#i’m so scared!! i just want to do a good job but i can’t do a good job under these circumstances!!!!!!!

[scrollonso]

Babysitting Duty — Lawhan

@ellearts for you ofc!! love you elle baby

Just like every other normal adult with a job on a Friday morning, Liam is at work, looking through his previous race stats and figuring out what went wrong when suddenly the screen of his phone lights up with a new notification.

lance, 09:38

okay so

just so you know

you’re on babysitting duty today

 

liam, 09:38

Good morning to you too

Also no.

 

lance, 09:38

wtf

you're her favourite uncle

 

liam, 09:39

Jack and I have plans.

 

lance, 09:39

even better!!!

he can help you as well <3

Liam feels his eye twitching.

“I’ll be back in a second.” He tells Yuki, who shrugs beside him and doesn’t even arch an eyebrow when Liam pushes the chair back so forcefully that the metal legs of it almost break, and then marches out of the library like a man on a mission. 

“This is the fourth time this week alone.” Liam hisses the moment his friend answers the phone and barely has time to let a word out. 

“Li, please .”

“Listen, I love Delilah, I really do,” Liam sighs out and leans back against the tree in the park, suppressing the urge to bang his head against it. “but you know that Jack has been drowning in work and we’ve barely had time to spend together off track since August, it’s November now.”

“This is the last time, I swear.” Lance tells him and even through the phone, Liam can hear desperation in his voice. He slightly bangs his head against the wall. “Luca and I have to go to Monaco, we weren’t planning to, but we’re scared those motherfuckers are destroying the house instead of building it and I can not take my 2 years old daughter all the way to fucking Monte Carlo because her uncle is a massive–”

“Lance.” Liam interrupts him before he has time to send himself into a cardiac arrest which is truly the last thing Liam wants or has time for right now. “Fine.” 

“Really?”

“Of course, you asshole, when have I ever told you no?”

“Literally five minutes ago?”

“You know I can very easily change my mind, right?” Although Lance can’t see him, Liam has that smug smirk on his face that always makes his "brother" want to punch him in the face. 

“But you won’t because you love Lilah and you love me and–”

“No, I do not.” Liam cuts him off and he doesn’t even need to specify that he’s talking about Lance — though his bonus brother knows Liam loves him he definitely knows he's not talking about his one and only and favourite neice. Liam would go to hell and back for her. “Now can you please get off my back so I can go and work like every normal adult does on nine in the morning?”

Lance doesn’t miss a beat before chirping, “technically, it’s already ten.”

“I’m hanging up.” 

As always, Liam stays true to his word and hangs up before Lance has time to tell him when he needs to pick Delilah up from the daycare. He doesn’t really need to because Liam has his schedule memorised (considering how many times he had to pick the kid up instead of his idiot brother and brother-in-law since they adopted Delilah) and plus, it’s not even him who’s going to be picking him up.

“Hey, love.” He can hear the smile in Jack’s voice the moment he answers. “Is everything alright?”

“Debatable.” Liam, being the dramatic little shit that he is, whines out and is definitely not offended at the sound of Jack giggling on the other side at his theatrics, thank you very much. “We’re on babysitting duty tonight, again, for the fourth time this week.”

“I did have a feeling that you were going to call me about that.” Jack hums, and even without being able to see him, Liam knows that he’s spinning around in his stupid spinning chair in the Alpine office like a little kid (Liam wants a freaking spinning chair too).

“Which means that you already know you’re going to be the one picking her up from the daycare?” Liam asks with a grin on his face.

“You know it wouldn’t kill you every now and then to walk to her daycare and meet the teachers, right?”

“Oh, sorry, I can’t hear you anymore, the service here is terrible, bye.”

Liam slams his finger against the end call button so firmly that his thumb starts to hurt, but whatever. He is not walking all the way to that daycare after a long day at work; he would rather die, no offense to the Marini-Stroll family.

And, truth be told, Liam finds it very interesting that Jack loves to make fun of him for hating to go to places that are too far from his flat or his work, considering that Jack drives everywhere and yet, he still hasn’t taught Liam anything, no matter how many times Liam begged him to teach him how to drive — it's more different from racing than one would think.

A traitor of a husband, that’s what he is, but Liam still loves him with his entire being.

After letting out a small, quite embarrassing giggle at the dumb meme Jack sent of himself right after he hung up, Liam shoves his phone into his pocket and walks back inside the library, a small huff breaking out of his throat as he throws himself onto that uncomfortable chair.

“We need to get new chairs,” he complains to Yuki, who doesn’t even remove his gaze from his laptop as he hums absent-mindedly. “I’m serious, these are so uncomfortable.”

“Or maybe you're just jealous that your husband has a spinning chair at Alpine's building and you don’t.” The corners of his mouth twitch upwards slightly the moment Liam groans quietly and bangs his head on the top of his desk.

However, his frustration gets thrown out the window the second he reads a newly received email from Christian, saying that he has to cancel tomorrow’s meeting for family emergency reasons. Liam hopes that the man and his family are alright but holy shit, he won’t have to sit there and fight the urge to lose his mind for three hours on Saturday morning and he will be able to spend a morning lazily in bed with his husband — God bless.

Liam sends a quick message to Jack, announcing his once-in-a-lifetime moment to him, receiving dozens of confetti emojis (and an eggplant emoji; Liam hates this man) in return before he returns to the list of those damned books — yes, red bull has assigned him readings to complete before he can drive — with a dumb grin on his face.

Liam slams his laptop shut right at 5:58 pm.

“If I have to go through this list for one more minute, I will freaking lose it,” he hisses to Yuki, who genuinely doesn’t care or finds it absolutely hilarious when Liam is being tormented. And, considering that this time isn’t any different, he giggles and looks at him with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Just go already, then.” He suggests, as if Liam is an idiot for not even thinking about that option — which is rude, because of course he thought about that option, and that is exactly why he's now shoving his laptop and notebook so aggressively into his bag.

“I am going.” He tells him without any heat and pushes the chair back into its place, flashing a small smile at Yuki now that his mind has accepted he’s about to be free from this hell.

Every complaint about his sometimes pain-in-the-ass job disappears from his head the moment he steps outside the library and sees that Jack is already there.

His husband is wearing classic pants and a shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he looks absolutely gorgeous; Liam almost drops to his knees the moment he processes the outfit (again, because he was quite literally there in the morning when Jack was getting ready). But the thing that gets him the most is that Jack has Delilah in his lap, playing with her and grinning triumphantly when she lets out that heartwarming laugh.

Liam has seen Jack with kids, of course he has, but there’s something so different about this. This, as in Jack picking her up from the daycare, driving straight to Liam’s work, and entertaining her while they wait for Liam to be done so they can all go home. There’s something so unbearably domestic about it.

Liam has always known that he and Jack would have kids, but it was mainly him who asked Jack not to rush into things, especially when they’re as serious as adopting and raising a child, and they’ve been married only for a year. But it hits Liam suddenly, totally unexpectedly, that there’s nothing he wants more than to raise children with Jack now, and he can not wait for it to happen.

“Love, is everything alright?” Jack asks with worry in his eyes and slowly gets up from the bench. He puts Delilah on his hip and starts walking toward Liam when he notices that he’s cemented to the spot, staring at them with his mouth agape.

It’s like Liam’s brain is refusing to cooperate and form words, so all he does is give Jack a small nod in return. The second Jack is close enough, Liam grabs him by his tie and pulls him down carefully, a sound escaping Jack’s throat quickly muffled by Liam’s mouth.

“Everything is perfect,” Liam breathes against his lips, hearing Jack let out a small chuckle at his hoarse voice. He would definitely ask what all of that was about if it hadn’t been for Liam turning to Delilah to pinch her cheeks almost painfully until the girl turned to put her face into the space between Jack's neck and shoulder. Liam grins, prideful. “Let’s go home, I’m starving.”

Thankfully, on their way back home, Delilah seems to remember that Liam isn’t an evil uncle who’s going to eat her whole and is, in fact, her favourite uncle. For at least twenty minutes, she chatters about everything and anything, while Jack and Liam nod along, even though they can barely make out half the words she’s saying.

At some point, Jack mutters under his breath that he has two kids in his car, because Liam gets so close to throwing a tantrum in the moving car until Jack finally stops by Dunkin’ to get his husband his daily dose of sickly sweet donuts. Jack doesn’t even bother to hide the fond smile that creeps onto his face when Liam’s eyes light up as soon as Jack hands him the box.

Getting Delilah to wash her hands and change into the extra clothes her dads left around Liam's flat is quite a struggle, to say the least. But with combined powers, they manage to achieve the goal, just like they manage to convince her to eat a proper meal instead of filling up on the donuts Jack brought for Liam.

However, when it comes to finding something to entertain Delilah so she doesn’t notice that her dads aren’t there with her — and to prevent her from tormenting poor Enzo — that’s when all hell breaks loose.

“We’re putting on Cars!” Liam declares, grabbing a DVD from the shelf.

“No, we are putting on Animaniacs for Lilah!” Jack retorts, reaching for another DVD.

“Cars!”

“Animaniacs!” Jack fires back, grinning.

“Animaniacs doesn't teach her anything!” Liam protests.

“You wanna put on a movie about talking vehicles!” Jack counters, folding his arms.

“Jack Doohan, we will put on Animaniacs or you’re staying home next month, and I’m taking Mick with me to Abu Dhabi!” Liam threatens, wagging a finger at him.

In the end, all three of them end up sprawled on the couch, cuddled up and cozy, drifting off to sleep to the sound of cars driving and Mater Mater-ing.

When Liam wakes up with Delilah nestled on his chest and Jack’s arm wrapped protectively around both of them, he can’t help but smile. This might just be his definition of perfect.

 

Liam feels Jack's arms around his naked body and the man's chest against his back before he even fully comes back to consciousness. That doesn’t stop him from letting out a contented hum and snuggling more into his husband’s touch before it suddenly hits him that he has absolutely no clue if he put Delilah to bed properly yesterday or not.

Almost as if Jack heard Liam’s thoughts, he tightens his hold and nuzzles his nose into Liam’s neck, murmuring before Liam has a chance to start panicking, “Lance and Luca picked her up while you were sleeping last night.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Liam grumbles, turning around in Jack’s arms, almost squishing his nose against Jack’s chest in the process.

“Because.” Jack replies simply, and before Liam has time to complain about how that’s not a proper answer, Jack pushes him onto his back and drapes his body over Liam’s, earning a small, winded oof from him.

Liam smiles fondly at Jack curling against him like an actual cat (even though they both agree Jack is a golden retriever while Liam is a cat, never mind Lance calling them both idiots for it). Wasting no time, he wraps his arms around his husband, burying half of his face in Jack’s soft waves.

“I think Delilah had a good time yesterday,” Jack whispers against Liam’s throat, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down Liam’s spine.

“She always has a good time here, torturing our poor puppy and getting you to stuff her face with sweets.” Liam says with a small smile, running his hands up and down Jack’s bare back, scratching here and there for the fun of it.

“There are sacrifices we all have to make to get a kid to like us.” Jack declares, looking up at Liam with that toothy grin, and Liam just has to kiss him for it.

“You’re great with kids,” he tells Jack, watching as his sleepy eyes start sparkling with happiness like a little kid’s. Liam hopes Jack doesn’t notice the way his heartbeat rises at the words he’s planning to say next. “You’ll be an amazing dad.”

“You’ll be an amazing dad too, Li.” Jack says, leaning forward to leave a soft kiss against the corner of Liam’s mouth before his husband tugs at his curls, pulling him into a proper, open-mouthed kiss.

“Jack, I mean that—” Liam tries to continue after breaking the kiss, but he isn’t exactly sure how to say it without freaking him out, because what if Jack isn’t ready or doesn’t want kids, or doesn’t want kids with him, or—

“You’re overthinking again.” Jack’s sweet voice interrupts Liam’s spiraling thoughts just in time, and he can feel the anxiety start to fade as Jack cups his face gently, pressing his forehead against Liam’s and looking into his eyes. “What is it, love?”

“You— you want to have kids with me…right?” Liam asks, wincing internally at how choked the words sound.

“I— Li, sweetie, of course I do!” Jack looks so surprised by the question that for a moment, Liam genuinely worries his eyes might fall out of their sockets. “Did you think I didn’t want to?”

“No, I just…” Liam almost groans, trying to look away but failing due to the way Jack is holding him firmly and staring into his eyes. “I just really want to raise a child with you, and— I needed to make sure you felt the same.”

Jack’s confused expression softens, replaced by a fond look in his brown eyes, and he kisses Liam again, though both struggle with it since Jack can’t stop smiling.

“Li, there’s nothing in this world I want more than having kids with you.” Jack whispers against his lips, his smile growing even wider at the sight of tears gathering in Liam’s eyes. “In fact, we can start working on it right here and now—”

“You’re such an idiot.” Liam laughs, which quickly turns into a quiet whimper as Jack presses himself between Liam’s legs, leaning down to kiss and bite his throat.

“So I’ve been told.” Jack hums. “But you love me for it.”

“I do.” Liam’s hands slide up into Jack’s hair again before he tugs hard enough to make Jack look at him. “I’m choosing the name.”

“Why not me?”

“Because you’ll name him after a MotoGP world champion or a video game!”

“I would not— him?”

Liam isn’t sure why, but he instantly blushes and nods, “I want to have a boy.”

“I’m starting to think you’ve already picked a name.” Jack says, his voice full of adoration as he brushes a strand of hair out of Liam’s face and kisses his forehead, the tip of his nose, and then his lips.

“I have.” Liam admits, feeling the tips of his ears grow hot as he watches Jack’s expression turn awestruck.

“Well, tell me then!”

“Pierce.” Liam whispers, playing with Jack’s curls as Jack looks at him like he’s falling in love all over again. “Pierce Doohan-Lawson— it sounds cute, doesn’t it?”

“It does— Longest name ever, but it really does.” Jack whispers, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he grins wide enough to rival the sun before pulling his husband into another deep kiss.

[dramaturgydrakes]

Hnmmm I’m bad at asking questions but I want to know more about baby!hermes AU/any headcanons you have for epic!hermes so uhh use this ask to shameless share stuff

ok ok i dont actually have too much cuz its like 6am BUT.

rebabied hermes AU

he has a cow plushie. possibly made by penelope? either way it’s funny

ABSOLUTELY tried to steal ody’s cattle first thing. ended with anti-hermes measures aided by apollo

has woken up ody and pen several times playing the lyre like a guitar in the middle of the night. for funsies.

while he’s very bold, he’s also very easily spooked. bolts faster than a cat at sudden movements and loud noises (realizing my hermes is very catlike help)

notoriously known for “if you can’t find him, he’s causing trouble.” ody and pen will search the palace for him for hours then find out him and telemachus are wreaking havoc down in the market

he can ramble for hours. either about the same thing or he jumps topics every 30 seconds. sometimes it devolves into gibberish. penelope is VERY used to this from ody and tele and able to actually engage, while ody looks at her like “?? is this what i put you through”. telemachus is “← his ass is NOT listening” but sits thru it without a problem

for the first few weeks he pretends that he has to shed feathers just to cause problems for One Specific Servant he doesn’t like. then apollo stops by like “why tf is the palace covered in baby fluff. this is unnecessary” and hermes has to actually communicate because apollo is trained to see through his bs lol

ody tries to put him in timeout and he goes “you’re MY great-grandson!! and i’m a god!!! you can’t make me do anything!! YOU go in the corner!!!!!” which earns him a very long lecture from penelope as the alternative. never fusses over timeout again and does a very good job thinking about what he’s done. as an equivalent for stickers pen just gives him interesting little baubles that have his attention for hours afterwards

despite being a small child he still traumatizes telemachus with completely unnecessary tidbits about ody. then they go cause problems together anyways

probably more later idk lol

epic / regular hermes

he’s a stoner. this is basically accepted as canon by most fans now but i digress

this is kinda more general hermes than just epic, but: i imagine that when ody was a baby he was a BIG crier—anticlea and laertes were up almost every night trying to figure out how to calm him down. then, one night, anticlea wakes to him crying, but it stops suddenly and she panics, hurrying to his room. there, instead of something terrible, she finds hermes gently dancing with baby ody and singing lullabies that apollo used to sing to him. ody is absolutely enamored with him, just staring up at hermes with the biggest, most fascinated eyes. i imagine hermes also has his facial wings aside, but baby ody doesn’t seem at all scared of having the full attention of six glowing eyes :)

every problem odysseus causes is reason for celebration. every trick, every feat, every theft—and, at the same time, every generosity to the beggars and less fortunate of his kingdom. (i mean. hermes is a patron of groups that are usually lower class hshhs)

he and apollo are besties now but apollo absolutely still has days where he wants to throttle hermes. especially when hermes brings up the cows. hermes LOVES bringing up the cows. apollo proceeds to set his clothes on fire, like any immensely irritated big brother

sad moment but hermes has so much guilt over odysseus’s suffering. he’s meant to protect travelers, and he’s granted odysseus as much luck and protection as he can, but he couldn’t protect his crew and he couldn’t spare his great-grandson from horrible anguish. i know gods in mythos care very little for mortals, but hermes just feels different to me. in the odyssey he’s very kind and benevolent, legitimately caring for odysseus from what we can tell, and seeing his family in so much pain hurts him too

he visits anticlea frequently after her death

my brain is not at functioning capacity so this is all i got but yeah :)

[mayasdeluca]

Still on such a high from that episode but feeling scared about two things that may happen now…

Between Maya expressing her concerns to Ben about it feeling impossible to do the job with Carina and Liam at home and Maya telling Andy she felt guilty she wasn’t at home with them to now Maya being the one to express the fear that she will die on the job and leave Carina alone to raise Liam (as opposed to Carina voicing this fear even if she obviously has it also) I’m starting to fear that maybe they are setting it up that Maya isn’t going to be a firefighter anymore at the end of it and maybe that article wasn’t so clickbait-y after all 😩 And especially if she sees whatever happens to Ben (and Beckett maybe?) on the call next episode first hand…

And while I’m glad that Carina brought up IVF again now I can’t help but wonder if that is the difficult news that Maya helps her navigate next episode?? They’re really going to have her find out she can’t have kids aren’t they? 😭

[leviiackrman]

I am fighting for my life to be mentally stable and it’s not working

[anmaries]

I think about this issue sometimes because she’s soooo quick on her feet. She’s always ready to jump into action and figure out a situation. It makes sense why people like steve rogers keep wanting her to be a leader type; she’s empathetic, she’s smart, and she’s decisive. she knows how to make those split second decisions and she’s all about putting herself in the line of fire to keep everyone else safe (see also: rogue not caring about herself and so the choice of self sacrifice is an easy one if it means saving her loved ones / innocent people)

[robertsbarbie]

during the day i live by the “you never know” can do mentality but at night im confronted with the deep pitted fear that im not trying super hard to find a job in my industry because i dont think i can do it so if i dont seriously try i cant be hurt by the actual trying and failing

[placeinthisworld]

it’s almost peak

[hazlelnoot]

…

[priestfrommidnightmass]

lately ’ve been feeling kinda guilty because i’ve been feeling much less satisfied and proud of this incredible opportunity i’ve received that i’ve been hoping and dreaming of for ages than i was with my silly summer job taking care of kids and like. i don’t know i’ve been reconsidering if being in film is even what i actually want to do because tbh i’ve been realizing that my actual dream is just to. be liked and have friends and be around people? i’ve been lonely for so long and i definitely know i’ve projected a lot of my desires and dreams onto my writing and lived vicariously though a lot of films and it was so important to me because it felt like it was life or death. so now that i like. have friends and have more life experiences and am satisfied with my place the idea of actually Working in film is just… i don’t know! it’s kinda been making me feel sick everytime i think about it. i don’t think i’m actually passionate about the thing i thought i was. i’ve found something i’m good at and it’s not what i thought it was or thought i wanted whatsoever! that’s scary because even questioning this kinda makes me feel like my life is turning upside down! i feel like that post where someone said they started taking anti depressants and is now deleting their bts account or something

[stunies]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NIGHT FLOWER: part i

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

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

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

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

“I’ve alw███ l█ved ███, Ka██v█s███”

You knew it from the moment you met him.

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

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

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

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

You didn't belong to your slaver.

You belonged to him.

To Kakavasha.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“‘Aventurine’,” he corrected.

You stared blankly. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re hiring me?”

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

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

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

“Kakavasha—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And what have you lost, Vasha?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aventurine is always afraid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You could die,” you point out.

“You'll protect me.”

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

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

“Yes. Just by dumb luck.”

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

“You're a shit liar.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Because you can tell it's dangerous.”

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

You arch a brow. “...the weather?”

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

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

“Aventurine.”

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

“Aventurine.”

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

“Aventurine.”

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

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

“Retire? Why would I ever do that?”

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

“No such thing.”

“Then you can settle down with someone.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You can't know that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

It gutted you.

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

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

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

“No,” he breathes, “I don't.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, you do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hated being an alpha.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His grip on the sweater tightens. “No.”

You frown. “Aventurine—”

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

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

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

“I’ve barely—”

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

“You really need—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I wouldn’t let them touch you.”

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

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

“I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Winner takes all, he sometimes gloats.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you want to do?” you ask.

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

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

But he still doesn't stop you.

After a few more days, Aventurine finally breaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just your wrist,” he says quietly.

You listen carefully. “What?”

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

“Okay.”

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

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

“Fine,” he says, breathing measured.

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

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

Both of you inhale sharply.

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

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

Fuck.

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

You pull back your hand, and Aventurine startles.

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

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

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

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

“Are you sure?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath.

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

Something claws the walls of your heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not scared,” he lies. “Just…”

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

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

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

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

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

Aventurine is always afraid.

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—before he looks away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“...oh.”

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

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

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

You only want him to feel safe.

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

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

He does eventually speak.

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

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

Aventurine breathes in.

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

Your eyebrows tick up. “Rain?”

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

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

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

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

“Although?” you prompt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aventurine doesn't push you away.

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

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

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

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

end part i

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

and thank you most of all to YOU! I appreciate you so much for reading this chapter. thank you so much for sticking it through.

additional end notes

[marcvscicero]

.

(just a very long rant, feel 100% free to ignore, it’s just to vent somewhere, could’ve ranted even more but apparently 30 tags is the limit whoops 🤭🤭)

[thewispsings]

Hi can u do a smau with max where reader is a doc for f1 and when max unfortunately has an accident she is one of the first responders(dont know what they are called!!!) And he just stares at her and its like love at first sight for him(he fell first and HARDER!!!!!) and everyone online could see it as well

Some teasing from other drivers as well

And proceed how u deem fit

Loved the sister in law one!!!!!!!

doctor lady | max verstappen

pairing: max verstappen x doctor!reader

summary: max never thought he would be happy getting a injury that puts him out of racing for three months, but when he has a doctor like you? he can’t help but be a little happy.

liked by landonorris, yourusername, charles_leclerc, and 816,074 others!

maxverstappen1: we are allllm good guys!!!!!!!!!!!!! we are aliveee wnd well babybyvy 🤘AND me and lanHOE (becuare he id a BOE) got a pretty doctory lady 🥰🥰🥰 she’s sooooooooioiiooooo nice and prety AND she made us NOT feel pain so we love her 😍😍😍😍😍

view comments below!

user1: they got him on those GOOD painkillers

user2: we’ve seen drunk max, but drugged max? a whole new level

landonorris: guy our lady doctor is soilioooooooooo prety 😍

maxverstappen1: HEY NO 😡😡 i alreadys called dibs!!!!!! she’s MY prety doctor lady. she game ME her instagran and i’m takin HER on a date!

yourusername: if my supervisor is reading this, i gave him my instagram and agreed going on a date with him because he was being difficult, started crying, and wouldn’t take his medication until i did.

maxverstappen1: HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL LOVE

user2: started crying??? max verstappen started crying???

user3: pain meds do that to you 🤕

user4: i need a video of that right now

user5: he is out of IT. i can’t wait till he wakes up and realizes what he’s done

charles_leclerc: happy you’re okay mate!

maxverstappen1: oh charles i have missed you dearly 🥰🥰 so happy you got 1st!!!!!!!

charles_leclerc: thank you max ❤️

maxverstappen1: i can wait for you to meet my future wife!!!!!!!! you’ll love her! she saved me life ❤️

charles_leclerc: someone please take his phone away

maxverstappen1: NOOOOO I JUST WANT TO TALK ABOUT MY FUTURE WIFR 😡

user6: max, charles is just trying to save you from the embarrassment

user7: when he sobers up, he either won’t give a shit and continue OR he’ll be so embarrassed and he’ll never show his face again

yourusername: everyone, please don’t pay mind to max, he is under very heavy drugs, and is not in a right state of mind. we have tried confiscating his phone, but he starts kicking and becomes difficult.

user8: i know this girl is scared for her job 😭

user9: having max as a drugged out patient seems horrible

user10: literal nightmare material

maxverstappen1: MYYY LOVVER HELLO

user11: good lord #freeyn

danielricciardo: i would say, i hope you recover, but i have a feeling you don’t want to recover?

maxverstappen1: I DONTTTT I NEVER EANT TO RECIVER BECAUSE THAT MEANS NOT SEEING MY BEAUTIFUL LADY DOCTOR SO NO!!! NO RECOVERY FOR ME

danielricciardo: screenshotting all of this for later 🤣

landonorris: i’m hungry, maxie can you tell lady doctor i’m hungry?

yourusername: you can talk to me lando. i’ll go get you something.

landonorris: NOOOO I CABR TALK TO THE LADY DOCTOR MAX SAID I CANT AND HE DAID IF I DID HESS GOING TO KILL ME AND I DONT WANT TO BE KILLED AHHHH

maxverstappen1: YOU FONT GET TO TALK TO MY PRETTY DOCTOR LADY IM GOING TO JILL YLY LANDO

user12: this is genuinely like the funniest shit ever 😭

user13: can’t believe in 10 years from now we’re going to look back at this and laugh

user14: 10 years?? bitch im LAUGHING RIGHT NOW

redbullracing; speedy recovery max! 💓

maxverstappen1: NOOOO NO SPEEDY RECOVERY NO RECOVERY FOR MAX

user15: head injury so bad he lost his love for racing

user16: on a serious note, his injury’s did seem pretty bad, especially his leg…

user17: honestly i’d be surprised if he returned to racing immediately

landonorris: maxie and me got separated :(((( 😞☹️😕😭🥺 lady doctor is is MEAN

yourusername: you two were arguing and disturbing the other patients.

maxverstappen1: DONT CALL MY LADY DOTCIT MEAN!!!!

user18: went from being worried to laughing out loud because wtf is this??

user27; lando and max crashing was NOT on my 2024 bingo card

user28: f1 having a big crash was not on MY 2024 bingo card

liked by maxverstappen1, yourusername, landonorris, 619,027 others!

redbullracing: unfortunately, due to last weeks crash regarding lando norris and max verstappen. max has been forced to take a three month leave of absence from racing, as he has severely fractured his lower leg. he has immediately started physical therapy, let’s wish him a speedy recovery ❤️‍🩹

view comments below!

maxverstappen1: what a shame 😕 truly saddened by this outcome 😞

user19: what??

landonorris: take a wild guess as to who’s going to be his doctor for three months?

user20: PRETTY LADY DOCTOR???

maxverstappen1: maybe 🥰

user21: we’ve entered the era where max does not gaf about racing as long as he gets to see yn

user22: does this mean he’s not winning the wdc?

user23: he still can, he just has to win basically every race after the 3 months, which isn’t exactly impossible for him

charles_leclerc; so sad for max!

user24: your ass does not feel sad for max 😭

user25: he has his eyes on the wdc!!!

user26: HE ACTUALLY HAS A CHANCE TO WIN BOW

maxverstappen1: @/yourusername, ready to take care of me for 3 months :D

yourusername: no

maxverstappen1: 😕

user27: HAHAHA

danielricciardo: LOSER

landonorris: HAHAH GET REJECTED

charles_leclerc: EMBARRASSING

oscarpiastri: that hurt to read

maxverstappen1: SHUT UP WHO ASKED YOU

user28: tbh i wouldn’t be excited to have max as a patient for 3 whole months with how he acted that night in the emergency room

user29: that man is secretly crazy and you can’t convince me otherwise

user30: i love how max is clearly like head over heels for yn, but she can’t date him because he’s her patient 😭

user31: she can’t?

user30: NO!!! that’s unethical, she can date him after the 3 months but not during

user32: that not being common knowledge to some people is concerning…

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, yourusername, and 917,027 others!

maxverstappen1: day one of physical therapy a success ✅

view comments below!

landonorris: so, how many times did she reject you today?

maxverstappen1: ZERO.

yourusername: 10**

landonorris: TENN??????

maxverstappen1: i just don’t understand why she won’t say yes 😞

yourusername: because it’s severely unethical and will get me fired

maxverstappen1: so what i’m hearing is that you’ll go out with me when i’m no longer your patient?

user33: let the countdown begin

charles_leclerc: missed you at the race today!

maxverstappen1: no you didn’t

charles_leclerc: no i didn’t! MAX IT FEELS SO GOOD TOO WIN

maxverstappen1: yeah i KNOW.

yourusername: don’t worry charles, he was watching you during his whole therapy session, and cheered so loudly when you won that we got complains from patients on the other side of the building!

charles_leclerc: I KNEW IT!!!

maxverstappen1: you said you wouldn’t tell anyone yn 😕

user34: it’s so…unsettling seeing max be so publicly affectionate

user35: RIGHT?? like why is he so open about this??

user36: he has no shame…

yourusername: i told you to stop taking pictures of me while i’m working

maxverstappen1: but you just look sooooo pretty

danielricciardo: she doesn’t want you bro

maxverstappen1: SHUT UP

user37: she’s stronger then me, because if i had max verstappen down bad like that?

user38: no literally, i would’ve made him mine the same day we met

user39: why is max posting regular pictures?? it’s weird

user40: he’s trying to impress yn

user39: well he’s going about it all wrong. because these photos just don’t match?? cat, hospital, and then a crappy photo of a therapy room?? horrible horrible HORRIBLE

user41: damn…

liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 619,017 others!

maxverstappen1: 2 months down…1 more to go!

view comments below!

user42: HE IS COUNTING DOWN

user43: WE KNEW IT!!!

landonorris: i can’t belive you tricked me into going to a photo shoot for you

maxverstappen1: that is not what happened.

landonorris: you told me we were going golfing, next thing i know i’m watching you get your picture taken like 92884 times 😑

maxverstappen1: just say your jealous

landonorris: OF WHAT???

user44: he’s getting better at being aesthetic

user45: he’s learning!!

user46: are we all going to skip past the fact that max, a hater of everything, had a whole as photo shoot for his instagram?????

maxverstappen1: yn told me i should post more photos of myself for the instagram

user47: so you had a whole photo shoot????

maxverstappen1: yes

user48: oh he’s in love

danielricciardo: looking good max 😍

maxverstappen1; thank you for the support daniel!

landonorris: was that a dig to me?

maxverstappen1: yes.

landonorris: I WAS EXPECTING GOLF

yourusername: looking good max

maxverstappen1: really??? you really think so??

yourusername: yes (with the upmost professionalism)

maxverstappen1: 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

user49: why did max just add “yn thinks i look good 🥰” to his bio

user50: LMAOO I THOUGHT YOU WERE JOKING???

user49: no 😭 he very literally put “yn thinks i look good 🥰” in his bio

user51: why does it look like max is in the doctor training room?

maxverstappen1: because i am!!

user51: THEY LET YOU IN THERE????

yourusername: my boss is a huge f1 fan. so he lets max do whatever he wants 🙄

user51: i’m sorry that’s so funny 😭

user52: does max just follow her around all day??

yourusername: pretty much, yeah

user53: you have no idea how much i want to be you

charles_leclerc: wow max looking good

maxverstappen1: thank you charles

charles_leclerc: aren’t you going to put “charles thinks i look good” in your bio?

maxverstappen1: i don’t care about you enough for that

user54: DAMN THATS COLD

user55: those cats are so cute 🥺

. . .

. . .

liked by yourusername, landonorris, and 914,078 others!

maxverstappen1: guys i did!!!! i got a date with the pretty doctor lady 🥰🥰

view comments below!

user56: when he falls first and harder >>

user57; this man is literally obsessed with yn it’s insane

landonorris: beat me too it

landonorris: THIS IS A JOKE PLEASE DONT KILL ME

maxverstappen1: nothing funny. i didn’t laugh. you aren’t funny.

landonorris: 😕

user58: WE CHEERED!!!

user59: i still think it would be funny if she just said no even after the 3 months

yourusername; i thought about it, but he’s rich and pretty so 🤷‍♀️

maxverstappen1: pretty :D

user60: she’s so pretty

maxverstappen1: like i’ve been SAYING.

user61: i’ve never seen a man so down bad before

user62: it’s unnerving

user63: a doctor, pretty, and funny?? max hit the jackpot

user64: they both hit the jackpot 😒 it pisses me off

user65: LMAO WHY??

user64: seeing people live the life i want makes me unexplainably mad

danielricciardo: you’re joking right? she’s not actually dating you?

maxverstappen1: what’s that supposed to mean

danielricciardo: it means she’s too good for you @/yourusername are you being held hostage

yourusername; yes

danielricciardo: OH I KNEW IT. DONT WORRY HELP IS ON THE WAY

maxverstappen1: you guys are mean.

yourusername: this means i can never be your doctor again

maxverstappen1: what if once day, on my way home i crash, and its a big crash with smoke and fire, and i get taken to the hospital but i refuse to let anyone touch me that isn’t you, would you still not help me?

yourusername: there’s just something so undiagnosed about you

user65: HAHAHA

user66: max is just so unexplainable

charles_leclerc: are my eyes deceiving me or did she finally say yes 

maxverstappen1: SHE SAID YES

charles_leclerc: OH YEAH OH YEAH I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT BUDDY

maxverstappen1: OH YEAH OH YEAH

user67: my lestappen heart 💔

. . .

notes: enjoy this while i spend the rest of my night learning how to play the sims

thank you for requesting!!

[fastandcarlos]

My Little Graduate : ̗̀➛ Charles LeClerc

summary: as you prepare to wave goodbye to your student days, charles is there to celebrate your new role

pairing: charles x student midwife!reader

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and 31,604 others

ynusername: last couple of weeks of stress before I can finally say goodbye to that student lanyard forever 👩🏻‍⚕️

4,058 comments

username1: ngl I’m just insanely jealous of that study setup, yn you must teach us your secrets!

charles_leclerc: can’t begin to tell you how proud I am, I promise that it’ll all be worth it 💋

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc couldn’t have got this far without you 💕

username2: we’re so proud of you yn, you’ve got this 🎉

landonorris: still blows my mind how hard you’re working, I could never do your job!

username3: whoever get you as their midwife is gonna be one incredibly lucky person!!

pierregasly: we can’t wait to see you say goodbye to that student lanyard too 🤩

username4: how she does this and support charles so effortlessly blows my mind 😂

carlossainz55: I can’t believe you still have the pin that I gave you when you first started 😂

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 I keep it with me forever I go ☺️

username5: I wish I had yn’s stamina to study and keep up with her busy lifestyle

username6: I’m stealing that photo to try and convince my parents that I’m studying too 🥺

iamrebeccad: can’t wait to tell everyone how amazing it is to have a qualified midwife as one of my best friends ✨

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by scuderiaferrari, landonorris and 2,948,261 others

charles_leclerc: another great qualifying session, hoping to keep it going and deliver tomorrow after a pep talk with my love 💞

138,605 comments

username7: you were amazing charles, p1 is yours tomorrow ❤️

scuderiaferrari: congratulations charles, the whole team is behind you tomorrow ❤️

landonorris: I’m right behind you and ready to pounce 👀

charles_leclerc: @/landonorris you don’t scare me 😂

username8: it’s so cute how him and yn always make sure they have time for each other!!

arthur_leclerc: yn is the best at giving pep talks, I mean she reassures enough parents that labour wont hurt everyday 😉

username9: we all know how much of a good luck charm yn is 😂

maxverstappen1: looking forward to another battle on track tomorrow!!

ynusername: so proud of you, I’ll be watching tomorrow 😘

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername good you need to make sure you’re taking plenty of breaks!!

username10: no doubt in my mind that we’ll see you at the top of the podium tomorrow charles

danielricciardo: deliver like your girl delivers babies??? 🙃

charles_leclerc: @/danielricciardo how long did it take you to think of that!?

username11: just think of yn tomorrow and that’ll get you over the line in top spot 💪🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by arthur_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 37,948 others

ynusername: another weekend spent with my head buried in books and glued to my laptop screen…so proud of you charles 🍾

4,069 comments

username12: please make sure you’re getting plenty of rest yn, we don’t want you to burn out now!!

carlossainz55: just gonna forget that the other guy in red got a podium too 😭

ynusername: @/carlossainz55 I’m proud of you too carlos don’t worry 😂

username13: it’s the sweetest how she’s always there for charles regardless of how much work she has to do 🥹

arthur_leclerc: I’m coming round to take you out and stop you burying your head into books!

ynusername: @/arthur_leclerc but I’m soooooo busy!!

arthur_leclerc: @/ynusername charles told me to keep an eye on you so stop arguing with me and pack your things up!

username14: once again I’m just here to admire the setup…

username15: he wouldn’t have got there if it wasn’t for your pep talk 😉

oscarpiastri: wish I could have brains as big as yours 🧠

carmenmmundt: if you ever need a study partner I volunteer myself to come and rest you!

ynusername: @/carmenmmundt might just have to take you up on that offer soon

username16: I wish I had this level of dedication to things in my life like yn does graduating

landonorris: those notes are making me stress just looking at them 🤦🏻

username17: remember to take care of yourself always yn 💕

charles_leclerc: thanks for your wise words last night angel, you always know what I need to hear ❤️

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by lilymhe, carlossainz55 and 48,472 others

ynusername: charles offered to help me study, he lasted ten minutes before insisting he needed to lie down cause his head hurt ☺️💞

7,941 comments

username18: maybe charles should just stick to racing instead 😂

arthur_leclerc: it’s been a long time since this kid went to school, you should’ve known better than this yn!!

username19: he genuinely looks on the verge of a breakdown in that lost photo bless him

charles_leclerc: I swear half the words you said to me weren’t actually in the english language!!

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc now you know how I feel whenever you decide to talk about cars 🏎️

username20: everyone always underestimates how hard being a midwife truly is!!

landonorris: “and it all got too much for little charles leclerc…”

georgerussell63: I think you might’ve actually broken your boyfriend 🥲

username21: he lasted ten minutes longer than I ever would looking at all your notes yn 😂

carlossainz55: can’t believe you thought trying to study with charles was a good idea 🤦🏻‍♂️

carmenmmundt: sounds like you might need me to come and rescue you next time??

ynusername: @/carmenmmundt no one can do as bad of a job at study partner as this guy ☺️

username22: we all love a supportive boyfriend, at least he tried 😝

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by maxverstappen1, ynusername and 1,392,058 others

charles_leclerc: visiting the prospective graduate and delivering plenty of treats to the incredible team of midwives down at the hospital 💕

174,072 comments

username23: I love how charles takes care of all of them and makes sure they’re well fed 😭

ynusername: I’m sure they’ve only offered me a job when I graduate because they’re not ready to say goodbye to you and your extremely delicious cake deliveries 😂

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername what you don’t know is they all actually like me more than you 😝

username24: look at yn she looks like she’s born to be a midwife 😍

carlossainz55: and you just so happened to feel the need to share what an adorable boyfriend you are on social media did you???

username25: charles must be the favourite boyfriend on the ward if he’s delivering cakes like those!!

landonorris: us drivers work hard too but we don’t get any cake 🤷🏻

username26: now wondering what I have to do to get a boyfriend as sweet as him??

maxverstappen1: yn looks in her absolute element there 😍

danielricciardo: I wanna send them some cakes too for all their hard work, gimme an address to send something 📫

username27: yn really is the luckiest girl in the world 🥺

scuderiaferrari: admin here to remind you that you’ve got a team of engineers who also love cake very much 😅

charles_leclerc: @/scuderiaferrari deliveries on their way to montreal 🧁

username28: it’s adorable how charles is just constantly on yn and making sure that she’s taking care of herself 🫠

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc and 52,921 others

ynusername: all the hard work has paid off…officially a midwife and ready for duty 🥂👩🏻‍⚕️

13,859 comments

charles_leclerc: I wish I had the words right now to express just how insanely proud I am, I love you so much my little genius 💕

ynusername: @/charles_leclerc thank you for being by my side every step of the way 🥺

username28: this is the post I’ve been waiting for for so long, congratulations yn 👏🏻

danielricciardo: you should be so damn proud of yourself yn - congrats!!

username29: enjoy the feeling of finally being able to bin those crazy notes!!

scuderiaferrari: from everyone here at ferrari, we’re sending you lots of congratulations ❤️

carmenmmundt: secretly think you managed this because you had the best person testing you 🤣

username30: hands down gonna be the best midwife ever 🙌🏻

username31: no one can try and convince me those flowers aren’t from charles btw 💐

carlossainz55: ik just how hard you’ve worked for this, so proud of you!!

maxverstappen1: simply lovely my friend, so glad you’ve finally completed this chapter ☺️

username32: there’s no one more deserving yn, so glad your hard work was worth it 🫶🏻

arthur_leclerc: I’m honestly in awe of how hard you’ve worked for this, coolest sister in law ever!!

ynusername: @/arthur_leclerc thanks for being my secondary babysitter behind your brother 😂

username33: I hope you’ve got the biggest smile in the world on your face rn!!

iamrebeccad: not only did you compete it, you absolutely bloody smashed it ✅

username34: congratulations on the next step of your career yn 💞

landonorris: hands down my coolest and smartest friend just so you know 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by ynusername, oscarpiastri and 2,037,138 others

charles_leclerc: the day we’ve waited for…no one cheered louder than me in that graduation hall today. the proudest man in the world 🥂

218,504 comments

username35: I’m so glad you were able to be there and support your girl charles 🥺

ynusername: still can’t believe that you were actually there ✨

charles_leclerc: @/ynusername I wouldn’t have missed this for the world ❤️

username36: ofc you rolled up looking like the smartest man in the room too!

alex_albon: these photos are adorable, good job yn 🎉

carlossainz55: did you steal someone’s hat to take that middle photo!?

charles_leclerc: @/carlossainz55 I’d never be smart enough to have one of my own 😂

username37: why can I picture him being like an embarrassing dad when yn’s name was called 😂

georgerussell63: congrats yn, you’re incredible 👏🏻

username38: can’t begin to imagine how proud you must’ve been feeling charles!

landonorris: be honest…did you cry?!

charles_leclerc: @/landonorris I might’ve shed a tear or two…

username39: just when I think you two can’t get anymore impressive, yn becomes a graduate 😂

arthur_leclerc: it must suck to be you when yn has both the brains and the beauty!!

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 53,949 others

ynusername: a day of firsts, so happy to finally be fully qualified and welcome my first little one into the world 🐣

12,597 comments

charles_leclerc: so happy for you, this is your moment and you deserve it so much sweetheart 💞

username40: oh yn this melts my heart…look how far you’ve come!!

carlossainz55: hope you’re having the time of your life yn, the team are so lucky to have you ☺️

landonorris: this is awesome yn, the first of many 💕

username41: I’m sorry but I can’t ignore the fact you’re all in crocs 😂

username42: that baby is so lucky to have been brought into this world by you!!

maxverstappen1: idk which is worse the crocs or the fact charles left our game of padel to deliver cakes 😂😂

ynusername: @/maxverstappen1 one day I’m gonna convince you that crocs aren’t the devil!

username43: you were made for this job, you’re already a natural 😍

carmenmmundt: I think I might’ve just cried a little seeing these and knowing how much you wanted this 🥺

username44: hope you’re ready to be delivering any paddock babies now

iamrebeccad: I hope you know just how proud so many of us are of you 🫶🏻

username45: it makes me so happy to see all your dreams come true ✨

˚*•✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[luveline]

pls spencer and bombshell reader where she like sacrifices herself for him or does something outrageous for him. i love your weiting!! 💝

You don’t have any other choice, Spencer’s on the other roof being held in a chokehold by the UnSub —rational thinking goes out the window. He sees your face and, though he’s starting to look a little blue, gestures wildly for you to not do what you’re thinking. 

You jump. 

You take the landing hard —you ran hard, jumped harder, cringing as the grit of the rooftop tears through your shoulder. You roll into it. In one moment you’re standing, and then you’re knocking the assailant off of your boyfriend just before he falls unconscious. 

You forget everything you’re supposed to remember, flipping the UnSub without care onto his front, yanking his arms back, and cuffing him tightly. He’s a serial child murderer, so it’s kinder than he deserves. 

“Stay down,” you warn, cuffs so tight you can see the perp’s hand changing colour. You’ll have to fix that soon, but you have more important matters at hand. “Spencer?” 

His answer is hoarse, “Yeah.”

You leave the UnSub where he’s laid down and rush to Spencer. You drop to your knees beside him, alarmed that he’s still curled up and gasping. “Hey, hey, what can I do?” 

He grabs your arm and sucks in another breath. 

“Spencer?” 

“Why did you do that?” he asks. 

“What?” 

“What did you do to your arm? Does it hurt?” 

Spencer can barely breathe and he’s asking you if you’re okay. You can see the spots in his eyes. Fuck, he scared you. 

“I’m fine,” you say softly, holding him by the shoulders. “Take a deep breath, can you do that for me?” 

Your shoulder stings like you’d landed on glass and there’s an ache in your bones from the impact, but the source of your racing pulse is the look on his face, as though he might still pass out. You cringe at the sound of approaching footsteps, but it’s Morgan and Hotch making their way across the gravel top to help you. You turn back to Spencer in relief. 

He takes another huge breath. “Good job,” you say quietly, but saccharinely, rubbing his poor chest. “Do you want to sit up?” 

“I can’t.” 

“Okay. Alright. Just take a breath.” 

“Maybe you should take your own advice,” he croaks, putting his hand over your heart. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Just breathe.” He says your name like a secret. “Just breathe.” 

Of course. He’s lying on the ground panting for his life and he’s telling you to calm down. 

Morgan has the UnSub up and moving. Hotch kneels beside you both, face lined with poorly concealed stress. “You okay?” he asks. “Spencer?” 

“She jumped across the roof.” 

“Spencer.” You’re half wounded, half humoured. 

Hotch raises his eyebrows at you both. “Well, that’s ridiculous. Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine. Spencer almost got choked out.” 

Hotch looks as though he might give in and rub his face, but he pats your arm instead. “Okay. Reid, can you stand up?” 

“Tell her she can’t– can’t jump across rooftops,” Spencer says, suddenly full of indignation as he pushes up onto his elbows. He looks like he’s been hung upside down and shook. 

“Well, clearly I can.” 

“L/N shouldn’t be jumping across rooftops for any reason, but you’re both…” Hotch smiles wryly. “I almost said unharmed.” 

Spencer flops down onto his back. When he speaks, he sounds in a strange place, close to tears and laughing alike, “You have to look at her arm.” 

“I think you both need to see a medic, but first, why don’t we all calm down. Let’s regain our senses, and prevent any further unnecessary pain.” 

Spencer gives your leg an uncharacteristic whack. He’s so messed up from the chokehold that it’s more like a stroke, but you feel the tap for what it is. He’s saying Don’t do that to me again. 

“He really was gonna kill you,” you say, sorry. 

“I had it.” 

“Respectfully, baby, you did not.” 

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 7: Firsts

Kyle bought you lunch before your set time. To make sure you ate, he said. He still asked about five times if you felt like you ate enough or needed water even after sitting across from you while you downed a to-go container of pad se ew and your fourth ounce bottle.

You just laugh and point to a piece on your knee. “Babes I got this with nothing but a trenta iced coffee and two hours of sleep in my system. I’m fine, I promise.”

John made a baffled noise at that. Kyle looked like he was going to throw up. That look remained as he went through the process of setting up in John’s studio room. Kyle is meticulous about it. Each step done with care. You feel a bit silly sitting around and twiddling your thumbs.

“Just breathe. It’s fine.” John murmurs in a low rumble that somehow has you relaxing more than the indented party.

“It’s almost more scary doing someone I know.” Kyle huffs.

You laugh. “Can’t be worse than the blown out piece of shit on my left arm. C’mon, I’ve seen what you can do. You’ve got this.”

John nods, sitting on the other side of you.

“Besides, even if it sucks I’ll still be honored to be your first real apprentice tattoo.” You pipe up.

Kyle chuckles, low and unsure. Part of you wants to give him an out, to say he doesn’t have to, but you can see the set of his jaw even as his eyes flick between his supplies and the stencil in his hand nervously. He’s determined as much as he is scared. There’s no getting him out of that headspace until he’s done.

You chose something easy. One of Kyle’s more dainty, simple flash designs for the back of your thigh, just below the curve of your ass. A little bow with minimal shading. Something he’s practiced a thousand times and an easy enough starting point. Plus, you already mentioned having him do a matching one on the other side when he’s ready for it. Easy practice.

“C’mon, at least get the stencil on before you have a panic attack.” You try to keep your voice light, turning your back to him.

Kyle sighs. You hear his stool roll forward as he scoots in close to place it. John shuffles around to stand over him. A nasty part of your brain complains about exposing your cellulite to these two fit men but you push that deep down into nothing. A second, more embarrassing part wonders if you should have chose a more appropriate spot… that maybe you shouldn’t be standing in front of your boss and coworker in teeny-tiny biker shorts that barely cover you. You shove that down right next to the other mean thoughts.

You pointedly ignore the heat that shoots up your spine as Kyle’s hands feel out the shape of your thigh to get it centered - keeping your eyes forward as he slowly presses the paper against you. You could swear a thumb traces the curve of your cheek as he smoothes it but that’s probably just wishful thinking.

“Good job, kid.” John claps a hand on Kyle’s shoulder as soon as the paper is pulled away. You turn around in the mirror to check it, expecting to probably have to move it, but from what you can tell it really is perfect.

“Damn, dude, on your first try!” You grin, clapping happily.

Kyle nods stiffly, but you see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up. You unceremoniously clamber onto the table, moving around so your back doesn’t hurt from laying flat for the next few hours with your arms folded under your head.

“Hey.” You whisper while John steps away to grab something. “Get through this without freaking out and I’ll give you a reward.”

“A reward?” He tilts his head, smile turning from an nervous curl of his lip to a boyish grin.

You jokingly bat your lashes. “I’ll give you a kiss.”

Kyle chuckles. “With tongue?”

You gawk, face hot. “Mr. Garrick! Where’d my knight in shining armor go?”

“Just tryin’ t’ figure out exactly what I’m workin’ toward.”

You hum, pretending to mull it over. “We’ll see. Depends on how well you do.”

Kyle levels a look at you, something heated as his lip catches between his teeth. It’s only there for a moment, gone as soon as he turns to his tools. Replaced by a laser focus.

“Alright.” John settles back into his seat on your other side. “Let’s do one line and then see how we all feel.”

Kyle nods. You shuffle a little to make you’re you’re as comfortable as possible for the next however long. You know it’s going to be a while even if it isn’t a simple design. He’s new and precise with means slow.

The familiar whirr of the gun starts up. You shut your eyes, waiting, hoping that you aren’t projecting any more tension into the room than Kyle is. The needle stings when it finally touches you, but not as badly as you braced for. His touch is light.

He pulls the gun away and let’s put a giant sigh. “How y’feel, luv?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m all good. You?” You tilt your chin a bit to meet his eye.

“Better now that it’s started.”

“Good.” John nods, chest bumping your leg as he leans forward to look. “Looks good. Keep on.”

The room is nearly silent as he works. You turned down the music before coming back so he wouldn’t get overwhelmed - at least that was your reasoning. You’d get overwhelmed. Kyle is more levelheaded than you are, though.

“Thassit.” John smiles - or at least that’s how it sounds in his voice. “Her skin takes ink so well, yeah?”

Fuck, that totally should not do it for you. Gravelly voiced British bastard. You keep your eyes locked onto the flash on the far wall as you attempt to cool down.

Kyle just hums, seemingly unable to talk as he concentrates. He probably is with how dialed in he looks. You take a break before he gets to shading, stretching and getting some water. It takes a while, but not as long as you assumed. You start to get that ache in your skin partway through the shading - that feeling when your nerves are so tired from firing off pain receptors they just all sort of start burning dully.

However long later Kyle pulls away. “I… think it’s done?”

“You think?” John challenges.

Kyle sighs before speaking with more finality. “It’s done.”

There’s a few beats where John assess and you hold your breath. He points to a couple spots where Kyle’s hand slipped a bit or he applied too much pressure, but when you check it out in the mirror yourself you don’t see that all. Perfectionists.

You can’t help but squeal and jump, clapping happily and barely standing still while Kyle puts the saniderm on. You’re just to happy! Not only did Kyle get his first tattoo done but now you have brand new (free) cute ink to show off. Kyle looks tired, though, so you try not over overwhelm him while he cleans up. Concentrating like that with anxiety must have really taken it out of him.

You sort of forget about your promise of a reward for the next week. Too busy focusing on taking care of your new tattoo. The only downside to the placement is sitting in your office chair itches - especially once you take the saniderm off. You’ve mostly taken to standing while working and wearing shorts and skirts to let it breathe. It’s worth it, though. You’ll have to ask Kyle how soon he wants to do the other one. Without being pushy, of course.

You quietly hum to yourself as you get the cash drawers ready to lock away in the backroom safe. Triple checking the bags and making sure tips are divided correctly, etc.

“Hey, lovie.” Kyle saddles up behind you suddenly, hands on your hips.

You jump. “Holy shit, you scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry.” He chuckles. A hand slips down your hip, palm tracing the hem of your tennis skirt to lightly rest over the little bow. “How’s she healin’?”

“It’s, uh, it-“ You stutter, eyes wide and skin hot. If it were Johnny, you’d laugh and swat him away - maybe let his hand wander to your ass first - but Kyle doesn’t do this. Not that you don’t like it - the problem lies in that you’re liking it too much. If the patter of your heart is anything to go by. “It’s good. Not itching yet or anything.”

Kyle hums. “Good.”

“Th-that all?”

“Think you forgot somethin’.” He turns you around, hands firmly planted on the softness of your waist. When you just give him a bewildered look he continues. “I was promised a reward, I think.”

“O-oh?” Your face burns, eyes wide. Is he serious? Part of you wants to say no - to push him away. You’re coworkers, after all. Until your eyes meet his, so big and warm and his lips forming a perfect pout. “John….?”

Kyle chuckles ans crosses his chest. “John won’t care. Cross my heart.”

He gives you a moment to mull it over. You don’t think he’s making fun of or bating you - Kyle wouldn’t do that. There’s no way he’s interested either. That’s one delusion you can firmly plant in the ’purely imaginary’ category.

Whatever. What do you have to lose from a little back room make out?

Your lips meets his. Fuck, they’re soft. He steals your breath - greedy and gentile. It’s been so long since you’ve been kissed, much less kissed well. One of the hands on your waist moves to your low back as Kyle leans into you. Your hands grapple onto his shoulders to steady you. He takes advantage of your gasp at being tilted back to swipe is tongue between your lips.

You mould together, breaths heavy and tongues dancing. A needy, pathetic little part of you wishes the hand that drifted from your waist to your hip would hook under your thigh. That Kyle would tilt you all the way back onto the desk and throw your leg over his shoulder, eagerly pushing up your skirt-

An ‘I love you’ dances on the tip of your tongue and you reel back harshly, hand flat on his chest to separate you.

“Alright?” He murmurs, eyes half lidded and dark.

You swallow roughly and nod, breathing hard. “I, uh, I need to finish the safe.”

Something passes across his face briefly as your eyes flick between his. Whatever it was, it’s replaced by his usual easy smile as he returns to standing at his full height, the hands on your waist steady you before disappearing. Your stomach drops as they go.

“See you tomorrow.” Kyle murmurs, pressing one last little peck on your cheek before striding away, leaving you alone in the back room with a hot face and whirlwind thoughts.

Fuck.

A/N: brought to you by the time a tattoo artist told me my skin takes ink well in the most haunting bedroom voice I’ve ever heard😵‍💫 killed me right then and there

[hugeclearjellyfish]

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