#im not explaining this in detail rn but if you know you know

[porcelain-pines]

Dolly brain tour

[kevyeen]

I wish being weird and batshit insane was socially acceptable, conforming to societal norms is killing me.

[im-smart-i-swear]

If funky guys had become paladins of voltron which one would be in which Lion?

back in the VERY early days of this whole au(like. buddys-name-was-still-ryou early) i wanted to base every clones personality/character on a diffrent lion.... but over time it slowly stopped fitting their personalities and i kinda abandoned the concept lol. though you can still see some remnants of that in . certain design choices...

going back to this concept after uhhh two years?? i think? was definetely interesting! all the characters changed WILDLY since then and i tried to re-assign the lions to fit the changes........ it was surprisingly hard

i couldnt for the life of me decide in a few cases, so instead im just gonna give the most suitable options lol

tashi & soup - im putting these two together beacuse- and i have NO IDEA how that would work- theyre copiloting the black lion! they function the best as a duo and separating them would NOT be a good idea in a situation as stressful and complicated as piloting voltron. they barely manage to keep everyone alive on a good day... also picking only one of the two as The Leader just feels wrong

buddy, ideally, would like to stay as FAR AWAY from voltron as psyhically possible, thank you very much- but nothing in this cruel world is ideal, so they get the red lion:) i actually have this whole story idea where basically stickbug ""goes rouge""(like. some sort of 'sleeper agent mode' left over by haggar gets activated by accident??) and runs away to do some evil shit so buddy goes after him(on a whim)(alone)(without telling the others) and while searching for him they bump into fUCKING VOLTRON- so they form a very uneasy truce until they find stick. and at some point buddy finds out he can pilot the red lion! its awful he hates it:/ he pilots anyway cause his loved one is in danger(this whole thing is way too complicated to talk about here lol)

i had A LOT of problems figuring out the last three..... they changed so much that i just cant rlly fit them into these categories anymore... but i tried!!

ORIGINALLY stickbug was supposed to be based on the green lion but he doesnt fit it as well anymore....... i think taks does pretty well tho! shes very bold and iquisitive and a pain in everyones ass<3 plus loves learning about diffrent planets' unique ecosystems n stuff. stick IS very curious and likes exploring so he still kinda fits? but hes not as forward as taks, so yeahhhh im very torn on this one

i have NO FUCKING CLUE what to do with blue. all three of em could propably fit there ngl....

yellow could either be taka or stickbug- taka is the youngest and the brightest, hes what brought all of them together in the first place(it takes a village to raise a child)....... buuuut hes not really a 'puts the needs of others above his own' kind of person? hes still a kid and NOT ready for that kind of responsibility. soup is an OBVIOUS choice here of course, but im not sure- honestly, the more i think about it, the more stickbug starts to feel like the best option here? ok hear me out: stickbug, for most of his life, had very little power over his life. even while with the funky guys(ESPECIALLY in the beggining, these bozos were dysfuctional as fuck) there were moments when the others would talk over him bc 'hes a kid', and even without that theres still his people pleasing problem wnich meant he often disregarded his own good to make other ppl content. so, taking this scrawny guy desperate for control over his life and putting him in the toughest, stongest, most resilient lion- basically i think he deserves to go a little apeshit. as a treat. let him wreck shit for once

honestly it kinda funny im stting here and calculating all of this like a mad man where IN THE ACTUAL SHOW the paladins switch the lions like pokemon cards

realistically speaking i think they would all trade and switch em a lot and then squabble over who gets to pilot yellow bc they ALL want to wreck shit sometimes:)

[rxttenfish]

trying desperately to figure out why zoe's characterization bothers me so much and. is it literally just because shes a fan stand in? so that somehow things feel cheapened when another character does something and she calls it out as a trope?

[unriding]

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

[norrisainz33]

European getaway || cs55

☆ summary: y/n goes on a vacation to spain and ends up meeting carlos sainz by chance. tho she has no idea her european fling is actually a very successful f1 driver

☆ pairing: carlos sainz x nonfamous!reader

☆ fc & warnings: none

☆ requested: yes! thank you sm for this wonderful request

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

ynuser has made a post 🔒

liked by yourbff, yoursibling, friend2, friend 3 and 101 others

ynuser: i could get used to this! me encanta espana

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yourbff: petition for us to stay in spain forever

ynuser: time to find our spanish husbands so we never have to leave!

yoursibling: europe looks good on u

ynuser: thanks b 💅🏻

friend3: always serving fits girl

ynuser: half of my clothes are stolen from you

friend2: obsessed with you

ynuser: obsessed with you bb

ynuser has added to their story 🔒

[1. girls night out ahead. 2. guys i met a hot man at this club. 3. hehe he’s taking me home. we stayed out so late it’s almost light again]

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yourbff: we look cute

yourbff: wait he’s hotter than i originally thought hold up 🤤🤤

yourbff: did you even get his name???? how am i supposed to make sure ur safe if i don’t know his name

ynuser: dude he’s so hot it’s insane and his name is carlos

ynuser: i’m with him at his hotel rn and this man has to be loaded this is the nicest hotel i’ve ever stepped foot in.

yourbff: hot AND rich AND sweet AND a gentleman???????? what is in the water here in spain

ynuser: i just googled his watch that he’s wearing and it’s $300k

yourbff: ok tea……y/n/n i’m so serious you are living every girls dream rn including mine

ynuser: i think i love him

yourbff: ok , maybe it’s time for you to come back to the hotel and get some sleep

ynuser: ugh you’re so right.

ynuser: he called me a driver , i’ll be back soon

yourbff: PLEASE TELL ME TOU GOT HIS NUMBER

ynuser: more than that 🤭 him and his friend are going to take us out for dinner tomorrow and show us around town 😫😍🫶🏻

yourbff: OMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

yoursibling: girl you wildin and i love it. stay safe pls

ynuser: yes of course bb

friend3: why that man kinda look familiar

ynuser: if u figure it out lmk

ynuser has added to their story 🔒

[1. sightseeing courtesy of our new friend carlos. 3. looks like we found ourselves some dates 😉]

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friend2: y/n are you sharing churros con chocolate with a MAN

ynuser: YES

ynuser: i’ve been caught

friend2: you sneak.. i need every single detail

yourbff: i feel like we are in a movie for real

ynuser: i think we might be

yoursibling: how is it that you and y/bff/n always end up in these sorts of romance novel type situations

ynuser: it’s bc we are the it girls 💅🏻

carlossainz55 had added to his story

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user1: what are you doing in madrid carlos

user2: OMG WHO IS THAT IN THE SECOND SLIDE CARLOSSSSS

landonorris: and what do we have here 👀

carlossainz55: just some travels in spain!

landonorris: with a girl??

carlossainz55: good catch 😉

landonorris: DETAILS?!

carlossainz55: if you must know and you promise to keep it secret

landonorris: of course mate

carlossainz55: i met this gorgeous girl in a club in barcelona and we hit it off. she doesn’t know im a driver she just thinks im a guy on holiday and its been rather refreshing so now im showing her around spain

landonorris: i support you in this brother but you know you’re gonna have to explain the whole famous thing at some point

carlossainz55: i know i know

user3: just fell to my knees is this a soft launch

charlesleclerc: enjoying break i see 😏

carlossainz55: yes i am 😏

user4: everyone stay calm!!!! stay CALM

user5: so little info here how am i supposed to find this girl by her shoes 🫣

user6: can’t wait till f1gossip sees this

ynuser has added to their story 🔒

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yoursibling: hold up did HE COME WITJ YOU GUYS

ynuser: yes 🤭

ynuser: when i tell you i think i met the love of my life

yoursibling: ugh i’m so jealous but also so happy for you!! you deserve this

friend2: bruh he’s fine as heck what is going on here

ynuser: no i know

yourbff: wait send me the pic of carlos and teto carrying our luggage pls im begging

ynuser: done and done

friend3: y/n y/m/n y/l/n have you ever seen a formula 1 race before

ynuser: you mean like the race cars?

friend3: yes the race cars!!!! i’m 99.9% sure that man in your photos drives for the FERRARI F1 TEAM. THAT IS THE CARLOS SAINZ

ynuser: oh my god… you’re right …….. he’s a FAMOUS FERRARI DRIVER?!

ynuser: oh my god he has 10 million followers

friend3: how did you NOT know this!!!!!!!!

ynuser: idk!!! i don’t follow f1!!!

friend3: well now you legally have to

ynuser: clearly omg

friend3: YOURE THE GIRL IN HIS STORY OFNEKGN

ynuser: OMG I AM

f1gossip has made a post

liked by user1, user2, user3, user4, user5, user6, and 4,255 others

f1gossip: carlos sainz has been spotted getting cozy with a mystery girl in madrid! we think this has got to be the girl who was in the story carlos posted a few days ago. they’ve also been spotted out at dinner with another woman and who we believe to be teto!! no information on who they are just yet but seem by all accounts to not be anyone we know

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user1: when will it be my turn!!!!

user2: that should be me 😭😭😭 happy for her i guess 😭😭😫😫

user3: so he was soft launching someone

user4: happy for him ig

friend3: ynuser girl

ynuser: oh my god

friend2: girl oh my god

yourbff: omg stop ???? is this movie about us???

user6: do you all know something we don’t

user3: no bc your profile pics kinda be similar to the girl in the pics f1 gossip posted 👀

user6: carlos doesn’t follow them yet but maybe that’ll change

user3: WAIT IT SAYS HES FOLLOWING YNUSER NOW

user5: i am so envious

ynuser has added to their story 🔒

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friend3: ok so the fan girls have found us it seems

ynuser: they really have… i have 2,694 follower requests right now

yourbff: the f1gossip account is trying to contact me,, they’re literally in my dms rn…. you look hot tho 😘😍😫

ynuser: they’re also trying to message me too. never thought our trip to spain would end up like this (i’m not complaining this is just a little overwhelming)

yourbff: me neither but if it had to happen i’m glad you met carlos!! you two seem like genuinely really well matched. i know it’s only been like…. 3 weeks but im stanning and shipping y/ncarlos so hard

ynuser: 😮‍💨😭 y/ncarlos omg stop hahaha

ynuser: i’m planning to put him in my pocket and take him back to the states with us

carlossainz55: ay dios mío hermosa chica 😍😍

ynuser: 🤭 you’re making me blush

carlossainz55: good, it’s cute when you blush

ynuser: you really have 10 million followers and drive for the scuderia ferrari huh

carlossainz55: yes mi amor. im sorry for not telling you sooner… i just really was enjoying getting to know you as just carlos and not as the ferrari driver

ynuser: and that makes sense i just … this is all just a bit intimidating

carlossainz55: no reason to be intimidated, i’m still just carlos 🥺

ynuser: if you say so

carlossainz55: i do say so hermosa🤍

carlossainz55: now that the cat is out of the bag…. do you want to come watch me race?

ynuser: you want me to come to one of your races?

carlossainz55: only if you want to! no pressure at all tho y/n/n

ynuser: i’d love to 😫

carlossainz55: i was hoping you’d say that. i’ll make arrangements for you to come to monza 😉

ynuser: italy?! omg i’ve never been to italy!!!!

carlossainz55: never?! oh boy then i have quite the time planned for us

landonorris: i feel like an elite member of a very exclusive club for being able to follow

ynuser: you are!! only 231 other people have the privilege

friend2: please send lando norris my number i see he’s following you now

ynuser: HAHAHAAH i respect the hustle. i tell him about you when i meet him in person in 2 weeks

friend2: IN PWROSN Y/N WHAT

yoursibling: bestie why are race car fan accounts trying to contact me all the sudden

ynuser: so you know that man i’ve been seeing while in spain with y/bff/n? turns out he’s a very famous formula 1 driver

yoursibling: you’ve got to be kidding me

ynuser: i am being very for real

ynuser has made a post 🔒

liked by carlossainz55, yourbff, yoursibling, friend2, landonorris, friend3, and 102 others

ynuser: thank you to spain for literally changing my life

view all 22 comments

friend2: omg that’s where my sunglasses went 🙄

ynuser: idk what you’re talking abt 🤭

yourbff: thanks for going on the trip of a lifetime with me y/n/n

ynuser: i love you bestie 🫶🏻

carlossainz55: and thank you to the universe for crossing our paths 🥹

ynuser: thank you universe, i am forever grateful 😫

landonorris: ok cool girl alert

ynuser: you know it

friend3: i’m not sure how to act normal in these comments y/n

ynuser: me neither

yoursibling: you’re never coming home after italy in a few weeks are you

ynuser: nope!

carlossainz55 has made a post

liked by user1, charlesleclerc, scuderiaferrari, ynuser, yourbff, landonorris, yoursibling, and 783,102 others

carlossainz55: happy for the team, charles and the tifosi. it’s a shame i missed the podium but at least i got to spend my birthday with my favorite girl. until next time monza!

view all 999 comments

user2: ohhhhhh a hard launch

user3: i wish he got a podium in his last monza in a ferrari

charlesleclerc: ❤️ thank you chili

alexandrasaintmleux: cuties 🤍

user4: this hard launch is distracting me from the immense sadness, thanks carlos

user55: she’s living my dream your honor

ynuser: feliz cumpleaños mi amor

carlossainz55: gracias princessa

ynuser: gracias por una semana perfecta [thank you for a perfect week]

carlossainz55: de nada 🤍

user10: you did all you could carlos

scuderiaferrari: we are proud of you chili

user16: you and your big brain still did amazing

yourbff: you did great carlos!

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

a/n: likes and reblogs appreciated!! i quite liked this one and hope you did too

ﾟ. ✿ ୨❤︎୧⠀✿ . ﾟ

disclaimer: pictures are not mine and everything i write is fiction

© norrisainz33 || please do not rewrite, translate, or copy any of my works posted here on to any other platform

[love-belle]

you're losing me !!!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ in which she's losing him and he's not fighting for her either.

or

for when you lose someone you thought you'd spend your lifetime with. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

social media au // max verstappen x fem!reader

sequel - i hope i never lose you ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings - language

author's note - my heart broke while writing this :// still, i hope u like it!! lmk if u want a part ii though i'll write it anyway. i love you, thank you for reading <3

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, yourbestfriend, lilymhe and 2,628,926 others

yourusername when the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst

9,926 comments

username MOTHER?????

username max :///

username if they break up i simply give up, it's that easy x

lewishamilton sending you hugs and love from me and roscoe ❤️

-> yourusername missing you both ❤️

username guys............what if they did b word u word ?

-> username don't spread lies 😘😘😘

-> username they break up and i stop believing in love ☺️

lilymhe i could be a better boyfriend just saying 😮‍💨

-> yourusername you're already my wife 😘

username we really went from "the first flowers he ever brought me became my favourite" to "when the flowers that we'd grown together died of thirst" huh

username im just gonna ignore this!!

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by lewishamilton, georgerussell63, charles_leclerc and 897,628 others

maxverstappen1 pole position!!

very happy that we managed to put the best bits together for qualifying today! great work by everyone in the team redbullracing & hondaracingglobal 👏

looking forward to be racing again tomorrow 👌

7,972 comments

username NO Y/N????????

username im delulu

username is it just me or did he not seem really into it like idk

-> username if me and my fiancée broke up i'd be the same

danielricciardo proud of you mate! 👏

username need y/n to comment rn so i can be at peace

username nice prank guys 😐😐 REALLY funny 😐😐😐

username NO BC THE WAY HE ALMOST MENTIONED Y/N WHILE TALKING TO A REPORTER BUT STOPPED HIMSELF

-> username NO BC MY HEART BROKE SEEING

-> username they're really over huh

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by f1_wags, formulaone.updates, maxverstappen111 and 78,926 others

f1newzzz formula one driver, max verstappen and singer/songwriter y/n y/l/n called it quits on their engagement, source close to the pair claimed. "they just wanted different things, their goals weren't aligning," the source explained, "marriage had seemed like the picture perfect ending at that time, when max had proposed, but in the long run, they both would've been very unhappy." though the exact reason for their split isn't very clear, many speculate that it was actually verstappen who ended their 11 month engagement. for more details, click on the link in our bio.

479 comments

username ur telling me that the woman who wrote "your past and mine are parallel lines, stars all aligned and they intertwined" about her man wanted "different things"??????? ok.

username max i just wanna talk ☺️☺️☺️

username no bc they were so in love everyone could see it

username she did not write "i don't wanna look at anything else now that i saw u" for u to write this fucking shit post

username "she's been my rock, my biggest supporter, my proudest fan and im very grateful for her, forever will be. i don't deserve her and i don't know what good i did to have her in my life but im very glad i do" NO WAY HE BROKE UP WITH HER

username idk man if u write 3+ albums about someone and stuff like "all that u ever wanted from me was sweet nothing" or "all's well that ends well to end up with u" the universe should it impossible for u to break up

username just a daily reminder that u should drink rat poison before falling in love bc it never works out

username the day i stopped believing in love

≡;- ꒰ °instagram ꒱

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, lilymhe and 2,865,628 others

yourusername you're losing me is finally yours. this is easily the most vulnerable, heartbreaking, raw and personal song that i have ever written and sharing it with you all is like sharing a big piece of myself. you are, at some point in their life, at a place where you're begging someone to love you the way you love them and i think that's a saddest thing someone can do, i've been there. this song is a messy compilation of my feelings, my thoughts and the enigma in my mind, i hope you like it. and finally, to that one person, thank you for being my forever. it was real.

16,829 comments

username I WOULDN'T MARRY ME EITHER A PATHOLOGICAL PEOPLE PLEASER WHO ONLY WANTED YOU TO SEE HER

username the way we went from "i'd marry u with paper rings" to "i wouldn't marry me either"

username DO SOMETHING BABE SAY SOMETHING

danielricciardo in awe of you and your talent 🤍🤍🤍🤍

-> yourusername danny i heart you

username no bc what really hurts is that throughout her albums and songs she's always been like "i can't wait to marry you!!!!" like from lover and paper rings and now it's hinted that max didn't wanna marry her and the way she's trying not to blame him by saying "i wouldn't marry me either"

-> username "she would've made such a lovely bride what a shame she's fucked in her head" to "i wouldn't marry me either"

username the way that some people were saying that they got married secretly and the whole time they were broken up and she still continued to act like everything was fine like my heart's hurting for her

username "thank you for being my forever, it was real" IM CRYING IH NY GKD

carmenmmundt the most talented person i know 🤍 i love you so much y/n/n

-> yourusername you own my heart 💌

username the 1 is gonna start hitting different now

-> username "it would've been fun if u would've been the one"

username her heartbeat in the song i died.

username thinking about "he didn't try at all though" vs. "do something babe say something"

[ayyyvivi]

Hi I’m back :3

This piece was a lot of fun to make and for while I was absolutely hating it. I’ll probably end up hating it by the time I wake up and start seeing the details I could’ve added but at this sleep deprived moment I’m happy with the way came out!

I wanna to say thank you to the peeps that liked and reposted my work my last piece got a lot of attention and it makes me happy to see that you guys liked what I made

I decided to maybe use these post to explain how I came up with it since I saw someone mention they liked how I went through my art process so I shall be putting some description on my work from now on >:3

For this piece I wanted to make Miles swing through the city in that pinkish sunset vibe from the movie but I wanted to make it a bit different than my other sketches of him going about New York and I guess different meant a backpack that was swung in a hurry and all his stuff flying out of it! I tried putting as much detail as possible for his stuff flying out even a hidden Gojo ψ(｀∇´)ψ

The buildings were a pain to make I’m still not entirely sold if I like them or not. And I tried to add lots of texture to Spider-man’s suit so it wouldn’t look so bland. My friend had mentioned to me that she likes it a lot better when she can see an artist brush strokes and it being blended makes things kinda flat and since then I feel like my drawings have looked a lot nicer! I guess I’m still getting used digital after drawing traditional for so long

OH! I should mention I’m really inconsistent with my art style for while I would panic because I know something artist must have is some kind of style for people to notice who the work comes from. Im kinda not like that I like being all over the place and I enjoy drawing in all types of ways so I know rn my work looks similar to Spiderverse but depending on how I’m feeling things can change so I guess my art style is being constantly inconsistent! Honestly this kinda gets more for during Halloween when I do my one inktober stuff so stay tune for that!!

If you guys got questions or suggestions on who you want me to draw next let me know! I know someone mentioned they wanted Spider-Gwen with a wolf cut so maybe I’ll do a quick sketch of that

[uhohwhathaveidone]

The Little Things (S.S)

When did it become 4am? Idk. Ghost files was playing in the background so I blame Shane and Ryan for distracting me. 

No warnings for this, it’s all fluff. Maybe angst if you look super closely but jokes on you, I tricked you. Maybe a part two because I definitely didn’t finish it but it’s on a pretty good cliffhanger. I listened to Artic Monkeys for the three hours it took me to give you a 2.9k fic, dedication. Snap Out of It is playing rn, life is good. Anyway Hufflepuff gn reader again becasue i said so (im sorry that was mean) Good night

       Ominis sat on the couch in the common room of the Slytherin house, listening carefully to his friend Sebastian. Due to his own disability, Ominis had no idea what most people looked like, and he never really cared to ask. But he was becoming close friends with the new 5th year student, a Hufflepuff who somehow became integrated into the group. He found their voice calming and would laugh if they said something funny or a quip at Sebastian over something. He didn’t want to ask his new friend about their looks, he thought it would be weird, so instead he asked Sebastian. Sebastian had joked about it at first, saying that you had a face full of ugly scars and moles all over your face, but after he saw Ominis quirk an eyebrow and sigh in annoyance, he settled down and gathered his thoughts.

      He had the clearest image of you in his head, as if you were standing in front of him. He took a breath, “Well, you already know that they’re nice, of course. Their face matches their personality, I think. Their eyes are like jewels of the brightest colour, and their eyebrows really match their face? I don’t know how to explain it.” He went on, describing you to Ominis in as much detail as possible, not leaving out a single characteristic, down to how long your eyelashes were and how tall you were.

      “What else?” Ominis asked, smirking to himself as he listened to Sebastian blabber on. “What? You want to know more?” He asked, earning a nod from Ominis. Sebastian thought to earlier, when he glanced over at you during Herbology. Professor Garlick had been talking about a rather confusing subject, Sebastian wasn’t even quite sure what it was about, but he knew it had something to do with magical plants. In his own confusion, he had looked over at you to see if you were understanding any better, only to be met with your squinting eyes as you tried to make sense of the words. You had done this a lot whenever you were confused, and Sebastian secretly found it adorable, though he would never tell anyone. Sometimes, if you were really confused, he would watch your nose scrunch up as well and a small frown dawn on your lips. When the class had ended, you had trotted up to him and elbowed him in the side, sighing. “Ow! What was that for?” Sebastian had asked, pushing you to the side and away from him. You shrugged in response, letting out a dramatic sigh. Sebastian raised an eyebrow, knowing that you just wanted him to ask you what was wrong. “Ok, fine. What’s wrong?” He eventually asked, pulling onto your robe to make sure you didn’t get separated from each other. He watched as you tried to hide a smile, replying. “I didn’t understand a word she said. I felt rather dumb.” Sebastian nodded his head and brought a hand up to pat you on the head. “I could tell, you’re not very good at keeping a straight face. But I didn’t understand anything either, so I suppose that makes up two idiots together, yeah?” You snorted in response, shaking his hand off your head. “I’m still smarter than you, so don’t get any ideas.” Sebastian quipped a quick “yeah right” and walked along side you, thinking about how soft your hair had felt for a moment. He never understood that, how you managed to always have soft hair.

      Ominis only continued to smile as Sebastian talked about the faces you made and what had happened that day. “Do they make those faces when they fall asleep during our study time?” He asked. Sebastian hummed in response as he remembered how you fell asleep at the table the three of you were occupying in the library, your face pressed against a book as soft, slightly muffled snores left you. “Yeah, their nose twitches a bit.” You had been studying charms for a test the next day, and you had brought the book up close to read the small writing that was in the corner. You scrunched your nose up then, too. Sebastian had been too busy explaining a concept for a charm to see you lay the book down on the table once again and try to stifle a yawn. When he asked you a question and waited for your reply, he heard a soft noise. Looking over, you had laid your head down and used the book as a pillow, a hand brought up to your face to rest against your cheek. He watched for a moment, taking in the details of your sleeping form. He recounted the details to Ominis now, mentioning how your eyes had shifted a bit under your eyelids, and how you twitched randomly and caused hair to fall into your face.

      Ominis didn’t even have to speak anymore, Sebastian just kept talking.

      The next day, during breakfast, you seemingly appeared from nowhere next to Sebastian at the table, pushing your shoulder against his own to grab something to eat. It startled the boy half to death, and he was left stuttering out a string of not-so-strong words. “Listen, I know that Hufflepuffs are supposed to be loyal, but you have to warn someone before you just appear, yeah?” He breathed, smoothing down his robes. You only shook your head in response, a piece of toast quite literally hanging from your mouth as you tried to reach for some jam, which was just too far away for your fingers to reach. Sebastian smiled as he grabbed the jam you had been reaching for, showing it to you. “This what you’re after?” He asked, and you nodded in response. His smile widened as he looked you in the eye, and placed the jam father away. The toast dropped from your mouth as you gasped, eyes beginning to squint in annoyance. “Ominis, they’re squinting at me, I might just die.” Sebastian joked, flailing dramatically. You huffed as you got up to fetch it yourself, mumbling. “Typical Slytherin. Oh, you want this? Go get it ha ha.” Ominis heard this and choked on his juice. “What was that?” Sebastian asked, who didn’t quite catch what you had said due to his own laughter. You sat back down and began spreading the jam on your toast. “You’re acting like a dog. A puppy even. Childish, like a Slytherin.” You quipped, pointing the dull knife at him. You continued, “All bark but no bite. Like a Golden Retriever.” Sebastian pretended to be offended as he took a bite of his food, leaning over to Ominis. “If we’re talking about dogs, someone is a Pomeranian.” He said, pretending to whisper to Ominis. You heard this, and wacked him upside his head. “Am not.” You retorted, taking a bite of toast finally. Ominis, thanks to Sebastian describing you, maybe too much, was able to imagine the face you were making as you argued lightly about how you most certainly were not a Pomeranian, but never state what kind of dog you thought you were. “I think you’re just Sebastian’s emotional support dog,” Ominis stated, using his shoulder to push Sebastian away. You titled your head slightly, a confused hum voicing your thoughts. “Well,” Ominis continued, “Everyone just calls you his emotional support Hufflepuff, but it’s pretty much the same thing.” “Hey!”

       That night, Sebastian came back to the common room later than usual, but mumbling excitedly to himself as he beelined to Ominis. “You will not believe what I just witnessed.” He started, dropping into a chair next to his friend. Ominis turned to his direction, wondering just what Sebastian could have witnessed. “Y/n. I was looking for them because I grabbed their potions book on accident, which, not my fault.” Sebastian started. Ominis shook his head and smiled, motioning for Sebastian to continue. “Anyway, I found them by their common room, but they didn’t go in for some reason. They were just standing there, swaying kind of?” Ominis began to imagine you in a trance state, just swaying for no reason. Sudden worry fell onto his face. “Were they cursed?” He asked, earning a laugh from Sebastian. “I thought so at first, so I went over to see if everything was ok.” He paused, trying not to laugh as he thought back to what you were doing. He had walked up to you slowly, as if you would turn around and attack him if he went too fast. As he got closer, he could hear you mumbling lightly to yourself, but he couldn’t make out what you were saying. Surely you hadn’t gone crazy, swaying, and mumbling to a wall? He crept closer, wand ready just in case. As he found himself behind you, he peered over your shoulder. “They were swaying, to the moving cactus!” He laughed, clutching his sides. You were, in fact, dancing with the little cactus, entranced by its movement. Sebastian had let out a laugh when he realized what was going on, and caused you to jump backwards, right into him. He had caught you, still laughing as you looked up at him and scowled. “What are you laughing for?” You asked as you pushed yourself off of him and fixing your robes. Sebastian, nearly out of breath from laughing so hard, held his hand up to signal that he needed a moment. You crossed your arms and stared at him, a pouty frown forming on your lips. Sebastian saw this and had to take even more breaths. He mentioned this to Ominis, how you pouted at him. Ominis huffed in amusement, imagining what that must have looked like. Once Sebastian was able to catch his breath, he walked over to the cactus and pointed at it. “Dancing with a cactus?” You puffed your cheeks, not responding. He continued, “I don’t think it’s a good dance partner, it’s got the moves, but a bit prickly, don’t you think?” You kept your arms crossed, “Like you’re a better dance partner.” Sebastian scoffed at the thought of a cactus being better than him, but he still felt his cheeks heat up a bit. “Of course, I am.” He stopped at that, telling Ominis that he had clearly won that argument. Ominis shook his head as he got up, “Sebastian, you’re quite daft.” “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

         Ominis found it amusing to hear Sebastian talk about things, he always spoke in detail to give him a better picture, which also meant that he unintentionally spared hardly any details. Ominis had learned a long time ago how to identify what Sebastian was into by the way he described certain things. A bird would get the simple description, while something like the colour or texture of a potion he was making in class would be explained in depth. He noticed this while Sebastian talked about you. Although he knew Sebastian went into detail about what you looked like so he could get the best image possible, Sebastian would give unnecessary details, like if you had a leaf in your hair one day or how your eyes had a twinkle. Sebastian had paid such close attention to everything that you did, it was hard to think that he only saw you as a friend. Yet, Ominis could just feel the oblivious look on Sebastian’s face if it was ever brought up.

       It was some time the following week when Sebastian came across a moment of frustration. You had been a topic of conversation amongst fellow students. You always were. Yet, when some of the boys from his house came up to him and Ominis asking about you, Sebastian became defensive. He didn’t describe you to the boys like he described you to Ominis. This caused Ominis to smirk to himself as he listened in, noting the ting of jealousy in Sebastian’s voice. Once the group had left the two of them, Ominis dug his elbow into Sebastian’s side. “Ow! What are you on about, doing that?” Sebastian asked, holding his side. Ominis continued to try and poke Sebastian, mumbling. “You really like them; the big bad golden retriever Slytherin has a soft spot for the Hufflepuff.” He joked, of course, and he was unable to see the face Sebastian was making. But he knew just how flustered he got when he was unable to form a sentence to combat Ominis, his cheeks a bright red as he froze. Ominis had to explain to Sebastian what he meant, teasing him about how oblivious he was. “You talk a lot. Too much, sometimes. But you hardly spoke a word to them when they asked about y/n. You’re not too subtle, are you?”

      You walked in to see Ominis with a devious smile, his index finger still out and ready to poke Sebastian in his side. Sebastian, on the other hand, was frozen in place and red. It was quite a sight to see. You walked over and stood over the two boys. “What are you guys doing?” You asked, a smirk forming as you got a closer look at the scene the two of them had created. Sebastian looked up quickly and stared at you, much like a deer caught alone by a hunter. Ominis’ smile never left. “I was just teasing Sebastian. He’s been acting quite dumb and needed to be told.” Ominis got up and fixed his robes. “Well, I have places to go, so I’ll be seeing the two of you later for a study session for charms. No sleeping this time either.” And with that, he left.

      You took Ominis’ seat next to Sebastian, your smile growing larger as you watched him try to form some sort of sentence. “Have you been dumb, Sebastian?” You teased. Sebastian could only narrow his eyes at you. You continued to tease him, “Aw poor baby. Whatever shall we do?” Sebastian’s face got redder if that was even possible. You took notice of this and went to poke his cheek, the warmth almost burning you. Sebastian, still unable to form words, got up from his seat and turned his back and stood there. You took that as you hint to get up as well, and followed him out to the hall. You kept walking beside him, but were unable to see that he slowed down and walked behind you. When you finally noticed, he had run into your back, burying his head between your shoulders and moving to wrap his arms around you. You felt your cheeks flare up now, unable to do anything. “I’m not that dumb.” He mumbled, seemingly trying to burrow further into your back. At first you thought his feelings had been hurt, but you felt a smile grow on your back, and suddenly your sides were being attacked. “Sebastian you cheater!” You yelled, desperately trying to break free of his grasp. The boy wouldn’t let go, not until he tickled you until you were out of breath and falling to your knees. A triumphant step and a happy hum, he knelt with you, lightly head butting you. “Maybe you’re the dumb one.”

        “You’re both dumb.” Ominis said as he took his seat at the library table. Even after Sebastian had told him about the attack he launched on you, he didn’t say if he ever confessed. You hadn’t even shown up to the study session yet, and Ominis was already cursing you for your own feelings, had you even realized them yet was beyond him. “Now that’s rude.” Sebastian retorted, pulling his book out. Ominis scoffed, “Not rude enough, it appears. How is it that the two of you have not realized this yet? You think “Emotional Support Hufflepuff” was a friendly term or something?” Sebastian furrowed his brow, “Yes, is it not?” Ominis could only shake his head. “You are impossible.”

      A few moments later you had arrived, your book in hand and a quill and parchment in the other. “Get distracted by dancing cacti again?” Sebastian teased as you sat beside him. You shook your head, opening to the page the three of you had left off on. “Sounds like someone didn’t get poked enough.” You mumbled. Ominis let out a snort. The three of you began your study like normal, without you falling asleep this time. Before the library blew out its lights, the three of you left. Ominis had bid you farewell as he made his way back to the Slytherin dorm, claiming that he needed a shower before bed. You were left with Sebastian, who walked by your side and occasionally (and purposely) bumped into you. You gasped as he bumped into you too hard, sending you falling into a wall. Luckily, Sebastian realized just how hard he hit you, and quickly went to grab you before you contacted the stone. He wrapped his arms around you and held you still, muttering a “whoops” into your hair. You huffed, “If you wanted me to fall for you, all you had to do was ask.” You laughed at your own joke, congratulating yourself for coming up with something so fast. Sebastian stayed silent, seemingly holding you tighter. You felt him say something against your head and calmed your laughing down. “What was that?” You asked. Sebastian shook his head, eventually letting go of you and continuing to walk you to your dorm.

[scarlett-or-wtv]

Missed you,

A Christopher Sturniolo Fanfiction

ex!Chris x Reader

Warnings: no use of y/n, smut, ex boyfriend, pet names (baby, princess, mama, good girl, baby girl), oral (fem), p in v, alcohol, semi rough, soft!dom!Chris, begging, creampie, no protection, spanking, praise, party

Summary: You see your ex Chris at a party and try to ignore him…but that doesn’t work out so well.

A/N: is this short? Medium? Idk. Basically just wrote this cause i was bored and had an idea. Enjoy! P.S im so fucking hungry rn chat 😢

I arrived at the party around 8pm. I honestly didn’t want to go at all but my friends invited me and I had nothing better to do. My eyes fell on him immediately as I walked in. Even the sight of him is fucking annoying. Why does he have to be everywhere?

I hate him. Truly. Through and through. So why was him talking to some cheerleader pissing me off? Honestly, no idea.

The girl was blonde anyways. He doesnt like blondes. She meant nothing. Just a distraction from the overwhelming scenery.

Avoiding him was on the top of my bucket list. I went to the kitchen to pour myself a drink, trying to forget about his existence as a whole.

“I thought that was you.” His voice sent a shiver down my body. I clenched my eyes shut in frustration before turning to him.

“Half the school is here. Why wouldn’t I be?” I stated bluntly taking another sip of my drink while observing the atmosphere around me.

“Because you hate parties.” He said knowingly. Why does he have to know things?

“People change.” I said with a shrug, still not meeting his piercing gaze. He didn’t say anything. The silence suddenly started to annoy me. “Is there something you want?” I ask.

“I miss you.” He said looking over my face. He always seemed to observe every detail.

“No you don’t.” I said with a glare.

He suddenly stepped closer, tilting my chin up as he caressed my jaw with his thumb. “I do.” He said again.

“I don’t believe you.” I whispered.

He suddenly leaned forward and ghosted his lips over mine, asking for permission. I hate you Christopher.

I nodded, giving him permission to kiss me. He pressed his lips into mine so gently, so perfectly. My hands went around the back of his neck and into his hair, pushing him impossibly closer.

When the kiss broke he leaned his forehead against mine. “Do you believe me now?” He asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“I don’t know.” I said honestly, avoiding his gaze again as I looked down.

“Tell me what I need to do.” He said desperately. His hand rubbed circles on my thigh.

“Can you take me home?” I asked, finally meeting his eyes.

“Of course, baby.” He said lifting me up from the counter and placing me back on my feet.

He walked behind me with his hand on my hip as we navigated through the crowd and outside. He took his keys out of the pocket of his sweatpants and clicked the unlock button.

I was about to open the passenger door when he stopped me and opened it for me. He always insisted on doing that.

I settled into the passenger seat and looked out the window as he started the car. The only sounds heard were the hum of the car and the quiet music playing over the radio.

He eventually pulled into my driveway, the car coming to a stop. I looked at my house, lost in thought for a moment.

“You wanna come in?” I asked turning to him.

“Thought you’d never ask.” He said getting out of the car and running to my side to open my door.

I giggle at his antics. “You’re so stupid.”

“You love me.” He said with a playful smirk.

I rolled my eyes. “We’re going through my window. Mom’s home.” I explained.

He nodded and started leading me around the back of the house. He opened my window and let me climb in first before following after me.

I sat down on my bed as he looked around my room. I watched him as he inspected every detail. “Why are you acting like you’ve never been in here?” I asked with a giggle.

“Im usually focused on you when im here.” He said stepping forward to stand above me. I tilted my head up to look at him. “So pretty.” He muttered running his thumb over my bottom lip. My cheeks flushed at his actions.

“C-Chris..” I stuttered out. He looked from my lips to my eyes letting out a questioning hum. “Can we..? Please?” I asked hesitantly.

“Can we what baby? Tell me what you want.” He said, his voice dripping with seductiveness. His tumb moved from my lip to my cheek as he caressed my face.

“Please just fuck me.” I breathed out. My head tilted into his touch involuntarily.

“So needy.” He said gently pushing me back into the bed. He crawled over me, kissing my neck and collarbones. His trained hands worked on the button of my jeans, never lifting his mouth from my neck.

I gasped as he yanked my pants down. I felt him smirk against my skin. He finally stood up, grabbing the hem of my shirt.

“This has to go baby.” He said looking down at me. I nodded before pulling it over my head, leaving me in my bra and panties. He trailed his hands over my curves. “So beautiful.” He breathed.

He pulled his shirt off before grabbing my legs and dragging me to the edge of the bed. He got down onto his knees and trailed kisses over my thighs. I whimpered in anticipation.

“You’re so desperate. How cute.” He chuckled against my skin as his mouth trailed painfully slow to where I needed it most. I gasp as he kisses my clit through the cloth of my panties.

“Please..stop teasing.” I whined in frustration, trying to push myself into his face. He grabbed my thighs and held me in place.

“Behave or I wont give you what you want.” He said sternly. I nodded in agreement, only because I was so desperate for any sort of touch from him. He kissed my thigh again then moved further up to take the hem of my panties in his teeth before tugging them down. I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra, tossing it onto the floor.

His tongue flicked over my clit making me arch my back with a throaty moan.

“I’ve barely even touched you, baby.” He chuckled. “You’re so sensitive.” He teased before licking a stripe between my folds. I high pitched moan fell from my lips as he licked figure eights over my clit.

“Shhhhh” He hushed. “You’re gonna wake up your mom, princess.” I nodded and bit my lip in attempt to keep my moans in. He continued the movement of his tongue, every lick building onto the pressure in my abdomen.

“Chris..need to- please.” My words came out in mixed rambles as my mind went blank. His nose grazed my clit with every lick. My legs shook as the band in my abdomen threatened to snap at any moment.

“Cum in my mouth, baby.” He purred as his movements sped up. My back arched and my eyes rolled as I struggled to stay quiet. My hand gripped desperately onto his hair as my orgasm washed over me.

I looked down at him, he lifted his head to meet my gaze, chin and lips soaked with my juices. My body continued to quiver with the intensity of my orgasm. “You’re so fucking good at that.”

“I know.” He said with a smirk. He stood up, the bulge in his pants unmistakable. “Hands and knees. Now.” He commanded as he worked on his belt. I obeyed him without question and got onto my hands and knees, ass to him. “Such a good girl.” He praised, massaging my ass with his hands.

I whined as I felt him press his tip against my entrance. “This what you want, mama?” He coo’ed. I nodded, he suddenly slapped my ass. “Words, baby girl. Wanna hear you say it.” He muttered.

“I want you inside me. Please.” I moan out my words, my ass stinging from his harsh smack. He groans at my words before pushing into me slowly.

“Fuck….such a perfect pussy..so fuckin’ tight.” He moaned leaning forward to cover my mouth with his right hand, his right gripped tightly to my hip. He thrusted into me fast, giving me no time to adjust.

I moaned into his hand as my eyes started to water. His tip slammed against my cervix with each thrust, the pain was so pleasurable. He leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“You feel that, baby? Feel how deep I am?” His words were punctuated by a groan. I nodded due to my inability to speak. “Gonna cum so deep inside you princess.” He muttered into my ear, making me moan into his hand.

My legs shook again as another orgasm threatened to rip out of me. His tip rubbed against my g-spot triggering my release. I screamed out a moan that was muffled into his hand. I felt him twitch inside me, meaning he was close.

He thrusted for the last time, slamming into my cervix as he painted my walls white. He let out a groan of relief before standing up and pulling out. I whimpered as he slipped out of me.

“You did so good for me. Took me so fuckin’ well, mama.” He praised as he pulled his boxers back on. I turned over and laid on my back panting heavily. He picked up my panties and tossed them at me.

“Thank you.” I said grabbing them before sitting up and sliding them up my legs. He laid back onto the bed. I laid next to him resting my head on his chest. “Missed you.” I murmured.

He smiled. “I missed you too, baby.” He whispered before kissing my forehead. We stayed there for awhile before it got really late and he had to go home. He put his clothes on and I put on a hoodie. He climbed out of the window before starting to leave. “Chris.” I called out to him leaning out of the window.

“Hm?” He hummed walking back to my window. I leaned in and kissed him. He kissed me back, his tongue exploring my mouth. I pulled back, my fingers running through his hair. I rested my forehead against his. “I love you.” I whispered.

He chuckled. “I love you too, baby.” He said with a smile.

A/N: do yall fw this or what. Lmk.

Click here to find my masterlist☆

[theellipelli]

I need to eat drywall nostalgic chill is so good GGRRRHAAAHHHHHHHH FIGHTING FOR THE SPOT OF MY FAVORITE FIC EVER RN. Anyway I wanted to ask what ur process is when writing fic? Especially something so lengthy and lore-heavy like nostalgic chill. Been trying to cook up some hsr fic myself but I get so overwhelmed by the sheer amount of world lore ..

your FAVOURITE fic EVER??? that is a lot of praise... waow...

thank u for asking such a fun question!!! my process is very losey goosey, specifically for this fic, but ill try to explain it as best i can

the (VERY) rough outline for this fic has been planned out since long before i actually started posting it, with it getting more detailed near the end (a few of the final chapters have already been drafted, actually)

on the path towards the end ive spread out a few plot points which are either just cool things i want to write about (like all those damn fights) or important character stuff (like the bailiu heart-to-heart and every single jing yuan reality check)

when i start a new chapter, ill usually already know where i want it to end, often one of those pre-planned points. ill spend a few days (or even one or two weeks) thinking about how to continue the story, and then once i have an idea ill like, ill sit down and start writing.

typically, a good idea will be the easiest to write for me. if i get stuck anywhere before reaching the end of the scene, ill usually just scrap it immediately and start over. i try to make each chapter one unbroken scene, so a reached plot-point isnt necessary for the chapter to end.

like, for the most recent 2 chapters, the plot-point ive been writing towards is jing yuan meeting the master diviner, which was a VERY important thing that needed to happen before anything else. of course, everything is also following an overarching goal, which is mostly just jing yuans character arc, and that is built towards in the narration between major events. also worldbuilding i guess.

on the research side, i dont have much to say? my grasp on the xianzhou lore is already pretty solid (its my favourite area) so a lot of the research i do lore-wise is just double-checking that i have my facts straight. also, reading the xianzhou lore is good for inspiration, if im really lacking in that, which is unusual but not impossible.

i dont think my process is especially unique? its definitely not very structured, but thats unusual even for me. idk tldr i think of cool stuff i want to write about and then fill in the gaps between those cool stuff. tis fun

as thanks for asking such a fun question, here is a little yanqing for you. kisses. mwah. blessed be the indulgence.

[distressxox]

IM CRYING OLS THE AGITO THING IM GONNA MAKE THAT RN 😭😭

but you COOKED with that req🙏 thank you for feeding me, I'm reading abt the ghouls but the ghoullettes catch my eye more.. THEYRE SO PRETTY IM CRYING..might...try and buy a ghoullette mask......

can i ask..for..agito..and..a few other characters of your choice (throw in ghost characters if you want make it a hybrid ask LMFAO) experiencing a soft dom partner who pegs..them.........

—🪡anon

O la la, okay! Rip ur wallet.

I'm actually most likely gonna make a separate post for this for the Ghouls. Look out for that one.

Kengan Men with a Soft Dom S/O

!Nsfw!: Hinted Afab reader (no bodyparts mentioned), M sub, Anal fingering, Pegging

Kanoh Agito

• This dynamic between him and you is something extremely special. One of the strongest fighters alive, weak and on his knees for you.

• Worshipping his body whilst you undress him. Climbing ontop while you describe what you're going to do to him.

• He likes to see you dominate him. Being cared for is so new and nice that he can't live any other way.

• Holding his face as you softly grind on his cock, telling him that you're feeling good and that his body was made for you.

• He knows nothing about sex outside of what you usually do, or the mainstream. You have to explain in detail what it is before even suggesting it.

• Is a little mortified by it, but nonetheless, willing to try pegging.

• It takes a few weeks to loosen him up, slowly fingering him as he clenches around your digits. Trying his best to be strong for you.

• Then comes the day that you try it. With lube all over the strap on and his legs open, you slowly enter him. He grunts and squeezes his eyes shut.

• "Shhh it's okay, you're doing well. You worked really hard for me and I'm going to reward you for it"

• Slow thrusts through and through. He doesn't like it rough, he finds out.

• He has a verryyy sensitive g-spot. His back arches every time you hit it. It's almost heavenly. His body compulsing as he huffs, muscles flexed, and his mind in ecstasy.

• You don't need to jerk him off while doing it. He can cum hands free, groaning as he tenses up. Tears of pleasure running from the corners of his eyes. His hips twitching as he rides out his climax.

Ohma Tokita

• Yes, despite popular opinion, he knows what sex is. It was always an after thought and wasn't on his mind as much as other people. That was when he wasn't with you, of course.

• Never knew how good it felt to be dominated by somebody else. You're his teacher when it comes to intimacy. What feels good to him, what doesn't, what turns him on.

• He likes to be rewarded with being able to eat you out / you sitting on his face as he goes to town.

• You let him be on top sometimes. You command him to speed up or slow down. He can only cum when you say he can.

• You've brought up the idea of using a strap before, he brushes it off. That, goes in there? Not a chance.

• One time you teased him for being 'scared', and he took that as a challenge. To prepare him, you sit on his face whilst massaging his insides with your middle finger. He grumbled the whole time to cover up his panting.

• Foreplay is very important, you make sure he gets all the attention he needs before you start. You propped his back up on the pillow as you squeezed his thighs. Relaxing him.

• The noise he made when you hit his sweet spot for the first time was priceless.

• He likes it a bit rough, not fast, but rough. Swearing under his breath as your thrusts make his cock dribble with cum.

• Doesn't like out right asking you to peg him, so another way he'll do it is dropping it on you or by you.

Lihito / Ichiro Nakata

• Though he puts on a tough and dominant guy persona, you know who's really in charge. And you let him know.

• He is absolutely pathetic when you have him pinned down in bed. Edging him while calling him your good little fuck toy.

• Is a bit of a brat. You aren't a hard-core dom, but sometimes you have to put him in his place by cuffing him to the bed while he watches you touch yourself.

• "Pegging... Isn't that kinda gay?" You wack him over the head and tell him to not judge it unless he's tried it.

• Is in denial about wanting to try it. He's had multiple wet dreams about you absolutely railing the shit out of him. The dreams keep happening and he can't take it anymore. He fingers himself to the thought of you bending him over and degrading him.

• With a painful boner in his boxers, he asks you to bring out the strap on. You oblige. Towel, laid down. Lube, applied. Dildo, STRAPPED.

• Prefers a bit a Foreplay before going in even though he's mentally and physically prepared. He's on his stomach with his ass up.

• A moaning mess. Likes it when you smack his butt while your thrusts render his mind useless.

Goah Ryuki

• Is a bottom from the get-go. Very submissive but can top if you asked him to.

• Ugh the way he whimpers sends a shock through your body. He likes to be edged, overstimulated, and teased.

• Thigh jobs are his favorite thing ever. The way your muscles tense around his sensitive and raw cock which you already had overstimulated beforehand.

• He actually brought up the idea of Pegging. You let him chose and buy the strap you'll use on him.

• In the time you wait for it to arrive, you have him bent over your lap with a smaller dildo you had kept in safe keeping. He was twitching and moaning so loud you had to cover his mouth so the neighbors wouldn't hear.

• He's so desperate for you to put it in him, you have to hold him down by his hips. Which is a struggle because of his strength.

• There's no going back once you put it inside him. He likes it rough and fast. You'll get a full work out once you're done with him.

A/n: DO YOUR RESEARCH BEFORE YOU TRY ANYTHING WITH YOUR PARTNER, THATS AN ORDER

• Asks you grab his hair and go harder. Your legs are already on fire, but god damn is he hot when he's like this.

[raven-nerd4life]

welcome back to "oliv-WTF HAPPENED TO THE NEVERMORE COMMUNITY!!!!!

I was gone for one week and eveis in the shithole, my favorite nevermore icons left the fandom!! People got bored of it?!! RED SAID AN APOLOGY?!?!

Im shaking and crying bro, I'm so sad that this happened. People I look up to basically gone in an instant

Its like the fall friend groups and that trans thing with j.k. rowling.

now I don't have discord, cause I too am a minor, so I got the basics here and I'm not going into detail but that's disgusting and im disappointed on how this went.

Though truth be told, I'm not going to stop posting about nevermore I might slow down posting while this thing will die down. I'm not much for confrontation or berating. I can't say much about this.

The nevermore community is basically holding on by threads.

IT LIKE SEEING A DIVORCE AND IM THE CHILD IN THIS SITUATION.

Jee this is the worst present ever (the timing is conveniently on my b-day week)

but in all seriousness, I hope nevermore doesn't get canceled, I wish red luck on explaining this way better, let's hope things are sorted out

Now if you'll please excuse me I'm gonna draw lenore petting my dog, cause I'm stressed and crying and just so fucking sad and disgusted rn.

Wish you all the best people who decided to leave the fandom, to those taking a break I do understand, I will not be joining you in that matter.

Yes I do handle every problem by ignoring it how did you know?

[goomyloid]

PLEASE explain your thoughts on kriselle in full detail

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS 100% UNPROMPTED ASK! I SHALL EXPLAIN

i hate toby fox. why did he do this to us. he really put it better than anyone else. not really romantic not really platonic but…. something else… some secret more sinister more heartfelt more absurd third thing

i wonder at what point should i clarify that i dont even really seek out kriselle in a romantic context… DONT GET ME WRONG i have zero issues with the ship whatsoever and all of the krisellers out there are living their best (most painful) lives and i SEE THE APPEAL. BUT when i rotate them in my brain i dont need them to kiss or anything like that i just need them to sit down and sadly hold hands and stay like that forever and ever. in case you couldnt gauge that from my art so far

tldr i dont think i ship them in the traditional sense at least …. the things that i usually fixate on for any romantic ship are not there with these two. there are no romantic feelings there In my mind. and all at the same time i start screaming and throwing up and killing myself (all positive) whenever i see them even in the same image together. hngh

ive tried explaining this to people before and they usually suggest something along the lines of a QPR and even that doesnt feel right to me. truly the best way i can put it is… that red string of fate man… which i almost hesitate on saying too because i dont actually know if noelle is Quite an important enough character to the story to warrant a connection like that. WHICH IS A CRAZY THING TO SAY. I KNOW. DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT GETTING ME WRONG i think dess and her connections to gaster and her usage as a stepping stone into the weird route are all VERY important… but in my brain its just not kris/knight/asriel/every other mysterious main focus of the story Important. i didnt mean to get into deltarune theorizing here i hope nobody’s blood is boiling rn

so yeah in the end. toby fox once again put it best. they are friends, but they are also something else.

back to the actual pairing though… sometimes i think im going overboard and overestimating how close kris and noelle were as children because noelle will go and say things like “i wonder if we were ever really friends at all.” which is kind of a fair statement considering the circumstances. sure they played together and all and tagged along with their siblings to do stuff together but when dess went missing… it all kind of stopped. kris is just a kid, they dont know what to do or even how to process it, much like noelle. asriel is probably dealing with his own feelings, he just lost his friend and likely old enough to understand the weight of what happened. while noelle and kris cant say much to each other at all.

im always back and forth on speaking headcanons for kris but the one that i always seem to come back to is selective mutism… to me kris had a lot of trouble communicating well as a child and could only grow comfortable around certain people, asriel and noelle being clear examples because they’re both so patient with them. maybe because of this noelle felt like they could understand each other without really needing words, and just physical interaction was enough to achieve some form of closeness… or maybe that was all just on her end, she thinks when kris goes to play the piano. but if that’s the case, why does it feel like a concert just for her…?

jesus dont even get me start on them as teenagers either. noelle has lost her sister, and now kris has lost their brother… but not in the same way. they look at each other and wonder if they’re the same now. or, maybe thats too cruel. maybe its not the same thing at all. asriel’s coming back soon, after all. it will all be over soon, kris won’t have to feel this way for much longer, right? so then, why does kris look so miserable, sitting in the corner over there? all noelle feels like she can do is sit next to them quietly. to be there, and to somehow, vaguely, messily help each other. the misfit kids that dont really know how to talk to each other and yet understand each other regardless

thats why the dark world feels like such a dream to her. these crazy city lights, fantastical creatures, susie’s there, and she actually might have the means to defend herself and stand her ground, whether it be verbally or… otherwise

and most of all, much like with kris offering an adventurous haven to susie in ch1, the same is extended to noelle. by kris’s side, no less. it feels like theyre doing things together again, and its fun, and nostalgic… she wants to bring dess. and i think its okay to assume kris wants to bring asriel, too. recreating the make-believe world they lost so long ago… is it really possible?

no… how can it really be possible, when this isnt kris? something is wrong. its almost perfect, except kris… it’s them, but it’s not. she sees their face, their expressions, their laughs, their worries. and yet the voice that comes from them… isnt them. and it scares her! even if nothing particularly bad happened as a result. and if something bad DID happen, well…

she just wants what they had before back. is it really so impossible? can they reconcile after all these years? does kris want to? is kris capable of doing so? maybe they just need to hug again. will it feel like a real hug? the person she thought she understood is acting in ways she doesnt understand. they’re telling her to do weird things. they cycle through actions as if they just want to know what happens. and they cant even play piano anymore.

[casually-slips-into-coma]

spoilers for iwtv s2e5!!!

initial thoughts throughout:

dubai armand in this ep specifically seems a lot happier than normal. very smiley and kind of excited? like more energy than usual. mans was ready to eat

this fucking turtleneck

loumand library dates

hypnotized security as one does

i like that armand likes to hunt his kills. thought it was a cool detail

made me think of when armand tells daniel to run in the book

daniel was there for gay sex the drugs were just a bonus

he barely registered the coffin. he was like ok ig

the zodiac killer lol

daniel struggling to get the tape out of the plastic lmao

some coke for the gums just in case

you were lonely louis (gagged him)

the extreme change in vibe from daniel shitting himself about louis being a vampire to him laughing along while louis complains about his ex

book quotes!!

daniel validating louis complaining about lestat. theyre just gossiping at this point

BIG time asshole

daniel making A Point and then going sorry and louis saying no,,,,,that🫵was astute🗣🗣

“can u do the fang thing again? i love that, man” hes just like me fr

dangerously unstable psyche ((clocked))

im kinda with her get off that bench brother😭 [about claudia leaving]

jacob the actor you are

ok this whole argument between louis and armand was insane and i replayed it like a million times

kinda love louis coked tf out

being called boring fucking hurts thats a wild argument

he called you a soft beige pillow suffocating him girl u gotta stand up

armand really locked on to the word fascinating

louis said lick my boots😝

gremlin sighting👀

“chop my hands off”👀👀👀👀

picking LINT❓❓off the sofa⁉️ ⁉️

armand mocking him “oh its so hard to be me, its so hard to kill humans, i can feel her feelings as i drain her, louis de point du lac, everyone i know wronged me!”

imitating each others accents

my vampire daddy groomed me into a little bitch holy fuck when they go low i go lower

THE NAME!! the name!! unuttered in our home for 23 years said over and over again until it was pounding in my brain like a hammer!!!!

assad deserves every award my man was actiiiinnggg

she didnt love you/i know

louis :(((

“can u hear her? shes calling me…” ok what if i kms

and then louis runs into the sunlight🙃

hello loml: practical effects

sidestep the big picture get the story straight first daniel said lets lock the fuck in rn we gotta focus

“you said the worst things youve ever said to me” hes just a sopping wet cat

hes fine youre fine this is fine youre all fine

finally seeing unhinged armand ive prayed for times like these

i stand by my cancelled wife btw

small detail of different memories: in louis’ version he apologizes to armand and armand says “meaningless word” and then moves on to talk about the slanted floor. in daniel’s version he remembers the dead guy and the same scene plays out except armand explains he killed the neighbor in between “meaningless word” and how the floor is slanted

vibrating eyes

LOVING how this episode is shot. all the different angles and the camerawork and the fucking MUSIC

canon that louis fucks guys and then kills them fic writers get to it

“128 boys hes brought here—“ “he said it was 5🥺”

daniel basically saying look man ill suck ur dick if u let me go

and then armand making him kneel

armand so unnerving <3

i know its kinda dumb to point out but i love small details of vamp power. specifically how armand picked up that table like it weighed nothing and when he picked up louis

love the idea of louis being like ok just put your feet in the rocks itll help

sopping wet cat armand!!!

but also he really let louis suffer for days instead of just giving him blood to ease the pain😬

lestats voice caught me off guard genuinely

interesting that armand knows where lestat is. i wonder how the show is gonna go about it. is he in the ground??

and refusing to pass along the i love you message……….theres layers here

u left me for death :((

have i atoned for my part of paris👀👀

the armand daniel bite was very do u know what it means to be loved by death

itty bitty armand fangs

need him alive as a testament to our companionship wtf are we even talking about anymore

arun/maitre😵‍💫

the fucking sunglasses im pissing😭😭

he got that shit on tho

welcome back trinity from the matrix

also just the fact that armand came back like yum i had so much fun on that hunt😁 anyway what are you two up to😇☺️

and louis and daniel just had a harrowing 2 hours trying to recover lost memories and coming to the realization that theyve been mega gaslit for decades

armand saying exactly what louis told daniel word for word

a hunch🫢

i love this show

im so excited for next weeks episode this story is unfolding so beautifully. im even more curious now about why and how this second interview is happening. ((also am very confused/curious about what looks like a protest in the promo??))

[nightlyrequiem]

hiya requiem!!!!!

okay wait... im totally zooted rn so this mifht sound like wealy stupid.... but Valeria with writer!reader????!!! ^_^

like... reader is writing a dark novel... and they're like 'hey babe do you know how deep a knife needs to go before it hits a major artery and paralyzes sumone???' and val is like 'be rite back!!!' then an hour later she comes back home covered in a suspicious amount of red goo and shes like 'six inches. thats how deep' SHE CHEKCED!!!! AAAAAAAWWW!!!!!!! SO ROMANTIC RIGHT???!!!! (〃´▽`)

OKAAYYYY!!! soooh... it can be both hcs or a oneshot idm!!!! but i do want it to include either reader knowing vals occupatiom or they're just blissfully stupid clueless!!! 🥳🥳🥳

as always thank u foe ur time ans thanks soso much in advancies if u decide to write this!!! buhbye!!! :33

-🃏🌀⭐️

Hiya!! Omg I love this actually. Lowkey wish I had this IRL... but you're so right there's literally nothing more romantic then your wife stabbing a guy just so you can write about it accurately. True love right there. Just pretend you don't see the bloodstains and all will be good :3

Valeria x Author!Reader

You're working on your novel, and you're just stumped by the this one part. One of your characters gets stabbed but you want it to be accurate. But the internet is kind of useless. It either doesn't give you the information you're looking for, or it gives you that little hotline number.

But hey, your girlfriend was in the military and active combat!!! (Presuming you don't know what she does for a living.) So you ask her. Valeria loves you to pieces and also loves your writing. Of course she'll help you figure out how deep a knife has to go in order to paralyze someone. Just let her go ask some of her old war buddies, 'kay?

And by old war buddies, I mean victims. She already has an idea of where to hit in order to paralyze someone. Around the neck and spine. Each stab wound is measured meticulously and written down so she can bring them back to her precious partner. She finds the perfect reference for you. It was messy and a little hard to do, but stabbing someone under the ear in the neck where it begins to slope towards their shoulder. Roughly 3-4 inches down. The Common Carotid. (I googled it, so you probably could too, but for the sake of this let's pretend there's absolutely no information about it on the interwebs.)

Four corpses and three ruined shirts later, she's back with a sheet of references and even explains the process to you. Valeria is so kind as to even give you a physical demonstration. Not on a real person, she'd hate to frighten you. Though she didn't notice the splatter of blood on the bottom of her shirt. You did, and she had to find a valid reason as to why she had that. It's just jam, sweetheart, nothing to worry about.

Though things would be even easier if you knew about her current job. She'd probably let you sit in on interrogations to take notes or explain how certain mechanics work. It definitely wouldn't be practical or realistic because I'd imagine someone who runs a cartel would want to keep it under wraps. But anyway, she'd let you take notes and watch. If you're okay with it, she'd probably use a person for that physical demonstration.

Now your book has an accurate paralysis scene. Your readers praise you for your attention to detail and the realism. All thinks to your wonderful, murderous wife. Oh, those men that went missing were found with wounds similar to the ones in your book? What a coinky-dink!