge me?”

“I do,” you declare, looking up into his eyes —so fixated on you, “but not before an audience.” You let him trace a tendril of your hair, curl it around his calloused finger, and let him take you in —hungry gaze sliding down your throat and the curve of your dress’s neckline.

“Does this start private negotiations?” He asks, lips hovering above your cheek and mirth lacing the question despite the heady drop in his voice. When you smile, he laughs —the serious line of his lips parting to the white slash of his teeth. He curls a hand around your jaw, tilting your head up to place a discrete kiss where your pulse is racing. The small little gasp you make at the tickle of his beard sends a rush of heat through Harald’s blood. Few take notice as you rise from the head table —too busy nursing their cups and picking the bones of the roast beasts clean.

Harald follows, and once free of prying eyes, he presses you against the wood-and-stone wall, kissing you, long and slow and deep, his tongue parting your lips and stealing your breath. The taste of honey-sweetness is thick on his rough lips. Your blood croons, and you crumple in his arms, yours around his neck —he rucks your skirt up and grabs your ass, bold and filthy. “Harald.” His name is a breathy whisper —sweet music— and before the night’s end, he will have you singing.

You tug hard on the thick braid at the center of his back, pulling his lips from your neck, and he sees it written in your eyes, not here. Harald smiles, letting your skirt fall back into place. Rough hands rise to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. A part of him feels guilty, forgetting your title as queen in the heat of his lust —you deserved more than to be taken against a wall like a quick romp. This time his kiss is softer, an echo of how a king should kiss his queen, or a husband his wife. Drawing back, you smack his shoulder, drawing a coy grin as you take his hand, pulling him toward your bedchambers like young lovers.

He glances around the room —modest for a queen of such a wealthy land— but finds his gaze lingering on the bed at the center, strewn with pelts of fur and blankets of wool and linen, warm and welcoming. The lock of the door sliding into place breaks his trance, and when he turns, you stride forward, wearing nothing save the summer flowers in your hair —your dress a heap of fabric at the door. “Are you Freyja made flesh?” he asks, and the gentleman that he is, Harald looks upon your face first, flushed with warmth, before his eyes trail the length of your body —bare and wanting.

You step to him, hands settling on either side of his neck, tracing the dark woad-ink under your thumbs. Harald reaches for your hips, drawing you closer as he leans into you, eager to have your lips on his again. You break from his kiss, hands sliding down his strong chest and arms, finding the hem of his scarlet tunic and dragging to dyed wool up his back. He shrugs off the tunic, tossing it aside, his breath catching when your lips brush against the tattoos on his chest.

Reaching around you, he takes hold of your ass, lifting you without effort. You run your hands up his arms, circle your fingers around the tight clench of muscle in his biceps, legs wrapping around his waist out of instinct. Face pressed against your neck, he turns, striding to the side of the bed, and lays you back in the sea of wool and fur. Harald concedes with a shrug, making room for himself in between your knees as he edges in close with his hips. You bite your lip when you feel his cock through the rough fabric of his britches, and he stutters a breath into your hair while he grinds into your thigh.

He breaks from your mouth only to breathe, words an afterthought. “Beautiful,” he manages, pulling back to admire the sight of splayed before him, practically drooling. You’d laugh if you weren’t so impatient to have him. “Have you ever lain with a king?” He asks.

“Aren’t I now?” You tease, and when he meets your gaze, his eyes are dark, like a stormy sea, and there’s a crease between his brows that you have the sudden, longing impulse to kiss away. He holds your gaze like that a moment before he drops to his knees in front of you to pay homage. Harald peers up at you, his eyes clouded with thoughts similar to your own. Maybe you are trying to seduce him, too. A man could rarely hide a secret when driven by something so primal, and you were not blind to his lingering gaze since arriving in your kingdom. For so long, you’ve only been a queen, something untouchable and unattainable to many, and now you’re tired of being treated like you are glass —a trophy— something to be seen and not touched.

The coarse hair of his beard tickles the inside of your thigh as he closes in on you, hooking a knee over his shoulder and pulling you closer to his mouth. Your heel slides across his back when you arch your hips, and you expect him to tease you —not to bury his face in your cunt like a man dying of starvation. Harald laps into you with slow strokes of his tongue, making you cry out, reaching for him. You fist your hands in his hair, ruining his braid, and he grunts softly, refusing to let up. His tongue is talented, probing, sweeping up through your folds and seeking your clit. The stimulation is nearly too much after the building tension throughout the evening, so much wanting between you. You’re almost embarrassed at how fucking wet and needy you are for him, at the obscene sounds coming from Harald’s mouth as he devours you without qualm.

Placing a hand on your other thigh, he spreads you wider, opening you up further to his ministrations. You pant and moan into the back of your hand, trying not to squirm, trying to keep your hips arched into that spot that grows flame and tightens the knot in the pit of your stomach. Harald feels it, and he focuses on your clit, tapping out a devastating rhythm, threatening to make you come before you’re ready to do so.

“Harald,” you moan —trying to keep a queenly composure— and then he slides two fingers inside you and curls them, and you’re done. It feels like a hammer blow, knocking the wind from you, making your muscles seize, thighs clenching around his head —probably too tightly, but he doesn’t notice. His fingers and his tongue keep moving even as you shake and cry and spasm. The sweet song he knew you’d sing for him.

He only stops when you unfurl, going limp and twitching every time his tongue flicks against you. Harald pulls back and rises to his feet. His lips and beard shining with your essence; you don’t give him a chance to wipe it off before you lurch forward onto your knees, pulling him into a kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue. And paired with his rough hands fondling your breasts —it makes you shudder.

His hands vanish to a disappointing whimper —working the ties of his britches loose. You lean forward, running your nails down his chest and sides, rewarded by a low rumble and shiver. He shoves his britches down, stepping from his boots, and then your hand finds his cock, hard and weeping in your palm. Harald bares his teeth, hissing as you tighten your hold, stroking him, long and slow to feel the veins and ridges along the length. “Gods,” he chokes, pressing his forehead against yours, his hips stuttering forward. You smile, tilting your chin to catch his lips, breathlessly still stroking his cock, quicker, until he manages a breathy one-word command. “Stop.” It halts your movement, and your look up at his face —eyes closed, brow furled, mouth open, and panting. He looks beautiful and broken. A king at your mercy.

“Harald,” you breathe his name, moving back to the center of the bed, spreading your legs, and he follows after you —a predatory gleam in his eyes. He takes you by the knees, dragging you until he’s nestled between your thighs again. You brace yourself with a hand on his chest as he positions himself, not needing a guiding hand to slide deep into your warmth. “Fuck,” you gasp, and he almost laughs at your ear, not expecting such foul language given your public visage. He takes you slowly, thank the gods, and you realize then he’s holding his breath —his eyes closed with concentration— fingers digging into your skin. You will proudly wear the marks come morning.

He works his cock into your cunt, an inch at a time, and you relax in his arms until he’s all the way in, his pelvis flush to yours, the pale scratch of his pubic hair pressed to you. You press your head against his shoulder and stroke his back, finding the little scars and bumps there because it feels right —and he kisses the top of your head before he draws his hips out, all the way, and slams back in without warning.

Pulling you back by the hair, he finds one breast with his mouth, suction tight on your nipple, and you whimper at the overwhelming strength of sensation —of Harald inside you— his hands on you —his mouth, hot and wet, at your breast. He fucks you like a drowning man clawing for the surface, aching for a breath of air. He fucks you chasing the raw savagery of your pleasure, of his, and it’s not long before you feel the tingle beginning again in the depths of your belly.

Then Harald slows to a drawn-out grind that lets you feel every inch of him inside you with each shift of his hips. You cross your ankles at the small of his back and urge him on with your hands at his shoulders, clinging to him. “Harald,” you groan, not needing to say more for him to know.

“Let go,” he breathes, sucking a patch of skin on your neck between his teeth. You do so with a hoarse, wordless shout; clenching around him, against him, and if he thought you were tight before, he’s unprepared for the vise ripple of your cunt clamping down on his cock. He buries himself deep one more time before he breaks, his cock jerking inside you; it feels like it goes on forever.

He comes down to a rushing sound in his ears, a ringing like he’s been deafened by Thor’s thunder. He feels spent but clear. The muggy air crisp in his lungs with each heaving breath. His blood humming in his veins. And for a minute, he forgets everything save you —the welcoming heat of your body, your breasts pressed tight against his chest, the frantic thump of your heartbeat echoing his own. A queen and a woman he feels he can love, well and true. His thoughts break when you run your fingertips across his shoulder blades. “Are you all right?” he wonders aloud, unashamed of the gravel in his voice.

“Better,” you laugh, breath-caught and feckless. You sound giddy, and it fills him with relief and a feeling similar to joy. “Are you?” He answers with a nod, slowly pulling out of you, and you both hiss. You feel stretched-out and ruined, but in the best possible way with the warmth seeping from cunt. This is what you wanted, needed. Harald nods, not leaving the cradle of your legs. You smile, smoothing a hand up his sweat-slick chest, pausing to follow the lines of his tattoos.

“Would you have welcomed me so warmly to your bed if I refused your proposal?” He asks, brow raised.

You rest your hand to the center of his chest, fingers combing through the smattering of dark chest hair, before pressing, urging him to roll off you. Harald does, but you are quick to roll with him, settling into his side. “Only the gods know if I would have,” you smile, but a part of you knows you’d never be able to resist bringing such a man to bed.

Harald cups your cheek, his decision made and shining in his pale eyes. It had not been a difficult one. Your beauty had been the first to captivate him, but now with the whispers of your strength, sagacity, and kindness confirmed, all initial doubts are chased away —he knows you will be the woman he lets cut his hair. His nose brushes against yours, and then his lips to yours, and in the kiss is the sweetness of passion, a promise of a million loving thoughts condensing into a moment. “I will have you as my queen,” Harald whispers. He knows the gods have led him here for this reason.

Returning his kiss, you smile, fingers combing through his beard as he wraps an arm around your middle, drawing you farther into his side. “And I will take you as my king,” you answer, resting your head on his chest —listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart for the first of many nights to come.

[ taglist: @elizabethroestone @naaladareia (and @elluvians bc i know you like Harald) ] if you want to be added to my taglist for Vikings, just let me know in the replies or an ask/DM!

[boxofbadaddiction]

No Day Could Be Better

| Don't Touch Me | Chapter One |

| Series Masterlist |

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Haphephobia (Fear of Physical Touch).

Series Summary: What happens when Fred Weasley, the man with a love language of physical touch and the inability to keep his hands to himself, falls for the girl with an aversion to just that: touch.

Chapter Summary: Fred takes a chance and finally asks his crush on a date.

Fred sat tapping his wand against his neglected piece of parchment, eyes blankly fixed to the chair of the person sat in front of him. To any on looker he were, presumably, zoned out but in actuality; he was deep in thought.

Fred had recently come to the realisation that he has developed quite the crush on Y/n Y/L/n a, sort of, friend of his.

Y/n is a Gryffindor and in the same year as he and George, but that's about where the similarities between the pair end.

He was Fred Weasley; life of the party, star Beater and people person Fred Weasley.

She...wasn't much at all like that.

Though she was funny and amazing company she kept to herself and small friend group a lot.

She liked Quidditch!

That's another thing they have in common. Although, Fred couldn't recall a time he'd ever seen her at a match: yet she always spoke so fondly of the sport.

Another key difference between them laid in the dating scene.

Where Fred was very comfortable in relationships: whether lasting or not, y/n to the best of his knowledge hadn't been in a relationship in years.

Not since Aven McGregor in second year which Fred found strange. He knew how liked she truly was and many people had admitted to having asked her out on several occasions with no luck.

He didn't want to be like the others.

Fred was beyond infatuated with Y/n. He was taken by her smile, her quick wit and fantastic sense of humour. He knew he wanted more than a friendship with her: but how to go about it?

This being the question currently keeping him from his charms work...

"Ow!"

A loud thud echoes through Fred's ears after a sudden clap to the back of his head, obstructing Fred from his train of thought.

"Come on, dumbass, class is over," George speaks from his place stood beside him. "Unless you want to be late for Transfiguration and land yourself in detention?" "I'm comin', I'm comin'" Fred grumbles as he packs up his belongings.

"Whats got you so dazed?" queries Lee Jordan.

"Y/n Y/L/n" George chimes with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. "Oh, shove it." Fred pushes his brother from the doorway of the Charms classroom. "What'd she turn you down too?"

"He hasn't even asked her out yet."

"The key word in that sentence being 'yet', George, I'm going to...just not sure how to." Though he's present in the conversation Fred's expression still reflects that of someone lost in daydream.

"You've had loads of partners before mate, what's stopping you now?" Lee questions earnestly taken back by his friends unusual hesitancy. "I actually like her is why. Yeah, I've had feelings for other people in the past but we all know they weren't really 'ideal candidates' were they? Most just wanted a fool around." "Which you gave them" George chuckles.

"Well, obviously. I may be stupid but I'm not an idiot!" The boys laugh together at this shoving Fred playfully.

"So, what you're saying is, you want a proper relationship with her?" Lee asks as they walk to their seats in Transfiguration. "Yeah," Fred nods with some assurity, "I think I do." He confirms with the makings of a love sick smile on his lips. As the boys take their seats, his eyes scan the room in search of the girl in question.

Y/n is sat towards the front with one of her closest friends, chairs turned inward to one another, smiling widley and laughing unashamedly.

They're throwing small candies in the air trying to catch it in their mouths...and failing.

Y/n's whole body shakes in laughter as she misses a tossed lolly from her friend but catches it against her chest then pops it in her mouth.

The scene has Fred's smile growing. He looks away with a slight blush and breathy chuckle.

"Alright, class," McGonagall's voice sounds around the room as she enters and makes her way to the front. Everyone quickly corrects their behaviour at her arrival.

"Let's get started for today."

The next day, a Saturday, Fred is sat amongst his usual group of friends within the courtyard on a small concrete bench.

Everyone; George, Lee, Angelina, Katie and Alicia, are laughing and happily chatting between themselves while Fred tinkers away with a small prototype for his and George's shop. He's a little zoned out but content nonetheless.

Feeling an ache in his body from the lack of movement he decides to excuse himself for a moment to get a drink and lazily throws the small toy to George.

On the opposite side of the courtyard is a small water fountain which overlooks the Black Lake and surrounding grounds.

He takes a quick few sips and is sure to crack his back as he straightens himself once more to relieve a lot of the tension and discomfort.

His eyes scan the grounds in a sad kind of way, it is his last year after all and he can't help but feel like he never really stopped to appreciate how truly beautiful Hogwarts is.

Stepping away from the fountain he leans his forearms on the low brick wall which lines the courtyard, soaking in the view.

It was a gorgeous day. Bright and with very few clouds hanging in the sky. The surrounding grassy hills were alive with an abundance of wild flowers and little creatures.

Focusing his attention down to the Lake, through the tree line, he spots the Giant Squid playing in the shallows basking in the afternoon sun.

The movement of a group of students walking towards that very same place, by the Lake, catches Fred's attention. It takes him all of three seconds to recognise the woman on the end as Y/n.

'No day could be better' a little voice whispers at the back of his mind. A fleeting look thrown over his shoulder to his group of friends, who look no different to when he left, and his mind is made up. Eagerly he hops over the wall and begins his long descent to the Lake.

Y/n is laid against the trunk of a tall oak tree, mindlessly drawing across the exposed skin of her hand while her friends attempt to lure the Squid closer with fruit pastries stolen from the kitchen.

Lost in her own World of thought she doesn't register the appearance of a certain redhead leant on the tree beside her, watching over her shoulder with abject curiosity, as she adds to her designs.

"You're very good at that." He speaks when she finishes her current drawing. Y/n jumps in place with a hand to her chest.

"Merlins beard..." She looks up at him with light scolding, "Fred? you scared the crap out of me." "Not my intention, I assure you, but I can't deny," he flops down beside her, "it was greatly entertaining." He says with a dazzling smile as he relaxes against the trunk.

Y/n shuffles away from him slightly but resumes her original position and places her pen to the side, looking to him expectantly.

"How are you, love?" "I'm fine. Hearts racing a little too fast for normal but otherwise..." "Ah, yes. I do tend to have that affect on people." He winks.

"What scary beyond belief?"

Fred's expression falls to a playful glare. "Artist and comedian?..wow. Women really can multitask." the boy jokes, scrunching his nose as he flicks a small twig at his crush in retaliation; this bringing a reluctant smile to her face.

"What can I do for you, Fred?" "Do for me? Whatever do you mean-" he begins, feigning naïvety, but is cut off.

"I'll rephrase. Why are you here disrupting my otherwise peaceful Saturday?" Y/n elaborates.

Fred scoffs in mock offense, dramatically holding a hand to his heart. "My! What makes you think I would want something? Can't I just pay a visit to one of my dearest friends?" The question is laced with sarcasm and completed with his best attempt at innocent puppy dog eyes. A look which is met by Y/n raising an eyebrow with an expression which reads: 'you're-full-of-shit'.

"Alright, fine," Fred rolls his eyes as he scoots close to her, "I did come to see how you are, but you're right that there's something I would like from you."

"Which is?" Y/n asks impatiently as she tries to subtly move away from him once more.

"Your company."

"What?" Those weren't at all the words she'd expected to hear from him.

"Yeah, uhm, I was wondering if you'd like to go to Hogsmead with me tomorrow? Or next weekend, if tomorrow is too last minute."

An awkward and unsettling feeling forms in Y/ns chest at his request.

She's not ignorant to the rumours surrounding Fred Weasley, she knows he's had his fair share of flings and she would hope this request is merely a friendly one as she can't stomach the idea of being his latest conquest.

"You mean like-" "a date. I'd like to take you on a date." He smiles sweetly.

That feeling of discomfort is suddenly amplified by his words.

'What would Fred Weasley ever see in me, we hardly know each other?' She thinks to herself, 'and how do I let him down easily?'

"Uhm, Fred, I'm really flattered but-"

"Tomorrow doesn't work? That's fine! We can go next weekend if you'd prefer, or, we don't have to go to Hogsmead at all; here's a nice spot." He gestures openly to the small clearing under the canopy of the large oak tree, "I can just knick some food from the kitchens and we can have a picnic." There's a kind and optimistic smile on his face as he finishes speaking, eagerly awaiting her answer.

Y/n sighs, a regretful prang pulling at her heart. That sweet, boyish charm really was as captivating as they say...she hates to have to ruin it.

"All that sounds amazing Fred, truly. But-" a flicker of disappointment flashes behind his eyes and he swallows thickly hoping to Godrick she's not about to say...

"No, sorry."

That. Hoping she wasn't about to say exactly that.

"I just don't date, and I don't think we'd be a good match. We hardly know each other and I'm- I'm just not right for you." Y/n explains vaguely.

Fred paints on a fake smile trying to ignore the bitter feeling settling in his chest. "That's okay I understand, I just thought I'd ask and we could-"

"HEY Y/N/N! Come on, were going to raid more food from the kitchen!" Her friend calls while another comes and grabs her shirt sleeve, pulling her away in the direction of the Castle.

Y/n casts a sympathetic smile over her shoulder to the disheartened ginger left alone in the dirt.

"...get to know one another...better." Fred mumbles the last of his sentence to himself with a sad wave thrown after the girl who just rejected him seemingly without a second thought.

He slumps back into the base of the tree in dejection, head colliding with the bark in a hard thump.

Fred sits watching the water for sometime after she's gone, until the delicate breeze turns to an icy gust and the skies turn grey with heavy cloud and the approach of nightfall; wondering if there were something he could have done better to change the outcome. If he had been less forward, or told less jokes, if he hadn't scared her accidentally...could things have turned out differently?

Hunger and a deep chill begs for him to finally return to the Castle for supper, and so he slowly trudges back up the hill: with hands deep in his pockets and his shoulders hunched to try guard his neck from the abrasive wind, a conflicted scowl is painted on his expression.

"THERE YOU ARE!" The voice of George calls from an upper landing of the marble staircases. "Where have you been mate? I was ten minutes from checking the map for you." His brother jokes as he meets him at the bottom of the stairs. "Get lost on your way back from the fountain did you?" Lee teases.

"Not exactly." Fred huffs as the three walk into the Great Hall and take a seat at the Gryffindor table.

"Well, what? You missed seeing Crabbe go arse up in that pond in the Courtyard. You should have seen Goyle trying to fish him out, they-" "I asked Y/n out." Fred interrupts.

Lee goes quiet and George stares to his twin in disbelief. "You actually did it?" He breathes in shock, however he's unable to bring himself to smile as he notes Fred's out of the ordinary behaviour. He can tell something's amiss.

"How'd it go?" Lee asks innocently. "Do you see me smiling?" Fred glares. "Wouldn't give you the time of day, hmm?" George grimaces.

"She's notoriously difficult, mate. You know the rumours..." adds Jordan.

"What's it matter. It's just a crush, I'll be over her in a week." Fred shrugs. He chances a glance to the end of the table where Y/n's sitting. She looks happy, completely unphased while Fred feels miserable. She's smiling and joking beautifully as always...

Maybe two weeks to get over her.

That night as Fred and George are getting ready for bed George decides to test the waters with conversation. He sits on the edge of his bed watching Fred adjust his pillows and pull back his blankets.

"So what did she say exactly?" "Who?" Fred questions, playing dumb as if he isn't thinking of said 'she' at the precise moment.

"Don't give me that. Y/n, what'd she say when she turned you down." "Why do you wanna know so bad?"

"Humour me." George pushes.

Fred sighs in frustration as he throws his wand into his bedside table and sits facing his brother. "I don't know, something about her 'not dating' and that we 'barely know each other' and that she's 'wrong for me'. Then her bloody friends dragged her off." Fred huffs tossing his pillow against the rest with renewed frustration.

"...that's it?"

"What do you mean 'that's it'!?"

"I mean, the answer seems pretty obvious."

Fred gives George a confused look which encourages him to continue. "Spend more time with her. Get to know her. Maybe she doesn't date because all the people who've asked haven't bothered to try being friends first. Think about it: all the guys she's turned down; McClaggen, Puecy, Colby. None of them really care about the girls they date. Put in the effort and you never know...might pay off."

Fred stares to nothing as he contemplates what his brother has just said. They wish each other good night before climbing into bed where Fred lays awake thinking things over.

Fred can't help but admit; George has a point.

He didn't try to get to know her. Not really. He just figured whatever he didn't know he'd learn along the way...

He's never been a patient man but with how he feels about her and the need he has inside him to have her in his life maybe a slow approach would be best. Afterall, anytime Fred has rushed into a relationship its always ended just as quickly; earning him a rather unfavourable reputation for being a 'playboy'. He wasn't, honestly. He just never saw the point in waiting for someone he wanted.

With that in mind he allows himself to drift to sleep with a thought out plan for a reproach that's sure to work!

Taglist: @with-love-anu @coffeewithoutcaffeine @freddiemylovelg @meph1stophelian @maybesandohnos @gaycatlord-stuff @unlikelymilkshakedream @kingalrdy @anywherebuthere @prettywhitedoves @gryffindorgirl