#this entire scene was so good 🥺

[mostlyfate]

Love Game in Eastern Fantasy 永夜星河 · 2024 20 | Ziqi… I’m so sorry… Now, I know.

[priceofreedom]

The party's final fight against Sephiroth (Advent Children intro)

[clowningaroundmars]

y'all.

lets be really for real for a second.

when aaron42 and jeff1610 inevitably meet up with each other for a quick second in btsv and take one good, long look at each other, knowing the other isn't their brother because they both had to lay their own brother to rest at the cemetary, but still taking in the sight of their long-lost sibling standing right there before their very eyes....

when jeff mimes stroking his chin, smiling and saying something corny about the salt and pepper in aaron's beard

when aaron shoots back a backhanded compliment in response, just like how he used to back when they were just two dumb kids causing trouble in the neighborhood together

and they both tear up, memories of their childhood cresting up like a wave in an ocean of emotions, threatening to crash down on them at any moment?

i WILL be bursting into tears in the theatre you guys. im dead serious

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF PRIORITY: MARS (PART 1)

Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard, Maj. Kaidan Alenko, Lt. James Vega, and Dr. Liara T'Soni Sophie, I don't know what you are- or who. Not since Cerberus rebuilt you. For all I know, you could be their puppet- controlled by The Illusive Man himself. Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

[chronicowboy]

funny how i'll get anxious over the tiniest of things in the world and yet the calmest i ever am is right before im about to perform in front of 50+ people

[gregmarriage]

“yes, the power of love!”

“you stabbed me!”

god, so real

[crossbackpoke-check]

I have to ask about good dog bad dream <3

🥰🥰 oh i was HOPING for this one. ok so y’all may actually know a little bit already because it exists in the tags as tyler borzoituzzi but! good dog bad dream is the working document title/notes compilation for a fic that started with the premise of “well you see that’s actually not a dog that’s my blorbo from my hrpf shifter wolf au—”

and, because i have never formally addressed it or put it anywhere other than the tags, three important details about this fic:

this IS a semi-au fic about the detroit red wings, set vaguely in the 2018-19 season, because the wings sucked that year (but not as bad as 2019-20)

this is ALSO a fic that is mainly about tyler bertuzzi and dylan larkin, with some other wings thrown in because i've never met an ensemble i couldn't shove into a love story

this 100% exists because of mickey redmond calling tyler a junkyard dog every chance he gets and me every time going "okay but what if literally though" -> 🐺

[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

[brainddeadd]

luke and his girlfriend being all cute while jack and quinn are watching all happy bc their baby brother is in love 🥺

Quinn and Jack Watching Luke Fall in Love

UMICH Game

Jack and Quinn are in the stands, taking a rare break from their own schedules to watch Luke finish his practice. The arena is nearly empty, and the sounds of skates slicing the ice echo through the quiet. Jack, scrolling through his phone, almost misses it until he glances up and notices you standing near the rink entrance, bundled up in an oversized team hoodie.

As soon as Luke spots you, his entire face softens. He skates over, and there’s a look in his eyes that neither Jack nor Quinn has ever seen before. Luke slows as he reaches the boards, his hand raising in a small wave, shy and almost hesitant, but you beam at him in return. With a little laugh, Luke leans forward, pressing his helmet against the glass to get closer to you. You place a hand on the glass where his face is, as if you could touch him through the barrier, and Luke closes his eyes for a second, savoring the moment.

Jack nudges Quinn, gesturing toward the scene unfolding below. They share a look of mild surprise and then watch as Luke stays by the glass longer than any other player would. There’s a small smile playing on his lips as he mouths, “Hi, beautiful,” in a tone so soft that only you can read it. Jack and Quinn exchange smirks. They’d known Luke was seeing someone, but this? This was a side of their little brother they hadn’t seen before—tender, almost vulnerable. When Luke finally skates off, there’s a brightness in his eyes, a lightness to his stride.

Jack turns to Quinn, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Our boy is absolutely whipped.”

Quinn grins, a spark of pride mixing with nostalgia. “Good for him. He deserves it.”

Midnight Moments at the Lake House

It’s late, well past midnight, and the Hughes brothers are back at their family’s lake house for the summer. Quinn steps outside, breathing in the crisp night air and expecting only silence, but then he spots two figures on the porch swing. Luke is sitting beside you, his arm around your shoulders, the two of you tucked into a shared blanket that spills over onto the floorboards.

Quinn pauses, taking in the scene. You’re both deep in conversation, voices so low they’re practically whispers. Luke is tracing small, absentminded circles on your arm, his gaze fixed on you as if nothing else in the world matters. There’s a gentleness to him that catches Quinn off guard. He’s seen Luke compete fiercely on the ice, fight hard battles with grit and determination, but this softness is new.

You say something, and Luke’s face breaks into a warm, quiet laugh. He leans over, pressing his lips to your temple with a tenderness that nearly makes Quinn turn away, feeling like he’s intruding on a private moment. But he lingers, watching as you tuck a strand of hair behind Luke’s ear, laughing softly at the way it falls back again.

For Quinn, it’s a revelation. Luke, the brother he’d always seen as a bit guarded, as someone who buried his emotions on the ice, has opened his heart in a way he didn’t expect. It fills Quinn with a quiet pride and a profound relief. He’s glad Luke has someone who sees him as he truly is, beyond the hockey player and the brother.

Kitchen Confessions

One summer afternoon, Jack is wandering around the house, rummaging through the kitchen for a snack, when he hears the sound of laughter—a warm, soft kind of laughter that he immediately recognizes as Luke’s. Curious, Jack follows the sound and peeks around the corner.

You’re standing on tiptoe, stretching to reach something on the top shelf, and before Jack can even think to offer help, Luke is already there. Without a word, he reaches up, grabs the item you were straining for, and places it in your hands. But instead of stepping back, he stays close, his arms lingering around you.

“Why do you always try to reach things you can’t grab?” he teases softly, the affection in his tone unmistakable.

You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s a blush creeping up your cheeks. “Because I know my giant of a boyfriend will help me,” you reply, poking him gently in the ribs.

Luke’s laugh is quiet, and Jack watches as his brother’s expression softens even more. Luke brings a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek. “You know you’re my favorite part of any day, right?” he murmurs, his voice so soft Jack barely catches it.

Jack quickly backs out of the kitchen before either of you notices him, grinning to himself. Seeing Luke that open and unguarded makes Jack’s heart swell with a mixture of pride and happiness. Luke is completely gone for you, and it’s a beautiful thing to witness.

Family Game Night Revelation

Family game nights at the Hughes’ lake house are legendary, and tonight is no different. After hours of Monopoly, charades, and good-natured bickering, everyone is winding down, and the group sprawls across the living room in various states of exhaustion. You’re beside Luke on the floor, leaning into his shoulder, half-asleep as the last remnants of a card game lie forgotten in front of you.

Jack notices the way Luke keeps his arm around you, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder, and how he periodically checks on you, as if making sure you’re comfortable. Quinn, lying on the couch across from them, catches Jack’s eye and raises his eyebrows in quiet amusement.

Then, as you drift off fully, Luke gently adjusts the blanket around you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. He gazes down at you with an expression so openly affectionate that it nearly takes Jack and Quinn by surprise. They exchange another look, this one filled with understanding. Their baby brother, who used to roll his eyes at the mention of romance, is absolutely, irrevocably in love.

Jack reaches over, patting Quinn on the arm with a grin. “I think we’ve officially lost him,” he whispers, a hint of teasing in his voice.

Quinn just nods, smiling back. “I’m okay with that.”

They both watch as Luke, oblivious to their observation, presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s a quiet moment, unremarkable to anyone else, but to Jack and Quinn, it’s confirmation that their little brother is happy—genuinely, deeply happy.

Big Brother Heart-to-Heart

One evening, Quinn and Luke are sitting alone on the dock, looking out over the water. The silence between them is comfortable, filled only by the sound of crickets and the occasional splash from the lake. Quinn’s tempted to ask, but he waits, giving Luke time to bring it up if he wants to.

Eventually, Quinn turns to him, unable to hold back his smile. “So…she makes you happy?”

Luke’s cheeks flush, but he doesn’t try to hide it. Instead, he nods, a soft, almost shy smile breaking over his face. “More than anything,” he admits, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Quinn feels a swell of pride and nostalgia. He’s watched Luke grow up, through all the awkward teenage years, the battles on the ice, and the triumphs and failures that shaped him. But watching Luke find someone who brings out this side of him—this happiness that no amount of hockey victories could match—is something else entirely.

Reaching over, Quinn claps a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Good,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “You deserve it, Luke. We’re all so damn proud of you.”

They sit in silence again, both knowing that these moments—simple, quiet, and full of unspoken love—are the ones that matter most. Quinn knows he’ll look back on this, the night he saw his baby brother truly in love, as one of the best memories he’s ever had.

[hazelfoureyes]

The Safeword is RadioApple (part 2)

This part doesn’t have the Alastor x Lucifer scene I previewed! I pushed it to the next part since this was already a big chunk of text. I hope you still enjoy it! 🥺 I can do a male reader, I just need a little time as I’ll need to rewrite quite a bit

Locked doors

「Luci was pining to return to your bed, even if he couldn’t fully understand why Alastor exists in it. Luckily for you both, You got a night alone with the King of Hell and before Alastor can implode the whole situation, he had a change of heart perspective.」

[warnings/promises: Lucifer x FemReader, smut, No AlastorxReader this part, Luci eats you out, Luci has a nose, Alastor thinks about gardening but in a jerk kind of way, s e x, Husker is reminded of his chains, Charlie is naive, Facesitting, Luci’s horns, sweet little kisses, aftercare at the before part, creampie is like nyquil, Luci is an entire daddy kink]

Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader✧FemaleReader໒꒱ Part 2 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱ Part 3 ꒰აAlastorxLucifer໒꒱ tidbit (cute, not smut) Part 4 ꒰აFemaleReader໒꒱✨NEW✨ ₊⊹⁀➴ Lucifer wins⟡Alastor Wins

minors DNI 🤌🏼

He didn’t want to be fully naked near Alastor, but the idea of bathing with you overpowered his hate. When he entered the bathroom, he found you reclining into Alastor, back to chest, as Alastor’s fingers massaged soap into your upper arms.

Your eyes, closed in comfort, popped open when you sensed his presence, “Luci!” Your legs folded, “Get in.”

Lucifer looked around the clawed foot porcelain tub. He didn’t want to admit he liked the style, obviously picked out by Alastor. With the same hesitancy as before, he stripped and lowered himself in the water opposite you and Alastor.

A wave of stress, again, watching you two intertwined in each other’s attention. But you pushed back against that feeling, hands slipping past his hooved feet until you found his calf. Lifting his leg up, Lucifer yelped as he slid down into the water. Your hands rubbed along the muscle of his leg, humming softly.

He watched you, Alastor disappearing from view entirely. “Thank you, Kitten.” Your smile widened. Eyes wandering down, he found your foot and pressed into the arches with strong fingers. You moaned, visibly relaxing into Alastor’s chest. “Feel good?”

You nodded, “Your hands only ever make me feel good, Luci.”

He nearly choked on his breath, cheeks brightening a scarlet red. How could you get so brutally fucked and still speak to sweetly? Was that really the same mouth?

A stupid grin spread across your face as you pressed into Alastor.

“Happy?” He asked, low and into your hair. 

“Happiest.”  Eyes closed, basking in the glory of your conquest. “What do you like to do after sex?”

It took Lucifer a second to realize you were talking to him, “Oh! Uhh,” a nervous scratch to his cheek, “Kiss? Cuddle. Normal things.” He hoped Alastor took the word normal as an insult but unfortunately he seemed to not be paying any attention. Without opening your eyes, you spread your arms and invited Lucifer to kiss.

He felt his knees graze Alastor’s legs as he shifted, leaning in to you he let his lips touch yours gently. Your arms came around his shoulders and pulled him in for more. He fell into your chest, pressing your body further into Alastor’s. You cooed into his mouth, opening to lick across his lips, finally looking at him. Staring into each other’s eyes, you hoped he could see it, hoped your absolute bliss was palpable to him. Sandwiched between your own personal rock and hard place, you struggled to keep a naughty giggle in your chest. What a lucky girl you were. 

Properly cleaned and doted on, you found yourself in Alastor’s large bed with the men. Alastor had no issues slipping under the blankets and into sleep, your body curled up against his. You were facing Lucifer, who looked exhausted. 

“Sorry for the shock.” You whispered, hand slipping from under the blanket to hold his own. Your mouth opened to say something else, but you stopped yourself. You felt like Lucifer needed space to process.

And he did, taking a moment to look over your face, large red and black deer ears peeking from the blankets behind you. 

“Why did he have to be here?” His fangs bared, “Why not just us?”

Your fingers twirled the wedding band on his left hand, “We have our own little set of rules for what is okay, and he’s always going to be there. That’s the only way this can work.”

Always? This? He wasn’t sure which to grab ahold of first. 

“I’ll never get you alone?” He thought he hid his sadness, but he was in fact pouting very noticeably. 

“Not unless Alastor says so.”

Neither noticed Alastor’s grin slipping through his fake sleep.

His pout deepened, “I hate him.”

“I know.” You laughed, because it was funny. There was really no reason for either of them to hate each other but it seemed neither of their egos could exist in the same room without causing the bad kind of friction. 

“But I -,” He laced his fingers with yours, stopping the reminder of his own vows and to some extent your own, “You. I don’t hate you.”

“Do you not-hate me enough?” said quieter than your other questions, as nervous for the answer as you were the first one of the night. 

“Enough?” Brow knit, Lucifer’s pout melted away. You squeezed his hand. Could he tolerate Alastor enough? Get enough of you for himself? His mind came to greed, to Mammon and his disgust for the sin incarnate. Lucifer had been greedy before, tried to take more than he was allowed, and it led to very terrible things. Some would argue the very worst of all things. 

His nod was barely perceivable. You wondered if you’d imagined it. Perhaps your heart was beating so fast, your eyes shook just enough to see what you wanted. 

Lucifer fell asleep, hand in yours. When he woke, he found himself turned around. At some point he must have rolled away from you, but before he could wake enough to correct the situation, he noticed your own sounds. 

“Allie~” You purred, a tone he had never heard you use before an– Allie?? He gagged.

He could feel the blankets shifting, bed dipping behind him. 

“You’re in odd form, beloved.” Alastor said it softly, not meant for anyone else to ever hear, “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

A huff, a sigh, you made the smallest whimper, “Do you think Luci -?”

Alastor didn’t let you finish, “I don’t ever think about him, darling. So, no.”

Lucifer heard a smack of skin, you playfully hitting Alastor’s chest. “Be nice,” It was a warning, not a suggestion. “I didn’t want to wake him up yet…” The bed dipped again before he felt your hands slip under his arm and down his chest. He tensed, “Luci” you whispered a sing-song form of his name, “Wake up, please. I need your company before I start my day.”

He wanted to whip around but knew that’d be suspicious, he needed to play it cool. Be a man who was totally asleep this whole time. Lucifer closed his eyes, as if you could see his face at all, and forced out a yawn. “Hmm?” He hoped he sounded sleepy, as he was fully alert at this point. 

“Good morning, your majesty.” Your hand snaked down his stomach, “Can I have a moment of your time, sire? I’d like an audience with you.” 

He bit his bottom lip, loving the way you spoke about his position. “Sire” was now second to “Daddy” to his ears. His mind couldn’t play along, already overwhelmed. “I’m not busy at the moment…so…” 

Stupid. Terrible. 

Alastor agreed with the sentiment Lucifer didn’t vocalize. 

Your hand slipped immediately into his boxers, little blue shorts with bright yellow duckies. Taking long, gentle strokes you found him eager to wake up for you, too. 

Luci folded the pillow into his face, stifling a groan as he grew under your fingers. You let his foreskin slide up and down his shaft, rubbing along his head until he had grown too large to accommodate. Luckily for you and Luci, he was leaking like a faucet and providing you just the lubricant to keep your hand gliding over his length. 

He rolled over and began to kiss you, but you quickly pushed him onto his back, coming to straddle him. “May I?” You ground your hips down, wet lips sliding across his cock. Lucifer choked out a reply, something between “yes” and “please” fell from his mouth. You were already naked? Had he missed something?

His eyes flitted to Alastor, who was leaving the bed and going to his armoire. You brought his attention back to you, one hand on his stomach, the other lining him up. Still soft and sore from the night before, Luci much easier slipped into you as you sank down until he was fully sheathed. Taking a moment, you sat on his impossibly hard cock and tried to think of where to put your hands. You leaned back, finding the angle to press his length along your plush g-spot. Slowly, hands on his thighs behind you, you rose up and lowered yourself. 

Luci’s hands came to your hips, needing something to hold on to. Watching you bounce on his cock was making him sweat, not taking into account the feeling of your tight heat so early in the morning. His sweet angel, taking his cock so well. He fought the urge to push you down and let months of pent up affection pound you into the bed.

Soon enough, you were rising and just letting your full body weight drop onto his lap. When you tried to take a hand to touch yourself, Luci’s tail wound up your thigh. You were startled, slowing to see the spade tip pressing down and flicking across your needy clit.

“What the fuck, Luci?” a breathy rhetorical, hand going back to his thigh to regain the speed and force you lost. As you found yourself coming up to that edge, pleasure peaking, you began to moan out his name. Little “Luci”’s and Lucifer”’s chanted to the ceiling. 

Luci’s head pushed down into the pillow, mind unfurling. “Enough,” He whispered into the air, hips rutting up to meet your frenzied thrusts, his reply lost in the sounds of your bodies connecting. 

⫘⫘⫘

Lucifer tried to be normal around the hotel, but as hours turned to days he found it harder and harder to keep it together. While always aware of you, always looking for you, he was now noticing the dynamic between yourself and Alastor. The two of you were often in the same spaces, but rarely together. It baffled him. If you were his, he’d never take his hands off you. His fingers would always be in yours, hand on your back, arm linked in arm. How could Alastor exist around you in any other state than at your feet? 

He began to wonder what exactly you saw in the deer demon. Yes, his dick did work, much to Lucifer’s surprise. But surely that wasn’t it. Because Lucifer’s dick also worked. The math was not mathing.

His bed was suddenly too large. Silk sheets too cold. Room too quiet. Lucifer found himself pacing the halls at night, mind wandering to what you were doing. What you both may be doing. How he would, could, fit in.

Any time he could, he found a reason to touch you. Handing him a plate? Fingers gliding over yours. Entering the same room? Ah, his hand fit so perfectly on the small of your back as he let you go first. Look at this paper! Slide beside him, let his hand come to rest on your waist. Before, he avoided every chance to feel your skin under his own. Now, he was hungry for every little taste. He felt like lightning bit him with every connection to you. He wondered if you felt it, too. 

Alastor wasn’t blind. He saw Lucifer’s eyes watching you. How he followed you like a lost puppy. 

He nearly snapped his microphone in two one morning, seeing Lucifer’s hand around your waist. It was odd, the sex? No issue! Who cares? It’s just bodies. He knew you were satisfied with him regardless of if you ever fucked. You both were quite content to just lie in bed and read, kissing and cuddling under the blankets before bed. 

But something about this was getting under his skin. Maybe it was the public setting, almost an insult to him. Showing everyone how the King of Hell could have anything he wanted. Anyone.

Or maybe it was something messier. These weren’t lustful touches. His hands were always so gentle on you, tender. There was emotion behind the way Lucifer’s fingers grazed your body. He was fine with watching another soul lust after you. Your body was something he could share, just flesh. Your heart? His hair bristled. Would Lucifer undermine what he had?

Mint. His mother planted it once in the yard. Mint grows exceptionally well. Too well. If not properly contained, it will spread across the garden and become a weed and overtake the other plants.

He relished in uprooting the mint by the fistfuls. 

Seeing Lucifer laugh loudly, leaning into your ear to whisper something that made you giggle in return, Alastor thought about mint. Best when ripped from the ground and muddled with a ridged dowel. 

When you knocked on Lucifer’s studio door later that night, the place he had built specially for himself in the new and improved hotel, he frantically tried to clean up the space. You hadn’t been alone with him since that morning nearly a week prior now. 

Truth be told, you hadn’t actually planned on Lucifer agreeing to join Alastor and you in bed. You weren’t sure how to politely invite him back without sounding like you saw him as just a fuck buddy. When you voiced your concern to Alastor, he laughed. Then patted your head.

Not overly helpful.

“Hey there! Long time no see huh?” He laughed a little too hard.

“Luci, we saw each other at breakfast.” 

His hat seemed to wither on his head, “Right yeah haha that— time away from you feels so long! The heart —,” he stopped talking, “Inside?” Wide eyed, he gestured for you to enter. 

With a nod, you walked in. Just, so many ducks. An ungodly number of ducks. Too many, some could argue.

“What’s the latest creation?” You searched the room for anything obviously special.

Lucifer grabbed your hand as he walked past and pulled you to the desk. “Check this out.” He cupped his hands, holding up a duck with six wings and tiny horns. The wings flapped gently.

“Little Luci duck?” You tapped the beak. 

He hummed, “Do you like it? I thought maybe for your bath.” 

You genuinely didn’t know what to say. Your finger slid up the head and down the back. Bringing it to your lips, you kissed the tiny orange beak. “Now I can have you in my bath every night.” 

A smirk, squiggly and long spread across his face.  Shoulder to shoulder at his drawing table, he leaned over to kiss your cheek. Your finger tapped your lips, instructions for where to bring his lips next.

“Dad?”

Lucifer flipped around, knocking up against the desk and causing ducks to cascade down, “CHARLIE! Haha! HEY!” 

Charlie was standing in the open doorway, eyes bouncing from you to Lucifer and back. “Sorry, are you… busy?”

If you stayed very very still maybe she wouldn’t see you. 

No? Yes? Which— which was the least suspicious?

“No?” Lucifer offered.

“I wanted to talk to you about some hotel stuff. I can come back later?”

You folded, sliding away from Lucifer, “I was just going, actually.” You nodded at Charlie, hands behind your back holding your duck. 

Alastor lied on your bed while you wallowed, your upset amusing to him. Where you saw an issue, he saw an opportunity. His wide smile seemed to shine under the dim light of your room, “Charlie is too innocent to make such a leap, dear. She’d need much more than that to suspect anything.” 

“I just don’t wanna cause him trouble. His life has enough strife. I didn’t start this to make things harder on him.” You buried your face into the pillow. 

His hand petted softly at your hair, “Why did you start this?”

You and Alastor weren’t a very sexual couple, and though your libido was stronger opposed to Alastor’s distinct lack of one, that was never an issue. But part of why he even allowed Lucifer to join your bed was to help round out your pleasure. Not that Luci was just a dick to you, literally. Alastor knew how badly you wanted to dote on the monarch, and when we you discussed your desires he was happy to oblige. As long as you didn’t stray from his side, Alastor was fine with holding the reins of this extension, of sorts, to your own relationship. 

But he was, at his core, a mortal soul. He was not impervious to feelings of envy.

“Well, yes, more sex with powerful people is quite nice.” Alastor nodded in agreement, the openness something he was fine with. “But I just wanna see him smile more. He’s so-,”

“Insignificantly small?”

You glared from over the pillow, “Cute.”

His fingers traced down your cheek to your chin, lifting your face to receive a kiss, “Do I still have the controlling share of your heart?”

Rarely, nearly never, did Alastor admit worry. You immediately sat up, the simple question sending off alarms. “Of course! Say the word, I’ll lock the door. Our doors only open as wide as we decide. Together.” Alastor hummed, content with the answer. 

“That’s all I need to hear! I will be back by midnight, don’t lock anything before then.” With a kiss to your forehead, he excused himself down to the bar.

Sure enough, within an hour Lucifer pulled himself into a bar stool and asked Husk for a soda water with lime. He notoriously avoided alcohol.

From his chair, Alastor watched the king of hell frown into the glass. If he could, he would drink that pitiful look by the bottle.

Alastor appeared beside Lucifer, flashing two fingers to Husk. 

“You look like the dog who got kicked.” Alastor’s grin, toothy and sharp, smiled at Lucifer. A laugh track faintly played in the background of his static voice.

“Hey here’s an idea! Go fuck yourself.”

War requires sacrifice. To truly get what you want will always cost you. Alastor knew this well, having paid many prices along his life and death to ultimately come out ahead. 

“She’s quite sad, you know. Poor thing is in her bed now, cradling a small duck.” Alastor tipped his glass into his mouth. Lucifer didn’t reply, frown pushing into a pout.

“She’ll be asleep by 11, normally when she starts to doze off. Unless, of course, she’s otherwise preoccupied.” The whiskey burned, he only drank it neat. Unadulterated.

“Are you bragging? Why are you telling me this, you haunted broomstick?”

The glass cracked in his hand as he set it down, “Because, you empty headed lawn ornament, I’m giving you my blessing to visit her.” Alastor’s bones seemed to snap as his head turned to look at Lucifer with an eerie jerking.

Immediately he perked up, “Oh. Together?” Suspicious.

“I’ll be there later.” Alastor’s head cocked to the side, “You can go ahead.”

Lucifer’s eyes narrowed, “What’s the catch?”

“No catch! Why so suspicious?” Alastor’s eyes rolled, now with a smaller grin, “My darling just has such an appetite, whereas I don’t need quite as much, as often.” 

That made… sense. A lot of sense, actually. Lucifer let that bit of information blanket the past week of observations and everything lined up. 

“Oh!” Lucifer swivelled his chair, “Okay….does she..want me to see her?” He gripped his cane, a nervous reaction, “She hasn’t actually brought it up since.”

“How would I know? I was as shocked as you when she asked for you in the first place.” Husk watched Alastor’s smile twitch, hearing what sounded like pure annoyance in his voice as he said it. 

Lucifer opened his mouth to make a jab, but thought better of it and abandoned the drink and the bar to find you. 

Husk tried to sneak away, but felt the tug of his chains.

“What did you hear, Husker?” Husk’s fur stood on end as he slowly turned to face the fearsome radio demon. 

“Nothing, boss. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His hand had to set the bottle he carried down, shaking too much to be sure he wouldn’t drop it. 

“Good boy.” Alastor finished his whiskey, “I’d hate to have to find a new bartender. Another, please and thank you. I’ve got some time to kill.”

⫘⫘⫘

“Luci?” You looked around the hall, wondering if perhaps someone else had come with him, “What’s up?”

He opened his arms, “That piece of shit said I could see you. Alone.”

Your smile fell, “Why would he do that?” Lucifer laughed, shrugging it off. 

“Maybe he knows he is no match for our connection.” His brows rose up and down his face.

“That….definitely isn’t it, Luci.”

He looked wounded, “May I still come in? If you want me, that is. Want me TO! Want me, to enter. Inside the room. Your room. Bedroom. This-.,” You opened the door the rest of the way and moved aside. 

“What exactly did Alastor say?” You sat on the small bench at the foot of your bed.

 The worry was visible on your face.

“Something about different appetites. Aaand I could come up before he came to bed. Oh, and that you were sad.” Lucifer set his hat on the dresser, resting the cane to the side. 

Those were true things. 

Yes, you had been sad. Moping just before Alastor left, come to think of it….was this a little gift? Why wouldn’t Alastor tell you beforehand? You rarely did anything without discussing it first. 

“Did you not want to see me?” Luci misread your face. 

“Oh! No!” 

He winced.

“No, I mean– no, I did not …not want to see you.” Fuck, his nervous energy was spreading. How did you ever manage a private conversation with him before? “I am very happy you’re here. I felt so bad, about earlier. Did I cause you any trouble with Charlie?”

Luci plopped down beside you, “Don’t be silly! She thinks we’re run of the mill pals!” A laugh, “I think.”

Your eyes searched the room. Alone together, in a truly private place. But again, you wanted to show Lucifer more than just your lust for him. You wanted to see him smile, to feel appreciated and seen. That was harder to do when in a dick fog. 

“Are you okay with starting with a cuddle this time, Luci?” Standing, you lowered the lights with the dial on the wall. “We can move past it if you’re feeling it. Or just enjoy being in each other’s company.”

“I love cuddling! I’m a pro at cuddling! Haha, yes. Totally okay.” He paused, “Why are you laughing?”

You pulled back the covers, getting into bed, “You’re so cute, your majesty.” He felt that stupid grin creep across his face, “Come to bed.”

With a puff of red smoke, he was in his boxers and scrambling to you. You tried to stifle another laugh, what a silly person the Devil was. “You could have done that every time?” You asked. He just nodded, hands coming around your body and pulling you close to him. “You’re so warm.”  Your nose brushed against his.

“Fires of hell and all that.” He kissed the tip of your nose, before lightly pressing his lips to your own. Another peck, his hands roaming up your hips and then your arms, then coming to your cheek. He pulled you closer now, deepening his once chaste kisses. 

Was this cuddling? You thought you had wanted to dote on him. But now it seemed you were the one being showered in adoration. He sighed into your mouth, and your mind went blank. Yes this was cuddling. This was anything he said he wanted it to be. 

Lips soft, mouth warm, tongue forked. His head tilted, desperate to get himself deeper into your mouth. You tasted like heaven, something he was too scared to miss. Tongue rolling over yours, you moaned into the kiss. Luci’s hands slid from your face to your hip, hand gripping you as he groaned in response. Hips slowly rolling into nothing, he tried to calm down. He finally had you all to himself, and his body reacted with an eagerness he had forgotten. Your own hands pushed gently against his chest, not to make distance, but to feel his body pressing up against your own skin. 

His lips parted yours, he went to speak but instead returned to kissing you. Leaving your lips and travelling down your neck, he found the will to talk, “Tonight, let me take the lead?” You nodded, wondering what his lead would look like. 

Alastor was always chasing something in you, feeding off more than your body. The few times he would want to go beyond just caressing, he would wring pleasure from you like a deserted man to an empty canteen. His body quaking with every drop he could manage. 

And Lucifer? Your already wet cunt clenched around nothing but possibilities. You nodded, watching a fire light behind his eyes you hadn’t seen in the bedroom before.

“I’m going to spoil you rotten.” His face was bright, both hands pulling your hips onto him as he rolled onto his back. “You don’t need these.” Clawed hands tugging at your panties beneath your open robe. 

Oh. That was quick.

As you leaned back to remove them, Lucifer’s mind was on timing. He could eat you out for hours if afforded it, but he knew Alastor would be coming in eventually. Lucifer had no intentions of sharing you tonight. 

When you sat down, his hands hooked under your thighs and pulled you up. And up. 

“Luci?”

“Let me show you how I ruined eden.” He opened his mouth, long tongue snaking out in a truely debauched display.  Your body was just near his chin now, and you were too stunned to move. His hands slapped your ass playfully, “Please take a seat, kitten. Your throne awaits.”

Would you suffocate him? Did he need breathe? Were you heavy? Shou-

“Pet.” His hands drummed on your thighs, “Just grab the headboard.”

Mortified. You placed your knees on either side of his head and gripped the headboard. You barely had a chance to lower yourself before he pulled you onto his mouth.

Hot breath. Luci had been dreaming of this for weeks, long before your initial invite. His tongue lapped up the slick from hole to clit, humming into your skin. Your thighs clenched and you had to focus to open them again. You apologized, but Luci just winked and made a show of taking two fingers and setting them on your thigh where he held you. 

You’d never done anything where you were the one on watch for the tap tap. It felt…. Good. Deep breath, relax into the system you made for each other.

His tongue dipped into your heat, you hadn’t considered the positive attributes of its length until now. Your hips rocked slowly, the feeling of his soft and determined tongue along you walls making your mind reel. How could something be so gentle but so ravaging? Had anyone’s tongue ever been so deep in you?

Resting your forehead on the headboard you watched Luci’s eyes close, his smile felt from thigh to thigh. Nowhere was Lucifer more in his element than mouth under a wet cunt. As your breath quickened so did your hips, grinding down more and more as you felt the pleasure spiking with every touch. 

Luci’s tongue left your now dripping hole to latch onto your clit. Sharp teeth pricked your skin as he began to suck, expert tongue intermittently lapping at your little bud of nerves. 

Your knuckles were turning white as you considered snapping the headboard in half in an attempt to chase the euphoria. It felt so good, but as the time was going forward you could tell it wasn’t enough to get you over that hurdle. 

Cold air rushed to your flushed skin, “What do you need, kitten?” Two large eyes, yellow and red, looked up from your lap.

“I want to feel you. Inside.” Your eyes flitted up as his mouth returned to his measured pace on your clit. Whimpering, you thought about reaching back and inserting your own fingers when you found your new friend beat you to it. His spaded tail folded in on itself and slipped past your twitching entrance.

You choked out a noise, the sensation something entirely foreign. Smooth and cold, he just needed to get the tip inside for you to start moaning in earnest. Your body was rocking between his tongue and his tail, shortening the intervals as you ramped up to your orgasm. 

His hands on your thighs tightened, clawed hands digging into your flesh. His moan made your feet cramp, legs now twitching. “Close— Luci!” Talking felt like losing your place, but the way he moaned in response egged you on, “Luci! Please don’t sto-,” your abdomen tight, body locked as it edged to that peak, your pleas to not stop devolved into whispered a, “no no no no god no” into the wooden bed frame.

Lucifer’s hands snaked up your sides, holding onto your waist he pulled your full weight down into his mouth, tail twisting as it thrust in and out of you. Just deep enough that the large edge of the spade was spreading your lips with every movement. 

Eyes closed, your body shook violently over his face as you finally broke through, orgasm flooding your system with endorphins. Feet, legs,  stomach, hands, everything loosened. Luci’s tongue stopped, tail slipping out. 

You didn’t make a move, needing a second to just bask in the feeling.

Before it fully waned, Luci’s arms came up and over your thighs before he pushed your body toward his chest. And then you felt yourself falling backwards.

He’d pushed himself off the bed and flipped you so quickly you hadn’t even seen it happen. Vision adjusting you saw his yellow eyes now red, red and black horns sprouted from his forehead.

“Open up for Daddy, kitten.” He was fully buried in your softened pussy before you could form a thought. Your body hadn’t forgotten his size, but you still felt a burning at your entrance where the skin struggled to stretch for him. Luci’s body fell onto yours, his hands bringing your legs up past his hips and behind his back. You hooked your feet together around his waist and held on with both arms, eyes rolling back with every thrust.

“You feel so good, you’re so tight,” he moaned directly into your ear. Bodies tightly pressed together, an embrace where only his hips would leave your skin and just long enough to piston back into you. Your legs were so far up that your hips weren’t on the bed anymore. The angle made your head fall back, muscles unable to receive signals from your bliss addled brain. His arms were under yours, resting beneath your back and on your shoulders, pulling you tighter into to him. You felt surrounded by him, every part of your body touching his. A tangle of flesh and whimpers. “You’re so beautiful, kitten. You take daddy’s cock so well. I’m melting.” His horns brushed against your head, the sound of them slipping across the comforter with every thrust reminding you of their presence.

Lucifer felt lost in you. He fought to keep his mind clear enough to ensure his embrace stayed gentle. You were a bundle of softness and heat under him. He felt his balls creeping up, tightening as he was ready to chase your own orgasm with his. For a second his eyes searched the immediate area for Alastor. The word “cum” ringing in his ears.

With a sigh, hot and heavy at your neck, he pressed into you as far as his body could enter. As you could feel the warmth of his cum filling you, your cunt began to spasm around him. Body instinctively hungry for him. His hands hooked under your shoulders held you still, your legs still tight around his waist.

You stayed there until you both were breathing normally. Your legs fell down, thighs falling open as you released your grip on him. Luci didn’t move for another minute, opting to rest his head in your chest. Silence, just the gently rolling waves of soft pleasure and contentment still coming.

Satiated, you suddenly felt so drowsy. “Luci.”

His head popped up, horns gone and sclera back to yellow, “Yes, kitten?”

“Blankets.” You let your eyes closed, feeling the comforter being pulled to you.

Alastor walked in to find you both asleep, Lucifer still on top of you, heads at the foot of the bed and feet on the pillows. The comforter half assed folded over your bodies.

He wasn’t surprised. Alastor peeled Luci off of you and tossed him onto the pillows. 

“Fuck you, hair cut,” Lucifer whispered, between awake and asleep.

“Yes yes, your majesty. Fuck you too.” Alastor picked you up and set you where you belonged. He pulled the blankets over you both, taking a beat to stare down at the scene.

Beloved, happily asleep. Obnoxious monarch, looking angelic beside you. Lucifer looked so much more tolerable when sleeping.

He considered for a moment returning to his own room, as he had planned all along. Looking from you to Lucifer, he felt something swell in his chest. 

Keeping you was a treasure. A treasure he trusted would always be his. But to have you and the king of hell? Not just influence by way of your ties to Lucifer? Well, that could bring power.

His mother always recommended containment for mint, Alastor pulling too many and not allowing for them to enjoy the benefits of their hard work for very long. Containment, he considered, locking the bedroom door and taking his place beside you.

⫘⫘⫘

When there was a knock in the morning all three of you popped up from the pillows.

“Who the hell is that? It’s so early…” your eyes struggled to focus on the clock.

“Fffuck,” Alastor held his face in his hands. “I forgot I-,”

“Hello?” Charlie said into the door.

You and Lucifer slowly turned to stare at Alastor, a thin smile from ear to ear on his face.

“Alastor asked me to wake you up. So you wouldn’t miss the planning meeting.”

“Can’t a demon be a little chaotic now and then?” Alastor mused, your eyes boring holes into his skull. 

The doorknob rattled, “Oh… He said it would be open. Well, okay… I guess I’ll let you sleep! Maybe next week!”

As Charlie made her way down the hall she just missed the sound of furniture moving and a thud as Lucifer tackled Alastor out of the bed and onto the floor, hands on his throat. 

This was going to be a problem.

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list): @cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

[daffodils-and-viscera]

we all agree how much these two interactions mirror each other in ozzie’s and sinsmas, with the reaching out and the moving away and these 2 idiots will learn how to hold hands one day they just love subconsciously pulling away too much

but i would like to submit to the court this similar scene from apology tour:

and say that there is so much evidence of blitzø's emotional growth between apology tour and sinsmas based exclusively on those two scenes

like. oh my god it's beautiful i love him so much

in apology tour stolas is so sad and blitzø wants to offer comfort but he doesn't know how!!! he's stuck in self-loathing mode and he doesn't know how to cheer stolas up and it's heartbreaking to watch!!!

and then some asshole who is BETTER THAN BLITZO jumps in and asks stolas to dance. blitzø lets him go- if he can't make stolas happy, clearly someone better is the answer.

and the worst part is that it works.

stolas (visibly at least) is so happy!! he's dancing and twirling and smiling and kissing and that guy is so obviously better than blitzø if he can accomplish that.

like.. look at that smile we love this birb so much 🥺

bUT IN SINSMAS

blitzø has done some work on himself and it shows soooo much in everything about how he treats stolas, but specifically the scene at the end is the perfect showcase.

stolas is sad, and it's an impossible situation but blitzø is able to offer comfort the way he wasn't in apology tour, opening up about barb but not making it about himself

there is nobody who would be better than blitzo right now, because blitzø has grown enough to be exactly what stolas needs in this moment. they have a bit of a talk, but remember what made stolas cheer up last time he was sad like this????? dancing

we know that stolas still isn't happy per se, but just the fact that blitzø could see him and be there for him in this moment shows us just how far he's come

and then stolas does his lil laugh and smile

and it's not as big or shiny or intense as that glimpse of him in apology tour, but it means so much more because we know it's real

stolas just lost all contact with his daughter for 100 years! of course he's not happy! but there are moments like this that can bring him joy and blitzø is just so wonderful in this moment entire episode

sloppy making out is not what is called for in this moment, and blitzø reads the situation so well and he's such a good support system for stolas

there's a profound point to be made here along the lines of 'blitzø IS better than blitzo' but i can't get there in words lol just imagine i ended this post really cohesively ❤️

they’ve come so far! i can’t wait until they learn how to not flinch away from each other’s hands!

[s-lverwing]

I’m so happy to read your Caracalla fanfics omg?? So yummy and good!!

I haven’t seen the movie yet (it’s been spoiled for me already tho- rip) and long message ahead yikes I’m sorry (not a request either!!)

Food for thought.. but I need to see Caracalla and a soft wife- (this is soooo anti his character) but I live for the ‘asshole to everyone.. except my WIFE’ trope and I feel like he would be like that to reader (because i said so lol)

Need to see soft spoken reader with loud, angry, dark, jealous, possessive Caracalla, I just need a man to be angrily in love with me at this point lmaoooo

Anyways pls share your thoughts if you’d like because I need to YAP about him- more people need to YAP about him !!

Hi!!! thank you for your kind words 💗 im glad youre happy to read what i wrote <3. and don’t worry about the yappin !! i LOVE to yap too. its a bit long the text so that why im adding a read more 😭😭😭

i dont think it would be too ooc for caracalla to have a soft wife. i think it actually can make so much sense when you think about how deeply fractured and emotionally starved he was. like in the movie he is violent, chaotic, and most likely consumed by his disease. but beneath all that, I KNOW he craves softness, someone who sees past his rage and bloodlust, someone who can offer him something what he’s never had: unconditional kindness (even if he doesn’t deserves it lmao)

i want to add that i can totally imagine him viewing her as a gift lmao, something the gods granted in a rare moment of mercy. which would make his possessive and obsessive behaviour worse. his “love” would be intense, protective, and dangerously devoted, but also strangely tender in a way only she gets to see.

i think caracalla’s jealousy would be volatile, loud, destructive, and entirely uncontrollable. like his possessiveness wouldn’t just came from a place of “love” but from a deep-seated fear of losing her. and if geta is involved, it would be even worse. like he wouldn’t have boundaries in his rage (lol does he ever has boundaries?). he even could hurt his wife, not out of intention ofc, but because he’s too far gone (like we see in the movie and the script with that geta scene).

BUT the second he realizes what he’s done, though, he’d be utterly shattered, falling apart in a way only she would EVER see. crying, begging, trembling—just very pathetic, in desperation. he’d fall to his knees without shame, pressing his face against her stomach or thighs, clinging to her like a drowning man. like almost panicking. words would come in a frantic, broken torrent with half apologies, half declarations of obsession. because he doesn’t know how to apologize, ofc.

i feel like he would know that his wife is both his greatest weakness and his only salvation.

sorry for the YAPPING snnfnckdkw i just love how pathetic he is after he lashes out 🥺

[eddiegettingshot]

Could i request another sneak peak of eddies big meat .. 🥺🙏… in this trying time …

aw hi best friend she lives in my scraps doc now to be ripped apart for future use because i stopped wanting to look at her ... so you can have the whole dream sex scene where spit is acceptable lube and eddie still has his mustache <3 :)

1.7k of nsfw under the cut lmao

He knows it’s Eddie marrow-deep, the way anyone knows anything in a dream.

Buck opens his eyes to light everywhere, so radiant the entire bedroom shimmers, a pale beam of it crossing Eddie’s long golden fingers where they’re clasped around Buck’s forearms to keep him in place. Eddie’s draped along his back, unapologetic about letting Buck, prone and practically immobilized, bear his full weight. Buck can’t see him, and he doesn’t say a word, just rubs his mouth into the spot beneath Buck’s ear and digs his thumbs into the insides of Buck’s wrists, but Buck is certain Eddie’s smiling. His mustache, which he’d long-since shaved in real life, is bristly, but nice. Really nice. Softer than Buck had thought it would be.

Then there’s the matter of Eddie’s cock, which he rocks slowly into the cleft of Buck’s ass. Buck can’t see that either, but it feels nice, too, stiff and hot and already soaked at the head. Buck tries to arch into him, give him something else, make it better; Eddie just laughs and keeps working him into the mattress, a lazy pantomime of a real fuck.

Dissatisfied, Buck struggles beneath him. Eddie bites him at the nape like an animal, hard enough to sting, and flattens his chest between Buck’s shoulder blades to settle him. He flexes his grip on Buck’s arms. Trapped like this, Buck can feel all of him: his ribs expand, and his belly presses into Buck’s spine as he sighs. 

The restlessness—whatever it is, that under-the-skin itch to stay in motion—drains away, defeated by Eddie’s wordless command. Buck sighs, too, turning his cheek into the pillow. 

The thing is, he knows it’s Eddie because it couldn’t be anyone else. 

“Good. That’s good,” Eddie says, low, dragging kisses across Buck’s jaw and cheek.

Buck’s not even doing anything. Eddie won’t let him, so he doesn’t try—even as mouthwatering want seizes his gut and pours blistering heat through his pelvis. He can’t stop shifting his erection against the sheets. The praise still doesn’t feel entirely unearned.

“It’d be better,” Buck says, “if you would actually put it in.”

“We ain’t got time for that,” Eddie says. Then (and he’s definitely smiling—the shape of it curls around his words): “Morning, Buck.”

It’s the familiar, beloved rasp of Eddie’s voice, that mundanity paired with getting almost-fucked, that makes Buck groan with impatience and spread his thighs. A blunted ache throbs behind Buck’s sternum. It’s dirty to let himself be overpowered this way, he thinks, except for that it feels closer to being held than pinned. With Eddie—his warm skin, his steady breath—it doesn’t matter. It’s all the same.

“Come on, Eddie,” he says. “Quit humping me.” 

“That’s usually my line.”

“Woof,” Buck huffs, and they both laugh—Eddie’s, shaky and breathless, his cock nudging right where Buck needs him; Buck’s, a little awed over this quotidian exchange alone. 

Buck noses to the side and opens his mouth against the back of Eddie’s hand, licking at the thin salty skin. He imagines there’s a vein there. He imagines he can feel the blood inside of it pulsing on his tongue—onto his tongue—and follows it to Eddie’s knuckles. Scraping his teeth over them, he tries again: “We could make time.”

“You might be off today, but I’m gonna be late for my shift,” Eddie says. He’s wrong. He’s never late. Buck hitches his ass up, insistently seeking contact.

Eddie groans, long-suffering, dropping his over-warm face into Buck’s shoulder.

“You won’t. And if you are, I—I’ll tell Cap it was my fault,” Buck coaxes. 

He doesn’t have to, since Eddie’s already letting go of him, spitting into his palm, drawing away just enough to reach down, wet his dick, and guide it firmly into place. But it’s nice to beg so freely, even nicer to chase down that singular moment where Eddie gives in. To keep pushing, just because he can—because Eddie allows it, every time.

“Please don’t,” Eddie snorts. He rubs up against Buck’s hole, purposeful rather than teasing now, and Buck shivers, clenching under the contact. “I’m pretty sure that breaks the station law against oversharing, and I don’t have enough cash left for the Buck’s Big Mouth jar.”

Buck’s shameless snickering dissolves into a wavering moan as Eddie eases forward, opening him on just the tip first. Even that feels like a lot, feels fucking good, the first couple inches igniting nerves that make the backs of his thighs tingle.

“Fuck,” he says. Whimpers, really, kind of airy and tremulous.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“This what you wanted?” Eddie’s pressed all the way into him, flush with Buck’s ass. He grabs Buck around the hip to maneuver the angle, tilting him perfectly into place as if by instinct. The first firm thrust wrenches all the air from Buck’s lungs.

“Eddie,” is all he manages, naturally.

The slide is effortless, too easy with spit alone, but Eddie’s cock fills him up so well that all Buck can think is that if this is real, if this is happening, then maybe it was just meant to be right here, taking up all this space inside him, and that Eddie was meant to be here, too, the whole of his body an anchor. His hips begin to snap, hard and focused enough to get Buck panting. 

“W—Wait,” Buck gasps. “Go slow.”

Eddie obliges, of course. He kisses the nape of Buck’s neck, the sore spot he’d used to bully Buck into submission before. It tickles. 

“Slower,” he begs—for the first time in his life, probably. It’s a sudden, inconvenient desire, considering they really don’t have much time. 

Incredulous but uneven, Eddie asks, “Seriously?” 

Buck grins. “Yeah,” he says.

Eddie’s got a grounding hand clamped tight and high on Buck’s waist, fingertips hooking beneath his ribs. Buck reaches around, takes him by the wrist, and guides that hand up to his throat, choking off his own desperate moaning mostly because he knows Eddie finds it unbearably hot. 

“Buck,” Eddie maybe mumbles, although it’s hard to decipher through the hazy head rush. He gives Buck a loving squeeze, but that’s not enough; after squeezing his wrist in return, Buck tugs him up until he can wrap his lips around Eddie’s forefingers and suck. 

He’d asked for slow, so Eddie’s barely even fucking him anymore. His hips remain crushed to Buck’s ass; he’s rocking forward in small, tight motions like there’s any way to get deeper. There isn’t, there can’t be. Stretched raw, speared apart, Buck already feels disassembled. 

Eddie shifts, and it’s—“There, right there,” Buck groans, garbled with his mouth full, but Eddie understands. 

He must take it as, like, permission, or something—God, that’s a nice idea—because he presses down on the ridge of Buck’s bottom teeth and pushes his nose against Buck’s ear and gives it to him. No more of that indolent grinding; he slams in, smooth and ceaseless, unforgiving on Buck’s prostate.

“I love you,” Eddie says, hoarse with sudden emotion. “You know that?” 

Fuck, yes—with Eddie’s broad, calloused palm holding his jaw fast, and Eddie’s fingers down his throat, and Eddie’s sweaty cheek brushing his, and Eddie’s big cock ripping him wide, he does. He feels it everywhere. He cries out, muffled, guttural, and deliriously pleased as the heat builds. 

“Answer me,” Eddie murmurs. He slips his fingers out of Buck’s mouth. A strand of drool keeps them connected to Buck’s lower lip. One particularly rude thrust punches a strangled noise out of him. 

“Fuck, Eddie, I—I know.”

“What do you know?”

“You love me,” Buck says. “I know you love me.”

“That’s right,” Eddie says, pressing a sloppy, proprietary kiss under Buck’s ear. “I love you, Buck.”

“I want—”

“You ready to come?”

“Yeah,” Buck moans, and then, “No, I—” 

Somehow, with Eddie surrounding him, it hadn’t occurred to Buck how badly he needed to breathe his air and touch him, too—to kiss his mouth, taste the sweat on his mustache. To thumb at his furrowed brow. To watch him come and bask in the blazing heat of his satisfaction. 

Eddie would like it—filling Buck up, flooding him inside. He does like it. Doesn’t he? Likes laying his claim, more than anything. 

That’s what it really is, after all, when he gives Buck his cock, and his come, and his bite, and his hand around Buck’s throat, and every spare, hard-won minute he’s got. I love you really means that Buck’s his to keep, and Eddie even says that in his sleep sometimes, mumbled into Buck’s hair and occasionally broken by his embarrassing snoring. 

He must like that Buck belongs to him. He has to. More than anything, Buck needs to look Eddie in the eye when he says everything he wants to say, so he can be absolutely certain of this. He was certain, a moment ago, but Eddie’s grasp on him is weakening, or maybe Buck’s slipping out of his hold. 

Buck tries to tell him, “I want to see you.”

Ideally, Eddie will grin when Buck turns in the cage of his arms and begs: Don’t go anywhere. I love you, too. Let’s just do this forever. I can take it. He’ll make that sound he makes, that quietly amused “Hm,” that has a million meanings, all of which Buck has memorized. He’ll dutifully argue that they’d probably miss their real life eventually—plus they’ve got a mortgage to pay and Buck would get bored without the thrill of saving lives. Eddie’s good at choosing the right moment to be a little bit terrible, so he’ll grab Buck by the thighs to stifle any retort, haul him into position to pound him just right, and say something irresistibly dirty, like, Give it to me, sweetheart, show me how you come. 

And Buck would. He’s already close; it’s knifing through his belly, the only palpable feeling left—

Forget an orgasm; he doesn’t even get to roll over before the whole scene washes away, taking Eddie with it.

Panting, Buck blinks the afterimage of Eddie’s hands out of his head, but he can’t banish the thought that he wouldn’t let Eddie try to convince him of anything. He’d pull him down, kiss him hard, lick his canine teeth, and plead again, and again, and again, until Eddie agreed to use his body as a dwelling; to live inside him, and nowhere else.

[ivy-loves-chocolate]

hi! i wanted to start this off by saying i love your writing, it's so wonderful!!! could i request the RE men on how they'd act on their wedding/eloping day w fem!reader please? fluff & nsfw are more than welcome :) thank you!!!

୨୧ Note: thank you so much anon for the kind words 🥺 and of course you can request that! You can request anything! This idea is very beautiful and thank you for it. I had a fun time writing it, and I hope you will have a fun time reading it as well 💖

୨୧ Warning: this post contains nsfw scenes.

Also, my commissions are open, so if you are interested visit my ko-fi page. Thank youuuu 🥰

He wants to keep things intimate. While the idea of a big, extravagant wedding appeals to him, he values the thought of spending this special day just with you, where he can truly be himself. In private, he can express his love and admiration without holding back, showing you his soft and gentle side, away from the prying eyes of others.

This means he’ll make your elopement day unforgettable. He'll hire a priest to officiate your union, will book the most luxurious hotel, and he'll also prepare the itinerary for your honeymoon. He wants to spend an entire month with you, where you will be travelling, experiencing new things, and deepening your bond.

He'd spend weeks working on his vows. Don't get me wrong, he makes sure you know how much he loves you. Every day, even if it's a gesture or a small action, by the time you go to sleep, you need to know that you are being worshipped and loved.

His heart will fill with joy, and his eyes will sparkle with pride as he sees you in that white dress. All he can think of is how lovely and elegant you look, and also how beautiful it will look on the floor when you get to your room.

He'd start off slowly, gentle, wanting to take his time with you. He will place kisses all over your body, starting with your lips and neck, going all the way down between your legs. His tongue will move relentlessly over and around your clit, his fingers curling and twisting inside you, pulling out some delicious moans out of you—those kinds that make his shaft twitch.

He will press his body over yours, looking for closure, as he pushes his cock inside of you. You wrap your arms and legs around him, keeping him tight in your embrace. As he keeps stretching you, he kisses your neck and whispers praises in your ear about how well you take him and how good your pussy feels.

He cums inside you multiple times that night, filling you up to the brim. He yearns that one day he can see your belly full with his kids. He doesn't care about the gender; all he wants are a lot of healthy little ones. You can imagine the excitement when you showed him the positive pregnancy test.

He wants an elopement day because he never knows when he'll have to hop on his next mission. So, after you said "yes," he bought two plane tickets to a country with the fastest departure date available.

Before leaving, he helped you out with the list of things that needed to be done, and luckily everything went incredibly smoothly, as if this holy union was meant to happen.

Even if the ceremony was quicker than expected, you managed to feel the magic of the moment, the suspense and emotions after saying "I do," the overwhelming joy while reciting and hearing each other's vows, and the tingling and burning love of the kiss that bound your souls. Even if his life is full of uncertainties, he is happy to know that you are one constant in his life.

After that, you spent the whole day walking around the city. An elderly couple saw your formal attire, and they were so confused after they heard you just got married, but they were so adorable in their uncertainty. "Why do you mean you got married? Just like that? Where are the guests? Where did you hold the ceremony?" They were very open-minded about it, and they began sharing their wedding day.

After that, you ate at a local restaurant. Again, nothing fancy, something you both liked that had a good view and good food.

The hotel was nice too, but none of you got a chance to admire it as you were too drunk and too over each other. Until you reach your room, both of you engaged in a hot make-out session.

Leon undresses you quickly. The cold air didn't have a chance to tickle your hot skin as Leon was fast to roll over you. Skin pressed on skin tightly, he kept whispering a lot of sweet praises that just trickled over your fevered heart, as they felt so much more intense than would normally say them. His lips felt like feathers on your skin, and they couldn't stop as your melodic moans kept fuelling the burning desire he had for you.

He helped you position yourself on top of him and gasped for air as your warm cunt began to engulf his cock. The warm walls kept contracting around him as you went up and down, and your hips didn't take a single break from moving as Leon felt so good inside of you. His curved shaft kept rubbing that spot inside you, and desperate moans kept escaping your mouth as you felt your orgasm coming, each more melodic and louder than the other. You rested your hand on his chest as your legs became tired, but Leon's powerful grip on your hips helped you keep the pace.

Your legs began shaking, and you collapsed on top of him, feeling that pressure fading from your belly. Your pussy contracted around him, beginning to milk him as soon as he came. You could hear his sobs, his sweet and pathetic ones, as he released a couple of hot, thick spurts inside you.

He kept watching his wife with an adoring gaze for the rest of the night and only fell asleep when the first rays of the sun pierced the sky.

He wants an elopement day with a few guests and a small reception. Even if the idea of a secret wedding day pierced his mind, he decided that it's best to spend this important day with those who are closest to you.

Luis often compliments you, his lips being nothing more than a music stave on which words flow, creating an anthem dedicated to your beauty. He is the type of man to cherish everything about you.

He chose a cabin in the woods because he wanted to give you the fairytale wedding you dreamt of. It's very intimate and very secluded from the outside world. The whole evening felt like you were in a bubble stuck in time. Neither of you felt how the time passed; you were too preoccupied to consume and cherish this special moment. His eyes followed you all day, admiration and desire growing with each passing minute.

Since he was very eager to be alone with you, he carried you with a smirk to your room.

"God, I wanted you all night," he'd whisper in a sweet tone as he'd lay you on the bed. "The way this dress fit on your body…" His hands did most of the talking for him, as they moved so gently yet firmly to take off your dress. He took his time with you, wanting to savour every inch of your body. When he pushed the dress past your boobs, he couldn't resist and stopped to give them some attention. Those beautiful hard nipples were just so beautiful that he had to suck them for a brief moment. You began to moan instantly as you felt his skilled tongue going in circles around the sensitive buds, and you grabbed his hair in a firm grip just how he liked it.

"I can't have enough of you…" he said between moans.

"Me neither…undress me, please." You sobbed as you pushed his head down, urging him to continue. Your mouth watered at the simple thought of his cock going inside you. You wanted him so, so bad that it hurt. You could see his chest rising and falling, showing how heavily he was breathing. He was burning up with desire and passion.

He slid the dress across your body with one smooth move and tossed it on the floor. After that, he quickly got rid of his own clothes, and when you noticed his swollen, red cock, your whole body shivered.

He quickly jumped on top of you, and soon he pushed the first inches in your pussy, stretching you nice and easy given how wet you were.

"It's like you were made for me…." he whined, his mind being clouded by euphoria.

Luis kept increasing his pace, being driven by his own arousal and by your delightful moans. Your cunt was so intoxicating for him, as it clouded his judgement, removing every ounce of self-control and making him act on pure instinct, and his instinct at that time was to bury himself inside you over and over and over until he had consumed everything, and then start again.

He kept rubbing that spot inside of you, increasing the pressure in your abdomen until you felt like bursting. Eventually, the orgasm hit you hard, and it hit him too. He filled you up to the brim, hot, thick spurts of his cum flowing inside you.

He watched you the whole night, not wanting to close his eyes because he wanted to remember your beautiful, sleeping face. Eventually, the fatigue was stronger, and he fell asleep, dreaming of your future.

Surprisingly, he wants a wedding day. After everything he'd been through, he wants something beautiful, something bright, something to remind him that this world is worth living in. Besides, he knew how much you wanted a big wedding, so he wants to comply and satisfy every wish that you have.

Krauser also has a bit of an ego that needs to be satisfied, and this wedding is perfect for that. Every detail will stand out, from the reception to your dress. He was fully involved in planning everything, completely committed to you every step of the way.

Everything was well organised and planned by the second, just as he likes. His heart was filled with joy and pride when heads turned to admire you as you walked down the aisle. He was very handsome too, but you took the spotlight, and he couldn't be more happy. Holding your hands, looking into your eyes, and saying "I do," these moments will be imprinted in his brain, and this feeling will live in his heart until the day he will die.

Having arrived in the room, his hands immediately glued themselves to your body. He barely contained himself all night. Slight touches here and there, under the table, on the dance floor, a small make-out session in the wardrobe—he was boiling up with desire and need.

"You are gorgeous, so, so gorgeous," he said amidst the kiss. A lot of tension was between you that needed to be released.

Krauser managed to take off your pompous dress in a skilled way, leaving you bare. Once he saw your naked body, his mind was clouded at once with an urging need to fuck you senseless, so he picked you up and threw you on the soft mattress.

He was insatiable. His tongue kept drawing circles around your swollen clit over and over, and his fingers would fuck you relentlessly until his whole hand was soaked. His cock was throbbing in his pants more frequently as your moans increased in volume.

"You taste delicious, honey," he said between his own moans.

"I know…now can you please fuck me?" You sobbed, being more and more desperate for his cock, and it's normal considering how much he teased you in the evening.

"How can I say no to you, my love?" he said as he stood up, one hand on your face and the other working to remove his pants. "God, you are so beautiful." His big thumb was running over your cheek; his gaze was full of admiration.

He gave you what you wanted, and he made sure that you'd cry out his name on each and every thrust. His cock massaged that spot inside you so well that it made you curl your toes immediately. You hugged him tight because your emotions were all over the place.

Eventually, your orgasm hit you hard, causing your body to tremble a bit. Krauser made sure to empty his load inside you, and that was so easy considering how your wear cunt kept milking him.

After that, he took care of you. He helped you get ready for bed; he ordered some food and put on a good movie. Of course that you went a couple more rounds after and eventually fell asleep exhausted.

[sukunas-wife]

hhey, I accidentally came across your channel and read everything that was there, it's too good. could you write a story about how Yuji grows up? how he starts fighting with opponents or something like that :D?

I suck at writing fighting I’m sorry 😭 I’m terrible honestly so I did it in a different way I apologize in advance 🥺🤍

Yuji growing up UNDER SUKUNA IS CRAZY because 1 Ryomen’s cursed presence is so strong that Yuji’s cursed energy happened to be tied up all cute and pretty with a little cursed energy ribbon made of Sukuna’s cursed energy.

The integration of the two led Yuji to be able to use Malevolent Shrine

🥹 Made his daddy proud the day the three of you were outside and someone tried to ambush your little family, Yuji’s eyes widened seeing his dad calmly bring his hands together “Domain Expansion, Malevolent Shrine.”

The world flashed before Yuji’s eyes with the sound of a bell and drip. It was after that moment when everything was clear little ⅘ year old Yuji pushed his hands together mimicking his father trying to be cool “Domain expansion! Malevolent Shrine!”

Neither you nor Sukuna expected it to work, until it did-

There was Sukuna protecting you from Yuji’s unstable barely registering domain. After everything was said and done. The two of you couldn’t help but look at each other. “Did… did he” Sukuna let you go, “Yuji..”

Yuji ran at his dad with the biggest smile, screaming “did you see that!? Did you!? Did you!?” When Sukuna picked him up, throwing him up into the air, “I did! We need to talk about your little domain.”

That’s where he started his training under his father because he knew no one else could train him as well as he could. It evolved to Yuji being able to use his own energy in fighting. It was the cutest thing seeing your son's little fist while he punched away at some poor little punching bag with his father there mocking him to get him angry to put more curse behind his hits.

“Aw, this sack of sand too much for you brat? Move- I’ll show you how to really put some curse behind it.”

Yuji watched how his dad pinned the punching sack to post and took a fighting stance, in his eyes he could see the red cursed energy glowing skeins his fathers fists and when he struck it was over. The post and sack were nothing, “I WANNA DO THAT!”

It was a beautiful and cursed sight, Ryomen Yuji, (the name changes based on how my brain works I’m sorry 🥹) , he had softer features, but he had developed similar markings to his father. The only thing keeping him from being his father was the vast size difference. He had even taken to using a robe similar to his dads older style.

Ryomen Yuji wasn’t a tyrant, but if he turned out, he very much could be just a cruel man as his father.

Especially when Jujutsu Sorcerer started to trail after him thinking if they could kill the son the father would bend.

They laid corrected in their own pools of blood.

His first solo fight was when he had turned 15 and he asked if he could go to the town to gay a few things of his own. You were weary feeling something was bound to happen, Sukuna pulled you into his side assuring you there is no doubt in his mind Yuji would be able to take care of himself, he would know, he trained him for the last eleven years.

So you let him leave, he was surrounded not too soon before reaching the village, “IT'S RYOMEN SUKUNA!”

His eyes were quick to move around the group “FOOL THAT'S NOT RYOMEN SUKUNA THAT'S-… even better, Ryomen Sukuna may be a monster but even then this boy looks well enough to know someone has to give a damn about him, we need to restrict him.”

There was Yuji imbuing his cursed energy into his fists, it was a scene to watch how he could punch through a man's chest like silk tofu. How easily he could take a man’s head in his hand digging his fingers into their back around their spine to separate them entirely.

He was ágile, being attacked from both sides by men with cursed tools. Blades on chains, swinging in opposing directions grazing his chest and back as he turned to doing his best to avoid them, he took one chain wrapping it around his hand and turning his back to that man pulling the chain I’ve this shoulder sending the man flying into the air. He turned facing the second who was still running at him catching him by taking his face in his hand and crushing his face in , taking the 2nd man’s blade he spun the chain around before slinging the blade at the falling sorcerer piercing his skull leaving him to fall dead to the ground. He carried on with brute force until another wave of Sorcerer's came, he was huffing but he was thrilled, every year of training, every technique and day spent bleeding, fighting and pouring every ounce of energy and raw brute strength and cursed energy.

“Domain Expansion” it felt like time froze, “Malevolent Shrine.”

Yuji’s domain wasn’t as vast as his fathers, but was equally intimidating. There he stood on the pile of skulls in front of the shrine, hands pressed together, “You will see true power.”

It felt like the domain shook when he uttered the simple word “..cleave…” It was a sure hit taking out every living being in the area.

—- —- —- —-

But of course, like father, like son. When Sukuna was going to leave you to go tend to “business” Yuji begged to go, leaving you home with Anya and for a girls week which turned to a girls month.

During this month your boys had learned one thing in battle, they could merge their domains in a way no one else would ever be able to.

Sukuna had heard rumours of some prestigious clan that wanted his head, and if its head they wanted, he decided he’d personally deliver it personally into their city and into their pathetic little lives. Why wait for the fight to come to his home and put his little family at risk when he could go to the fight and strike while the steel is hot and brittle.

That was until Yuji started to beg to go, no matter how many times Sukuna would tell him no he would persist he go with his father. Finally after talking to you, and even when you didn’t want to let him go, Yuji begged and begged using his little puppy eyed beg you caved and said if either of them came back hurt or didn’t come back at all you would remarry and forget about both of them. It was a bluff but the jealousy was enough to make Sukuna squint at you before whacking Yuji on the back of his head lightly, “Let’s go brat, the sooner we get this done the sooner we come back home and your mother won’t roll in her grave.”

Still Sukuna pulled you into him by your waist and kissed you making Anya and Yuji exaggeratedly “eewww” before he left.

They warped quickly now that Sukuna was in a snappy mood, “pfft, remarry, that woman couldn’t find a man worth one of my- oh?”

It was as if the invasion was anticipated, Sukuna used a lower arm to push Yuji behind him, “Stand back brat, I said you could come, I never said you could fight.” It was an instant, every archer and swordsmen surrounding the two had either been cleaved or lit a light. ”Now we’re really going to have some fun.”

Yuji trailed after his father watching how he barreled through everything and everyone with no regard, his actions were quick and precise. He made their way straight to the centre of the shinden-zukuri with ease. Yuji was astounded, his father would always make minimal movement with maximum damage, but this was different, he was just showing off. They were surrounded and the room was suffocating with the large amounts or pressure from cursed energy flowing. He backed up to Sukuna, and they stood back to back, Yuji was ready to fight, Sukuna was amused and having the time of his life, he would win and there was no doubt in his mind. The two fought in a way that reminded Sukuna of the day you fought by his side. A side of you not even his children would ever know. They danced in circles, taking life after life until they were forced closer, as if they had the same unspoken idea both of them expanded their domain not letting the other know.

The world shook in the wake of the combined domain, the humans witnessing the ethereal domain would die without fail.

The shrines combined to make a full size Sanmon gate, strikingly similar to the former shrine. The only difference was that Sukuna stood there like the god Vishnu, Two hands holding his domain symbol just above Yuji’s height level, the other two holding his tools up and on display, Yuji was a step below him with hands in the matching domain form. The two shared a single brain cell in that moment, “Malevolent Temple.”

It had no barrier, it turned into an open space, the hits were guaranteed. In the end when every living thing in the vicinity was reduced to nothing and the domain closed, it came to show even the former shinden-zukuri has been reduced to dust on the ground.

What he would’ve stretched over days of fun they had completed in mere seconds. But now that his eyes had been opened to this new found power he was intrigued and needed to know more.

This led to Sukuna dragging Yuji around with him to test the limits of their new found glory for weeks until he finally allowed Yuji to return home. You weren’t frantic when they returned because Uraume had calmed your beating heart once a week with the messenger birds you had begged him to take along. But you were scared because Sukuna did not slip into bed as he usually would, instead he scooped you up, threw you over his shoulder and brought you outside with him, “Let’s go woman.” Was all you heard as you were shaken awake and met with the morning's cold air, “kuna, love, I’m so tired.”

You felt Sukuna land a smack on your rump, “Just five minutes and I’ll carry you back.” You did your best to look back at him and you caught him looking back at you with a smug smile, “fine.”

He sat you on the steps to your home, where you saw Yuji, he had that look of excitement, his eyes were gleaming the way they would as a child when he’d see his father use a new technique.

“Mom! Mom! You’re going to love this!” You smiled as Sukuna rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand letting it slip from his hold as he made his way back to Yuji.

Tag List: Permanent because this doesn’t feel very squishy 🥺

@sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @dolliira @princessluvz

@simpforyoubitch @domainofmarie @ilovemybabies378 @anyaswlrd @cyder-puff

[hazbinwhoree]

Pls could i request a fix it of Adams death where reader saves him (somehow, i dont know *magic* 😭) and its hurt/comfort but ends up happy 🥺 because my soul hurts and needs comfort 🫠 pretty please and thank you for writing him so on point 😍

Not Today

A/N: Reader is a demon overlord with magic abilities.

(Name) had told Adam that attacking the hotel was a dumb and dangerous idea. So she watched the attack from afar in case something went wrong. And something went wrong. She could feel it. She rushed to the scene of the battle’s aftermath.

She wasn’t seeing Adam anywhere, until she saw him lying on the ground in a pool of his own golden blood.

“NO!” she screamed, sprinting over to him. She dropped to her knees and rolled him onto his back, panicking. “ADAM!” Adam’s eyes fluttered open and he smiled when he saw (Name). “Fuck, what did I tell you, what did I tell you?” Adam opened his mouth and blood trickled out. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

His eyes closed. “No no no, Adam, ADAM!” (Name) shook him before placing her ear on Adam’s chest. His heart was slowing.

(Name) sat back on her knees, taking a deep breath. She closed her eyes and placed one hand over his stab wound and one hand on his heart. Her hair began to float around her head, and her entire body glew green. Adam’s wounds stitched themselves back together and his heart restarted.

Adam suddenly shot up into a sitting position, gasping. He hands ran over where his injuries had previously been, finding no stab wounds. “Hah!” he exclaimed, slightly shocked but mostly excited.

(Name) collapsed.

“I’m alive! I’m alive, you fucking did it– (Name)?” Adam turned to find (Name) unconscious on the ground.

“No, what the fuck, no!” He pulled (Name) into his arms and shook her. (Name)’s eyelids fluttered open, eyes half-lidded as she stared up at him, a grin stretching across her face. “Adam,” she whispered.

Adam let out a massive sigh of relief. “Jesus, don’t fucking do that shit, bitch. Scared the fuck out of me. What happened?”

(Name) tried to sit up but found herself too weak. “It’s just exhaustion. I’ve never used magic that strong before.” They were both brimming with relief. (Name) reached up to cup his bare face in her hand. Adam leaned into the touch.

“You’re alive,” (Name) said in awe. “Thanks to you, babe,” Adam grinned. He created a portal and stood, picking (Name) up. “You were just stabbed, I can walk,” (Name) insisted. Adam shook his head. “Shut up.” He carried her through the portal.

Back in Heaven, (Name) finally managed to convince Adam to put her down. Her legs were only a little shaky, but Adam held onto her until she kissed his hand and steadied herself.

(Name) received stares from every angel around as she was very clearly a demon. Adam held her against him and took flight to get to his home faster. He landed on his balcony and ushered (Name) inside.

Once they were inside, (Name) threw herself at Adam, hugging him as tightly as she could. Adam chuckled, hugging her back and wrapping his wings around her. “I thought I was going to lose you,” (Name) mumbled. “Never be that stupid again.”

Adam smiled softly. “I won’t, I promise.”

Their moment was interrupted by a pounding at the door. Word of seeing Adam had spread to Lute, who came to see if her beloved commander really was alive. Adam let her in and she simply stood and stared with her mouth slightly agape.

“You– how?”

Adam stepped aside and gestured towards (Name). Lute stared at (Name). After a long moment, she suddenly rushed forward, hugging (Name) with her one arm. (Name) was surprised, realizing Lute was hugging her and not attacking her.

She awkwardly hugged the angel back. “Thank you,” Lute muttered. “Thank you so much.”

Lute pulled back and turned to Adam, teary eyed. “Don’t be a pussy, Lute, I’m fine,” Adam teased. Lute sniffed and wiped away her tears. “It’s good to see you, sir.” She left without questioning why (Name), a demon, was in Heaven, grateful enough to turn a blind eye.

As soon as she was gone, (Name) and Adam embraced again.

“You’re never allowed to leave me,” (Name) said, slightly muffled by her face being buried in Adam’s chest. “Don’t tell me what to do, bitch,” Adam joked. (Name) was so happy she didn’t even have a retort.

“I love you,” Adam admitted after a moment.

“I love you too.”