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unriding · 2 months ago

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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

#彡 favorites.#cw slavery #cw racism #cw violence #cw sa mention #the first sentence with the block letters ): it says I’ve always love you ??? gonna go cry now (I already did last night)#‘your eyes went soft. beneath the artificial fragrance / you finally caught a hint of his family scent’ ‘the way it always is when he’s #scared.’ THIS LINE BROKE MY HEART. his facade is not facading . WE KNOW. WE WILL ALWAYS KNOW #‘nothing of value’ god dammit aventurine i want to shake his shoulders so bad. this is killing me #OMG THE COIN PURSE PART. THE READER IS SO SWEET )))))): OMG. I remember the face I made at that part /pos and I did tear up quite a bit #‘you never let me do my job’ YEAH. what’s up with that ????????? aventurine u turd. I WANT HIM TO LET US LOVE HIM SOOOO BAD HGGGRRRRRRRRRRR #‘no im actually a great liar. you’re just too good at reading me. it’s very inconvenient you know.’ okay i don’t know how to explain how i #feel. but can I say I heard this perfectly in his voice ? and it made me react some way. like jaw fell open kind of way. your characteriza #UGH I HATE THE TAG LIMIT characterization** IS SO GOOD I CAN HEAR EVERYTHING IN MY HEAD it’s like a movie is playing in my brain mhm mhm!!!#also the part where we keep repeating aventurine over and over and he keeps talking about what he could buy ): LISTEN TO MMMMMEMEEEEEEEHHRH #‘it went against every instinct not to touch him’ THIS IS WHAT I MEANT in my word dump )): trying so hard but so conflicted because #as an alpha you can make it better for him. but he doesn’t want that so u respect it. but he’s in so much pain ): UGHHHHHHHHHH #the sweater part . are you serious /pos. this is such a cute little detail ): I’m gonna start sobbing again can we give him the world #‘everything smells like you’ im sorry 😭 we don’t have much to work with mr aventurine BUT HE SAID ‘I don’t mind it’ SO🥺🥺🥺#‘copper’ ‘they want it for the copper’ the way I started laughing because r u serious . I’m actually a little . brow twitched. BROW TWITCHE #oh okay the copper! right. the copper. (the table flips over) be so fr rn /pos #the entire wrist scene I read with one hand over an eye and also hidden under my blankets because I was so tense HEJDKCKJCKD #‘aventurine would rather die than be owned again’ my heart shattered into pieces at this btw #him still remembering the pass to the muzzle ): and the ‘are you leaving’ im literally gonna cry all over again /pos #the neck scent gland fucked me up so bad. and the rain scent. and he likes it because it’s ours . x _ x / T_T #i have thoughts about your other fic but I will probably write them tomorrow because now I would like to re-re-re-read this one 😅#I’ve always loved * for the first tag dammit I can’t imagine how many typos are in this whole thing #TLDR : great work !!! loved this > < <33

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the-acid-pear · 6 months ago

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Why did my cooking dream get hijacked by my brain making a William Afton oc and au what was that about.

#luly talks #my dreams #I'll peace like i can recollect it was weird #bc it literally was ME BUYING GROCERIES W MY DAD but then the line between when we ended and Michael and William started blurred #i remember the grocery store very well also bc it was very similar to the one i go always to but smaller and more sepia #it was dark for a grocery store like it was just letting sunlight in #pears were half off like some black friday offer so all the products were suuuper cheap #i saw one bottle of milky pear juice for like 1k. and the same w these 4 stacks of frozen waffles who were like 1070.#or this bottle of pear pancake mixture that had 2 or 4 lts #it was kind of when i went away that thr lines started blurring so let me tell you what i remember about this Afton:#he didnt seem. murderous. he was grocery shopping w his kid for fuck's sake 😭 i think he was even sitting somewhere while i ran back and #forth taken aback by these offers? like kinda dismissive at best #uh. Henry was brought up believe it or not. it was like... they broke up or something? like he was kinda upset about the mention but like #in a i dont want to explain why im not with him rn sort of way #very insecure he seemed. like he run into this woman who might've been someone but idk who was whom asked sbout henry and bro was SWEATING #you'd say dream william was a fucking loser he just got locked in thinking like what do i say and HOW do i say it #to make it sound casual but also not weird.#bc on top of all he also seemed to have some weird gender things going on bc he first instinct when trying to explain himself to the woman #(who i cannot stress enough was super friendly like a fucking neighbor or something just going hey hi! hows da family? ^_^)#was to refer to them both as girls as this jokey comradery Let's Ignore The Topic thing before going No That's Bad I Can't Say That #this whole internal monologue in my dream happened in a sort of comic panel thing btw where shit went from these warm browns and greens and #shit from the grocery store to jarring black and whites and reds as William tried to have a straight thought #looks wise unfortunately not a lot going on.though considering this was literally my dream getting turned over can we say my Afton is argie #something something my turn stealing from them etc etc or whatever #uh. brown hair. but not too dark. it was greying and that was making it lighter. also very angular face as you'd expect #high cheekbones pretty eyebrows no facial hair. hair was a bit longuish tho? like a messy ear length maybe?#he had a button up w buttons lose bc it's so hot and humid rn also sunglasses which i know 100% was influenced bc the last design i rbed #a little.before napping #also he had age makes too though his age was most visible in his scrawny long exposed neck #me/mike change was minimal bc we're both pale and brunette hit tag limit so hope y'all like my brain's oc i guess 😭

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etfrin · 1 year ago

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⤷❝ The Quiet Gift | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | squirting, Snow is his own warning, mentions of killing, possessiveness, fingering (f. receiving), bathroom sex, mirror sex, semi-public sex (there was a gala), pinv sex, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), dumbfication if you squint, dom sub undertones, degradation, ownership kink, breath play with a twist | lmk if I forgot anything!

⇢☾Pairing: young president Coriolanus Snow x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: continuation of the arranged marriage au, this is your one year anniversary with him with a gala held in place to celebrate, you get insecure because of some bitches and Coryo fucks you in the bathroom with sprinkles of your daily life with him.

⇢☾Request: this is a request (idk if i’m writing it in the write place im new to tumblr i usually use wattpad) young coriolanus snow bathroom mirror sex like him making u watch ur self come undone in the mirror

⇢☾A/N: enjoy everyone! And to one who requested, hope you like this! :) this might be my last post of this theme btw, i am getting sick of the blue :/

arranged marriage au: the study, mine to love

< masterlist > < bc: @cafekitsune > < tag list >

A year had passed of your marriage, a bond between two souls which wasn't much of a lie as before. Things with Coryo were better than you could ever expect. You thought he would isolate himself from you after your confession but so much had changed. He had gotten softer but more possessive. His edges are sharp yet he makes sure it's a shield for you, not something that would make you bleed.

Among his actions include changing your entire wardrobe (not without your opinion first), a library that connects to his office (his office is something you have access to at all times now), his room was now yours both (your favorite change), and last but not least a poison taster was included so that no attempts of assassination at the First Lady could be taken.

At first, you thought it to be extra, but knowing that it would put his paranoid mind at peace you allow it without much to say. He picked out your outfit every day, and sometimes you did the same for Coriolanus. He would frown as you decide what to wear or not for him for the day, knowing that some of the pieces don't match his style but when he sees your smile as you pick out the clothes. He smooths his frown and takes whatever horrible fashion statement you created for him and wears it with pride.

If anyone dared to speak up about it, he proudly said that his wife picked it out and everyone knew better than to speak a single ill word of the unspoken Queen of Panem.

Today was one of those days when you decided to pick his outfit. Today was something special after all. One year had passed since you had become Mrs. Snow, and a gala was to be held tonight to celebrate the union.

So yes, you were going to pick his outfit. You had even woken up early because of it. You giggled as you opened your eyes, your arm around Coryo whose hair looked impossibly messy, sticking out everywhere. It made him look years younger than he was. You chuckled at the sight, your heart clenching with the love you have for this man. You lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead and then his cheek. You whispered, not expecting him to wake up until his alarm rang, “Good morning, Coryo”

You quietly slipped away from the bed and tiptoeed to the closet. The closet you both shared now. One side carrying every single piece of your clothing and the other side his. You wanted to pick out something different for your husband once, sick of seeing him in his white shirts and black vest. That's how you picked out a black suit with a white vest and a red silk shirt. You could imagine unbuttoning this off of him tonight and the thought made your body heat up and a giggle escaped your lips.

“What are you laughing about, doll?” A voice, his deep sleepy voice startling you. “Nothing!” You quickly said, turning to look at Snow, your breath hitching as his eyes were half closed and his hair turned into a mess of curls. Sometimes you wonder if this was all a fever dream and if you truly have the privilege of seeing him like this. You placed the clothes into a corner and went to him.

You pulled him down, your hand on his nape and another on his cheek as you guided him to your lips. Morning breath be damned. His actions were reflexive with how his arms pulled you in closer as his lips pressed into yours. He smiles against your lips and soon both of your tongues tangle in an uncoordinated sleepy manner and you whimper into his mouth.

This was real. This was your reality and you would do everything to keep it as it is. You pulled back and he whispered, “What was that for, doll?”

“Just needed to make sure this was real,” you answered him. Your words make him crack a real smile, something even you saw rarely and it would only be possible in moments like this. Moments when you have shocked the man with your actions and words and made him fall harder for you.

“Well it is,” he grins. Before his expression clears up he focuses on the clothes you have set aside. “Outfit for today?” He asked. You nod and smile at him, gesturing at the clothes. “You would look handsome in them,” you said. “Don't I always look handsome?” He smirks, you laugh, “I am not falling for that trap, dear husband. I'll be in the shower, choose something for me.” You press a kiss on his cheek before leaving the closet.

After showering and wearing the red dress he had decided, both of you go on for your respective duties. The gala would start early in the day and there were a few hours left before it formally started as guests were already coming in.

The mansion was set up beautifully, no words could have possibly explained the amount of work and dedication to make this the event of the year, valued higher than the Hunger Games itself. In another universe, it may not have been possible, in this one however you somehow managed to crack into his heart and made yourself a higher priority.

You were doing finishing touches of your makeup when Corio came in, his hair slicked back but his body tense, his eyes unable to hide the shakiness in them. You don't say anything, letting the man have his moment of vulnerability. You knew you would mess him up even more if you pointed it out, so you continued your task.

You didn't pay him any attention despite the itch to turn to him. You force yourself to stare straight into the mirror, applying your lipstick for the night. That was until he came behind you, his arms around your waist and pulled you against his chest, his head propped on your shoulder as you felt him take deep breaths.

You don't ask if anything is wrong, accepting the rare form of intimacy he initiated. Usually, you're the ones for the hugs, the genuine ones anyway. You knew despite everything you were like a math equation to Snow. His mind figured out the formulas to keep you to him forever, you doubted if he saw anyone as his equal but you were perhaps the closest thing to it.

You had accepted it long before, but moments like this when Coriolanus allowed himself to be a human meant everything to you. You fell for every version of him, the one that is an untouchable deity who could kill you without guilt, and the human he was, obsession filling in veins making you the sole objective of his mind as he already achieved Panem.

You close your eyes, taking deep breaths with him. In the end, you were human too and you broke. “What's wrong?” You asked, as softly as possible yet breaking the bubble that had formed.

He smirks through the mirror, his eyes meeting yours, a sense of superiority in the blue hues. “Nothing’s wrong, my doll,” he whispered to you, pressing a ghost-like kiss to your bare shoulder. His arms cage you tighter, making a small gasp on your lips. “Okay,” you smile at him.

“Ready to start the gala then?” You asked, “Snows are born ready,” he replied, his tone smug.

One of his arms was kept wrapped around his waist while the other opened a drawer to take out a small box. “For you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your neck. You opened the box, and in it was a gold necklace with the initial ‘S’. You blush, and leave it to Corio to give you a necklace with his initials for an anniversary gift. “It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your head turning back and you gave him the brightest smile. “Help me wear it?” You mumbled as you handed him the box.

And so he did, and now a necklace was on your neck, the letter ‘S’ sitting perfectly on your skin. It scratched an innate itch for Snow to see you wear this. A part of him had expected you to fight, and be disgusted by this action, his mind thinking of several ways to make (force) you to wear the necklace. But as always you surprised him with your acceptance, as if you knew that wearing this would help him with his possessiveness. You were truly the right woman for him.

With his arm around your waist, you walk into the celebration. Countless people, the top elites of the Capitol were attending the gala. Everything had to be perfect.

Alas, fate is nothing but fickle.

The rumors didn't catch your ears at first before slowly the whispers caught up to you. Too busy with your life in the mansion and with Coriolanus, you rarely were social. You never had many friends from the capitols' elites. And those who knew were merely allies for the future. So the gossip never reached your ears.

Gossip you knew better to believe. Words change when they travel mouth to mouth. It can be easily manipulated too, your husband was a living proof of that. The snake tongue of all of Panem. But when the words seemed to get louder and louder, you couldn't help but feel maybe it's tinged with truth.

Snow was busy talking to diplomats while you were politely having a conversation with the ladies. That's when the questions began about some things they had heard about Snow. Each worse than the other but nothing you didn't already know. You make sure to change their perspective whenever something new comes up. Coriolanus was still new at this position, anything could snatch the power away if either of you weren't careful.

Feeling like you have finished the job, you begin to move away, only to stop when you hear, “...even wearing a pendant with his initial, she's nothing more than a whore who was pushed up to play the role of the First Lady. A woman of her standing would never deserve such a title.”

It was true, when Snow asked you to marry you, it was sudden and he gained nothing from it. Nothing, no money, power, and just a few connections you had but he had already impressed them all beforehand so there was no need for you. Your history in the academy wasn't all that great either, you were never the best but wholly average. A man like Snow deserved the best.

Insecurity claws at your heart and even so with recent events you knew their words were wrong. Tears burned your eyes. Your hand goes to the necklace you had on, your fingers twirling the pendant. Meanwhile, despite Coriolanus' focus being mainly on talking sweet to the guests and gathering sponsors, his eyes were on you, your every moment, and each person you spoke to. He notices you walking away from the gala and into the hallways. He followed you.

You were in one of the many bathrooms the manor had to offer. You stared at the mirror, the necklace you were wearing, and your hands traveled to the back ready to take it off. That's when Coriolanus enters the bathroom, his footsteps stopping midtrack as you freeze too.

“Coryo,” you begin to speak, your hand at your side now. “I was just-” “Why were you going to take it off?” He interrupted you, his face twisted in a glare you never thought would be directed at you. You shrugged, trying to play casual, “It doesn't feel appropriate.” “Why?” He questioned his tone icy calm, spreading chills down your spine. “Because-” because you didn't feel worthy of it. “Because you're ashamed of me,” he scoffs, walking closer to you. His eyes now fully glaring at you.

You frown, “What? Coryo, no-” He tilts your chin up, as he leans in, his expression twisted in fury, “Then what? There's no other appropriate reason for you to take it off then.” In truth, something was getting lost in translation, the women you were talking to earlier were going to be accused of treason in a few days. The cause? The rumors (some truth mixed in as well) they had spread about Snow. They were invited out of courtesy and after this, they had signed their death certificate.

“It's nothing like-” “Then what?” He hissed, “Did you finally come to your senses? Did they tell you how much of a horrible monster I am? And a horrible president?” You knew some sort of major miscommunication had happened but you had no idea how to deal with it. Not when Snow pressed a harsh, hard kiss to your lips, teeth clashing and his tongue seemingly fighting with yours for dominance that you easily gave over.

“You can't escape me, doll. No matter how horrible you realize I am. Think about running away and it's your dead body that will be leaving this mansion.” he whispered against your lips, his hands on your waist, your body flushed against his as your back hit the counter.

You chuckled at his words, knowing that would never be your end. His eyebrows furrow in confusion and it makes you giggle even further. “Dove, I am not joking,” he said, looking straight in your eyes. “I know,” you smile at him, “You…” you shake your head, smiling, you were surely crazier than him. You leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Those women said something… mean and it made me realize I may not be worthy of this necklace…” you begin to explain, hoping the explanation would calm him down.

You thought wrong. “You don't think I can decide who deserves to be my property, pet. Whom I let to be my queen,” he said, his tone deeper than before. He whispered, “I decided it's you. It's been a year since that decision and I haven't regretted it once.”

He manovaroued you so you were facing the mirror. He was right behind you, his eyes hard. “The woman you're looking at right now is mine. My pet. My wife. How dare you try to take off a mark of my ownership, doll?” You opened your mouth to apologize, but a moan escaped instead as he bit into your shoulder. He begins to press you against the counter, your body bending over as he continues to press wet kisses on your nape.

“You need a reminder about whom you belong to,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your skin making you shiver, heat spreading to your body as his hands unzipped your dress from behind, letting the fabric fall on the floor. “I am yours,” you moan to him as his palms knead your breasts through the bra. “Then you should have known better, my stupid bird.”

“You look away from the mirror even once…,” he said, his hands squeezing your breasts roughly, his head propped up to your shoulder, his face set in a smirk, “and that group of women dies.” They were going to die either way but you didn't know that.

You gasp, “Snow- '' His hands squeeze your breasts harder, bordering on pain. “It’s Coryo for you, dove,” he said, slowly yet firmly as if talking to a child. His hands move downwards, one moves to your hip, and for the other, his fingers slip inside your panties. You whimper when his fingertip touches your clit. At any other time, he would have been slow, and gentle when he was rubbing the bud but now? His touch was fast and unconcerned, his sole goal was to inflict punishment with pleasure.

He rubbed at your clit relentlessly, making you soak your panties with your juices. His other hand squeezes your hips. You whine, your eyes closing and he pinches your clit making you moan louder than you should, your eyes opening immediately to meet his gaze.

“Only warning, pet,” he whispered, his finger now playing with the clit even more relentlessly. Back and forth, up and down with no mercy, making the bud swollen and your pussy clench around nothing. “Yes, Coryo,” you gasp.

“My dumb pet can learn after all,” he whispered to your ear and then his lips kissed the clasp of your necklace. His fingers abandon your clit to swipe at your folds to gather your wetness. He chuckles as he continues to tease you like this, his hard cock pressing against your ass.

“Coryo,” you whispered and your eyes connected with his and you knew his fingers could feel the flex of your cunt around nothing. “That's it. Look at me, doll.”

He slipped his fingers one by one into your slit, the stretch making you gasp. “It's too much,” you managed to get out, your voice shaky. “You can take it,” he tuts. His fingers begin to message your wall, hitting every crook and canny you never knew existed. He twisted his fingers thrusting right at your g-spot making you moan loudly, your body was now completely bent over in front of the mirror and your hands gripped the counter for life. Snow continues to playfully stretch you out, scissoring your pussy with his long fingers.

When he finally deemed you loose enough, he pulled his fingers out without a warning making you whimper. He pulls down your panties around your knees, and then his hand unzipped his pant to take his cock out. Something in you liked how he was composed and fully clothed while having you like this, primal and debauched. It showcased Coriolanus perfectly, no matter how prim and proper the man was outside in the end he was as much of a mess.

His impatient was clear with his clenched jaw, one of his hands traveling upwards your body to grip your breast like a handle as his free hand guides his leaking, hard cock into your entrance. “I was going to fuck you good tonight, on a bed properly like a wife deserves,” he begins to say as he pushed in with a single stroke. Your mouth lets out a small scream as your pussy adjusts to his dick. “Instead I have to treat you like a whore, bending your ass over a counter and fuck you while there are people all over the mansion.” He shakes his head disappointed, he meets your gaze, “I expected better, doll.”

“Then why keep a disappointment around,” you snapped at him, making him raise his eyebrows at your tone, his cock twitching inside your walls. “I wonder that myself too,” he grunts, his face buried in your shoulder, his tongue licking your salty skin. “You’re my everything,” he whispered, “Don't you forget that, dove.”

It was a confession that made you turn your back and made you catch his lips. He groans into your mouth as both of your tongues play with each other, expressing words the others cannot say. His free hand went to grip your necklace chain, making you gasp as he fisted the chain and pulled at it, knocking at your breath in one go.

His hips had begun to pound into you, short, hard thrusts that made his cockhead press against your g-spot while his remaining length messaged your walls perfectly. “You don't have to think, doll. I am here to think for you. You don't have to think about deserving me, or Panem. You don't have to think at all, just be my bird. My bird only,” he grunts.

Your eyes had begun to see spots from the lack of air, he hadn't seemed to care as your pussy keeps squeezing around him because of it. He lets go of the chain, making you gasp and you take the air you desperately need as his thrusts begin to get sloppier. Coryo was too impatient, too worked up, too mad at you to care about your pleasure. You were a pet getting used and you loved every second of it.

“I love you,” you whispered to him, and he groaned in response, as his thrusts got slower. He was edging himself to last longer, for this not to end. He bites your nape, not hard as he does usually to make sure the mark fades in a few seconds. His hips continue to rock into you, both of his hands now kneading at your clothed breast. He makes your round flesh spill from the bra and cups them with a groan escaping his lips.

“You’re mine,” he said as he pressed wet kisses all over your neck and shoulders, “Mine.” Your pussy clenched around him, making his pace get even slower, frustration begins to claw your mind as your body tethers to the edge. “Yours,” you agreed. “Fuck me faster,” you plead.

He lets out a laugh, “No. You'll take what I'll give.” “Coryo, my love please!” You begged. His hips stutter, making you feel confused, before realizing why he had stopped. You hadn't called him that since that night and you realized you had leverage on the man.

“My love, please! Fuck me harder,” you spill, “Baby, please!” He clenched his jaw trying so hard not to give in to the instinct of rutting into you like an animal. Knowing that he was near the edge, you continue, “Cum in me and make me walk around the gala with your cum inside, please. Please, mark me!”

That did the trick rather perfectly. His hand wraps around your throat, not choking you but staying there as a comforting presence that shouldn't have been comforting at all. “My dumb pet has ways with words. Gotta fuck that out of you, my dove,” he smirked.

His hips begin to roll into you again, making you gasp and squeeze his dick with your slick walls. The start of it was slow and cautious before Coriolanus decided to throw it all in the wind. He takes half of his length out before slamming it back to you. The sound of hips snapping echoed into the air along with his grunts and your moans. He kept fucking into you, with no care about anything.

Both of your sights were obscene in the mirror and it turned you not to end. Your body had begun to heat, your pussy aching to cum after being played with for so long. The tension in your body was close to snapping, and he knew it too. Knew it the way your cunt kept sucking his cock in so well. His head was on your shoulder, his mouth breathing out hot air onto your skin.

“Look at me,” you whispered, and his eyes snap at you and not even a second later he spills into your cunt, fucking his cum into you as he lets out a whine for the first time. You gasp, feeling your build-up fading without snapping but Snow was never to disappoint. He pulled his cock out, just to stuff you with his fingers. You whimper, your sensitive walls twitching around his fingers, so close to breaking.

Coriolanus doesn't waste a second to thrust into your sopping cunt, your folds covered in his cum, and fucking that into you with his fingers. He crooks his fingers perfectly, hitting your g-spot and making you black out for a second as his fingers keep assaulting your insides without a care.

You gasp, your body starting to give up. Snow has to wrap an arm around you to help you stay balanced. “That's it, doll. Cum on my fingers. I will make you cum on my cock later,” he promised to you. You cry out as his fingers continue their fast pace of thrusting. And finally, finally, your orgasm builds up again. A single graze from his fingertip onto your spongy spot has you not only cumming but squirting too.

Even Coriolanus eyes widen in surprise as you spill your juices onto the floor, ruining your dress and everything. You begin to feel ashamed of losing control in such a manner, but Coryo curses, “Fuck, doll. Fuck, that was…” He couldn't even finish the sentence.

You close your eyes, feeling yourself close to losing balance, only for Snow to swipe your legs from the floor and carry you to the bathtub.

“I’ll take care of you, doll,” he said, “I’ll bring in a new set of clothes, wait.” “What about the gala?” You asked. He kissed your temple before he replied, “I told everyone to leave the moment you walked away. Told everyone you were sick and as your husband, I shall be taking care of you.”

You let out a raspy chuckle, it was rather amazing how Coriolanus Snow always turned everything in his favor. Even this would help his image of being a president who took such good care of his wife and would surely take the country to great lengths.

“Snow lands on top,” you whispered to him with a smile.

Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @dollfacedalls @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy

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anachronistic-falsehood · 2 years ago

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the crippling existential dread is getting to me

#whiskey yelling into the void #will prolly delete later i would post on my vent insta instead but my phone is in my roOM AND i dont wanna get it #sitting here having a god damn crisis listening to fucking. cabinet man.#non graphic mentions of sh in following tags btw i juust need to fucking. talk. agh. >>#my eyebrow razors are in my bathroom they are There i haven't thrown them out. they are there.#i won't. i promise. but. they're There #i think i just need to sit in my room alone for a bit maybe i'll ink my monev drawing or something idk #im just not having a good fuckin time rn it's just a weird mix of things in my brain and idk what it is #def part of it is going to a funeral a couple weeks ago it wasn't even for someone i was close to but when u live in a small town #you kinda know everyone and this guy was the dad of a family who was a friend of my family and it's just. weird. that he's gone. ig #and ofc i can't even remember the last time i ever spoke with him but it's still weird?? knowing that he's not around???#and it got my thinking about my own dad and what might happen when he's gone and etc etc etc.#it's just. idk. thoughts of death lately and how much it scares the shit out of me #and i h8 pain but it does kinda remind me that im alive yk #its not just the funeral thats fuckin with me theres a lot of things but it all leads to existential dread anyway #i need to go to sleep i think

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55szn · 8 months ago

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chronic oversharer - pg10

pierre gasly x reader smau

summary; yn loves oversharing to her followers and it turned out to be a good thing

warnings; none

fc; ainara torné

notes; the tiktok thingy took years of my life 🫠 a v short one bc my man pierre is criminally underrated on this app...

INSTAGRAM

yourusername just uploaded to their story!

[party girl era is back💋]

TIKTOK

yourusername posted a new video!

[so last night i went out, i hadn’t gone out in too long… and i literally fell in love] [but i’m stupid and was drunk and i didn’t even ask his name, all i know is that he was very french] [and i took a weird picture with him, hope i didn’t freak him out]

INSTAGRAM

yourusername just uploaded to their story

[since everyone said “post the pic with him!!” here it is... help me find the love of my life😣] [oh how i love oversharing my life on the internet☺️]

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

dms

pierregasly heard you were looking for me

yourursername this is literally so embarrassing bye

pierregasly it’s not embarrassing if i was also looking for you

yourusername damn that was smooth

yourusername how did you find out

pierregasly well it’s all over my instagram and twitter😂

pierregasly and charles showed me

yourusername who’s charles

yourusername i didn’t recognize you that night i don’t know anything about f1😭

pierregasly you’ll meet him

yourusername just uploaded to their story!

pierregasly just uploaded to their story!

[turns out hes kinda famous or wtv🙄] [she won btw (im being forced to say this)]

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, charles_leclerc and 1.791.082 others

yourusername pros of being a chronic online oversharer: i now have a hot boyfriend 👍😄

tagged pierregasly

view all 3.891 comments

user “hot boyfriend” and proceeds to post the most pookie coded pictures of him

user the most iconic meet cute i have ever witnessed

pierregasly ma chérie😍😍

pierregasly don’t ever stop yapping online

yourusername won’t happen🫡

user can’t wait to see her paddock outfits she’s gonna eat everyone up

user they’re both so hot i can’t even process this

user need them both😣

user do y’all need a dog i can bark

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cyberm4n · 9 months ago

Note

You've now filled my head with nothing but Alastor and Lucifer brainrot. Any other sharing thoughts you have for them? (I cannot stop thinking about them, I quite literally thought about them sharing me during my entire 8hr retail shift yesterday)

alastor and lucifer sharing you pt 3!

pt1, pt2

this was highly requested, thank you all for the love <3 im tagging anyone who asked/was fine with it last time but now you can fill out this taglist form to ensure you're tagged for future posts!

tags: @lu-ferri12 @my-anime-garden @princessdreamss @polytheatrix @reaper-of-light-12 @ambi-squirrelly @hazelfoureyes @meggletoomanyfandoms @afernandez21

cw: angst ig?? idk reader is upset cause they keep fighting, general relationship issues for a moment, smut, reader gets eaten out, there's some light praise and condescension i think, alastor has a master kink, alastor discovers he LOVES eating pussy, there's like a weird sexual tension between alastor and lucifer for the majority of this if you squint, the ending is VERY suggestive

other: not 100% happy with formatting on this but i wrote majority of it on a 6 hour flight so like. you win some you lose some. not proofread that well, i kind of ramble at times too but it's fine. 2.1k word count and half of it is formatted in a headcanon cuase, again, lazy 6 hour writing. i also don't use the bolding and coloring that much cause it'd be a lot of work.

left the ending a little open, will probably do a poll tomorrow on if people want me to take this that direction.

■ okay so sex aside i would think outwardly everyone knows you're in a relationship with lucifer at the very least

■ but it's kept lowkey with the other part of the relationship

■ which both are fine with btw

■ lucifer loves pda so he's happy, alastor isn't a fan so it's whatever

■ the public part works out because alastor would genuinely be worried about someone trying to use you to get to him

■ it's bad enough that it's known the king of hell has a new partner, but nobody knowing that if they fuck with you they're fucking with the king of hell AND the radio demon is a silent advantage

■ if anyone knows, it's charlie. but only to the extent of like the fact it's a hinge relationship, everything else she doesn't know and honestly doesn't need to know

■ she's just happy her dad seems happy and is getting along better with alastor

■ i think alastor is the kind to really start caring during the relationship vs. lucifer caring about you deeply before

■ so occasionally alastor will pull you aside, or if no one is watching will just press a quick kiss on your forehead.

■ meanwhile lucifer is always making it known he's in love with you

■ arm around your shoulder, holding your hand, everything

■ again, alastor doesn't really mind unless lucifer decides to be an ass abt it

■ look they still compete with each other sometimes they can't help it

■ then it becomes a game of how much the other can get away with before you either get upset or it's too telling

■ that's the other thing is like, the competing gets really fucking annoying to you

■ we saw them in hells greatest dad it wasn't a want to be a better dad it's just wanting to out do the other

■ and when it transfers to your relationship it gets agitating fast

moving on

■ relationship side alastor isn't as involved with that

■ but if either of them did something that upset you or like there was a lovers quarrel between you and either side it's a big deal to them

■ especially if you're only upset with one half of the hinge

■ cause like, sure, they could compete with each other and purposefully drive you apart

■ but tbh.. both of them lowkey like this arrangement much more than they thought they would

■ so they end up talking to each other about it and figuring out what to do

■ same if you're upset with both

■ not that you're upset often it's just that when you are it's usually cause they crossed a line in their little competition

■ and they hate making their girl feel like a prize to be won :(

■ whatever their solution is, they do it together.

■ show you they can get along, that they both care about you enough

■ you're in your room, a bit of a blow up happened earlier after they got into one of their arguments

■ it's not that you genuinely think theyre using you to get to the other but sometimes with the way they act it's easy to doubt

■ anyways, they both come in, it's late

■ i cry when im frustrated/upset and i think it's a pretty normal reaction, so let's just say you're crying a little

■ they're both immediately at your side, apologizing profusely

■ you've never cried like this before

■ it scares them. alot.

■ for once there's absolutely no competition, the only worry is making you feel better.

■ both sitting next to you on the couch, lucifer murmuring how much he loves you, and how he knows how much alastor cares for you

■ i hate the whole "alastor doesn't understand emotions" thing because he does. he has to, he knows how to read people well.

■ it's just he hasn't ever comforted someone

■ he doesn't know what to do when someone he cares about is upset

■ so he's glad lucifer is here, as alastor just sits at your side nodding along and gently rubbing your back

■ alastor only tunes back in when lucifer offers to give some space for the night, and a little murmur from you agrees but asks they both come to bed that night

■ given its usually only lucifer who actually sleeps in the same bed as you alastor is surprised

■ but lucifer is beckoning him out for some space.

"cmon, we'll be back in an hour yeah?" he chimes from the door, and with a squeeze of your shoulder alastor is out of the door, but he opts to walk along with lucifer. "we gotta do better" lucifer sighs as he walks, not looking over at alastor. he's not accusing alastor, he seems equally disappointed in both of them.

"for her?" alastor adds, and lucifer gives a hum of agreement. "this while ordeal has been quite... stressful as of late, no?" alastor adds, "to our own faults, yes" lucifer murmurs, giving a sigh. alastor nods, and the two men walk in silence for some time, ending up in the parlor, husk far since gone to bed. "want anything?" lucifer pulls alastor back to reality once again, he's standing behind the bar while alastor had been staring off, his mind running with thoughtd of god knows what.

"whiskey, my friend?" alastor suggests, and giving it a considerate thought lucifer pours two glasses. the silence falls over them again, just the sound of the clink of their glasses on the counter.

"so tell me, how do you do it when you pleasure her?" alastor breaks the silence, lucifers eyes dart up to him. thinking for a moment before replying "i don't really think tonight is the time for that—" lucifer says, but in a gentle tone.

"no no, in the morning." alastor says, staring down at his glass. "you two indulge often in the morning, correct?" alastor says, now his eyes uncomfortably on lucifer. Watching as the other man almost pales a little, swallowing thickly.

lucifer immediately falters, giving a sigh. "look it's not— i‐ that's not her fault–" lucifer immediately starts, assuming this is a confrontation. his eyebrows raise as alastor shakes his head. "oh please, if i had problem with it i would have done something" he says, a static crackle echoing through the room. "no, i want to know how you do it when you... when it's just about her. how can i do the same?" alastor asks, and this is even more surprising to lucifer than this whole fucking idea in the first place.

■ so lucifer of course explains some stuff to him, of course it's hard because unless he's done it before it's hard to articulate some of his "moves"

■ i mean lucifer can hardly resist going down on you everytime, he's definitely experienced but it's hard to transfer that knowledge at times

■ but he's impressed alastor even asked

■ so when they return to your room, they're a lot more calmer with each other than before.

■ that night changed a lot between them tbh

■ it's slightly awkward for both of them when everyone gets settled in the bed

■ you're on your back, lucifer on your right side and alastor on the left.

■ they're both holding you to the best of their abilities

■ lucifer gives alastors hand a squeeze before shuffling it to have a better grasp on your waist

■ you all peacefully sleep through the night, not shifting much but it's pretty comfortable

■ is the morning you're mostly cuddled into alastor, which is entirely lucifers doing

■ when you're all awake though alastor gets arguably nervous

■ but you being you, you slump over onto alastors chest, murmuring some affection to him

■ lucifer gives a nod, it's time.

■ he'd honestly probably move to get out of bed, assuming some privacy is wanted

■ but he feels a shadow wrap around his forearm, it's a light pressure

■ alastor shakes his head, mouthing a small "please"

after lucifer processes for a moment what exactly is about to go down, he's okay with that. he settles back in, his eyes on the two of you as alastor tilts your chin up, pressing a kiss to your lips. "my dear, would you mind if i tried something a little different with you?" alastor chimes, and you blink your eyes open again, still a bit sleepy as you give a nod.

he gently maneuvers you on the bed so you're laying on your back, his hands pawing at your sleep shorts and pulling them to your ankles. lucifer watches, honestly a little mezmerized by the whole ordeal. he feels proud in an odd sort of way. “I think our little doe deserves a treat, would you like that?” alastor murmurs as he spreads your thighs open. You take a shaky breath before murmuring some form of agreement, maybe even a little plea.

without further prodigy, alastors finally leans down his tongue swiping down your folds, hands grasping your hips to pull you to his face. your hands go to hold lucifers, but he shakes his head tutting at you. “ah ah, that’s not very polite princess” he chides softly, guiding your hands to alastors hair.

and alastor makes good use of the tips and information lucifer gave him, his tongue plunging into your sweet little hole as his nose bumps your clit. his eyes wander up, making eye contact with you as he eats you out so wonderfully. you tug at his hair and he practically growls in pleasure, opting to change tactics and focus his mouth on your clit while his fingers slide inside you, gently curling into your sweet spot.

and lucifer watches it all, absolutely mesmerized. he doesnt know what it is about watching this but theres something about knowing alastor is doing exactly as told to in this scenario that makes lucifer feel warm. he lets alastor steal the show, doing only minimal work. maybe hes softly cooing praises or gently reminding you to show your appreciation to the one making you feel this good.

as you get close, evident by the murmur that falls past your lips, alastors eyes snap to lucifers for a moment, and he takes a moment to think before understanding. usually when youre close alastor is all over you, telling you to be such a good girl and cum, just slight praises and coaxing. given the fact hes face deep in your sweetness he cant really do that, so that job is up to lucifer now.

“isn’t alastor doing such a good job duckling? you want to make sure he knows how good hes treating you, dont you?” lucifer coos, scooting in behind you on the bed so you stop trying to writhe away. “I think he’d be so disappointed if you didnt cum for him, you think you can do that, hm? you wanna cum all over your masters tongue?” lucifer says directly in your ear, and alastor feels a bit of a warmth in his stomach by being referred to as “master”

when you give a weak moan in response lucifer sighs, shaking his head. “be a good girl now, you can do it little doe” he says which is what sends you toppling over the edge, your hips rutting up into alastors mouth, whiny moans coming from you as alastor desperately licks up your sweet release. this whole thing was quite enjoyable for alstor, but hearing lucifer call you “little doe” his petname for you made him smugly satisfied.

after some aftercare which mostly just involved more cuddling, alastor feels satiated enough to shift to leave, before getting a look from lucifer. he reluctantly stays, feeling as you come to lay at his side once more. lucifer seems to take note of something, giving alastor a nod down, he glances down, seeing the obvious tent in his pants. alastor looks back up, slightly annoyed. a like “yeah, no shit dumbass” kind of look is exchanged.

alastor looks back down at you, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you sigh happily. but alastor tenses as he feels a hand on his knee, shooting a glare to lucifer as he traces his hand up a little. the two meet as and alastor takes a shaky breath as lucifer leans in just a little, breathing out the next few words with a calmness alastor admires:

“just keep cuddling her”

#lucifer smut #alastor smut #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer morningstar #radioapple #alastor the radio demon #alastor x lucifer #smut #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer

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balletfilmss · 6 months ago

Text

STARTED OUT WITH A KISS, HOW DID IT END UP LIKE THIS?

✸ pairing: rockstar! percy jackson x ballerina! reader

✸ synopsis: after months of sneaking around behind the media’s backs, you and your boyfriend make your relationship public!

✸ warnings: not proofread. like, at all.

✸ notes: hey so im alive btw…. so here’s pt.2 to could you make it any more obvious?

“are you sure you want to do this?”

you asked the question for the millionth time, finger hovering over the bright blue button on your phone screen, identical to the one percy was eager to press.

the two of you sat together with phones in hand, seconds away from making instagram posts that would launch your relationship to the public after months of sneaking around. even though you’d already been caught once or twice…

“sweetheart, how many times do i have to tell you yes until you believe me?” percy chuckled, looking at you with those kind eyes of his.

this was his idea, for crying out loud. you knew that the media would eat it right up, with the two of you confirming their month-long suspicions and dating rumors.

that being said, you also knew that there’d be a lot more backlash from his fans than yours. who cares if a popular ballerina got a boyfriend, right?

but a eligible, hot, bachelor rockstar that had millions of fangirls all around the world?

oh, you were totally in for it.

one of the great things about percy was that he seemed to not only have great musical talent, but also the ability to read your mind.

“look, i can’t promise you that making everything public will be easy, though i think not having to sneak around definitely will,” a laugh out of both him and you. “but what i can promise is that whatever happens, we’ll deal with it together.”

that paired with a reassuring squeeze to your leg drew a smile right onto your face. you took a deep breath, reassured that no matter what happened, you still had him.

“okay,” you nodded, skimming over your Instagram caption one last time. “i’m ready.”

“on the count of three?” percy asked, holding his phone directly beside yours.

“one…”

“two…”

“three.”

together, you clicked post and watched as the upload line chased the edge of the screen until finally, it was public. everything was public.

dropping his phone on the couch, percy wrapped his arms around your abdomen and squeezed, pulling you from the cushions until you landed in his lap.

with a shriek of surprise followed by a fit of laughter from you both, you held his face in your hands, grinning at it another like two idiots in love, which you were.

“alright, swan lake,” he smiled, face close to yours. “everything just changed.”

“i don’t think so, not really,” you shrugged. “i’m still me. we’re still us. only difference is now we don’t have to go sneaking down alleys to avoid people.”

“always a bright side with you,” your boyfriend swooned at the mere sight and sound of you, his eyes filled with nothing but adoration and love. you could’ve sworn you saw hearts in his eyes.

“well, you are mr. brightside.”

that reference to one of his songs was all it took. percy leaned back into the couch cushions, pulled you with him, and kissed you so good that it didn’t matter what anyone commented on social media.

instagram!!

…now playing: last call — greek symphony

officially.yn: yeah, my boyfriend’s pretty cool 🤍🎸

tagged: impercyjacks

view all comments

impercyjacks: wow who’s that hottie in the last picture?? 😍

╰┈➤ officially.yn: idk, some musician 🤷‍♀️

its.piper.mclean: you big fucking liar, I KNEW IT

╰┈➤ officially.yn: I’M SORRY PIPES, I PROMISE I WANTED TO TELL YOU

╰┈➤ its.piper.mclean: I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS 😭😭 breaking up with you IMMEDIATELY, yn ln

╰┈➤ officially.yn: NO, piper bby don’t do this 😔

╰┈➤ impercyjacks: i am RIGHT here

user45: YL LN AND PERCY JACKSON WEREN’T ON MY 2024 BINGO CARD BUT IM SO HERE FOR IT

username: THE LDR CAPTION OMFG

╰┈➤ user72: and HIS BAND’S song playing???

╰┈➤ username: I DIDNT EVEN NOTICE THST OMG YOURE SO RIGHT

the.leovaldez: i KNEW i wasn’t crazy

╰┈➤ impercyjacks: bffr. you didn’t know SHIT

╰┈➤ the.leovaldez: I KNEW YOU WERE SNEAKING AROUND W SOMEONE

╰┈➤ jasegrace: leo. frank’s deaf cat knew he was sneaking around with someone.

╰┈➤ frankzhang: you leave maisie out of this.

username: THE COUPLE OF THE CENTURY OMFG

user289: this is THE hard launch of all hard launches

╰┈➤ user: but was this REALLY the launch, or was it all those tabloid articles 👀👀

impercyjacks: spoiler alert: she didn’t break my heart & i did, in fact, see her again ;)

╰┈➤ user: OMFG LAST CALL IS ABOUT YN???

╰┈➤ username: SHUT THE FRONT DOOR

impercyjacks: love you, swan lake 🤍

…now playing: paparazzi — lady gaga

impercyjacks: but i’m not as cool as her 🩷🩰

tagged: officially.yn

view all comments

officially.yn: last pic was not necessary.

╰┈➤ impercyjacks: but you look so cute :((

username: HE HAS A GF?? MY LIFE IS ABSOLUTELY OVER

╰┈➤ user293: girl get a grip….

╰┈➤ user: okay but like the gf is YN LN, it’s okay

the.leovaldez: yeah and guess who knew first? ME

╰┈➤ impercyjacks: actually…that was jason

╰┈➤ the.leovaldez: …. GUESS WHO KNEW SECOND?? ME 🗣️🗣️

username: girls, we lost him 😔

jasegrace: thank god, im sick of keeping your secret

╰┈➤ officially.yn: didn’t you tell us once that it felt like gossip girl?

╰┈➤ jasegrace: THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO STAY BW THE THREE OF US

username: YN LN AND PERCY JACKSON ONFG COUPLE OF THE YEAR

its.piper.mclean: im forwarding every last piece of media paper work to you.

╰┈➤ impercyjacks: send it on over 🫡

╰┈➤ its.piper.mclean: YOURE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE FUCKIN HAPPY ABOUT IT

user29: majority of the pictures just being her 🥹

╰┈➤ fan9: and the fact that the FIRST one’s her, so she’s on his feed now

username: isn’t yn ln like…a terrible dancer? she’s so overrated fr

╰┈➤ impercyjacks: shouldn’t you like….get a fucking life??

╰┈➤ user28: OH GAH DAMN

╰┈➤ fan28: GAGGED THEM FR

╰┈➤ user18: OHHHH HE DOESNT PLAY WHEN IT COMES TO HIS WOMEN

officially.yn: i love you so big, rockstar ♥️

#୨୧ love letters #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo fandom #percy jackson oneshot #percy jackson x fem!reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson smau #percy jackson x you #percy jackson imagine

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bohnerrific69 · 2 months ago

Text

── .✧ naked (drabble/headcanon)

pairing: peter maximoff x fem!reader

words count: 1.0k | warnings and tags: suggestive themes (there's no smut btw), voyeurism, genitalia/body (peter) descriptions. english is not my first language (im still learning by self-thaught!)

⟣ masterlist | author's note: unbeliavable that the first thing of that i write AND post here it's just some quick silly headcannon/thoughts off peter horny behavior. 🫠 right now i have too many wips on the queue to finish, so maybe in the future i rewrite this as a oneshot properly! (enter my taglist here)

Peter is the kind of guy who, when reaching the peak of his independence having his own house, and when the summer arrives with its dreadful heat waves, would simply take off his clothes and walk around the house naked. Well, at first he got a little apprehensive of doing that, staying on his nice boxers for a few days - only two - till finally letting his body free as mother nature blessed.

Until a while later, a moving truck showed up at the neighbor's empty house and he saw a beautiful and hot girl, you, moving there. He even greeted and welcomed you to the neighborhood. At first he was unsure to talk to you all of sudden, but then it's not like he hadn’t started bumping into you on the street almost every week chatting with you and discovering how easy was to made you laugh at even the silliest things making every encounter more enchanting than the last one. I’m sure these quick encounters were pure coincidence... Unknowingly, getting Peter attracted into you even more than he thought.

But on another hot summer day, walking around the house naked, he came across something unexpected, he saw you through his open window… Well, that wasn't the surprise, you were his neighbor, it was quite common to sometimes see you by the window. The unexpected factor was... that you were looking exactly like him, perfectly naked just like mama gave you life. You was stand up distracted with some magazine in one hand and a lollipop in your mouth while listening to a song and moving your hips sensually following the beat.

And on rare occasions, this being obviously one of them, Peter stopped moving, stooding freezed there without moving a muscle with wide eyes and mouth dropped open, his face turning pink as fast as it could, stunned by the vision of that gentle girl with such an innocent smile and shy attitude when was nears him, to be honest seeing you like that baffled his brain, a thought of you being in that situation not even pass near horny Peter's mind, but certainly turned everything on him on fire.

Okay, it was her house and she lived alone, but with the window open?... Y-yeah, Peter wasn't the best person to talk about this topic now.

Everything in his mind and body was acting so fast, his heartbeat? Oh gosh if someone could hear, it would probably sound ticking so fast like a bomb ready to explode... But nothing made him move until you stopped looking at the magazine in your hands and saw him by the window too, the windows being at the same height and directed front to one another.

Your reaction was almost the same as him, freezing still while your brain tried to collect the informations of his pretty toned body that his lucky mutant genes (and too much X-Men training) blessed him. The jacked abs with pretty biceps too, the divine slutty waist highlighting his v line, the happy trail with silver pubes and-

Oh. Oh good lord... He was fucking turned on.

His dick was awaken and glued on his abdomen just by seeing you. Aforehand you could get on with your analysis, you notice his cock twitch slightly making you return to reality and your conscious remembering your situation right now. But before this could make you react, Peter got free of his trance milliseconds earlier than you, in the blink of an eye he was no longer there, his powers made him simply evaporate from there.

In the panic you just screamed and runned out of camp of vision from the window, dropping your magazine in hands and stumbling on some other ones scattered on the floor, making you fallen ridiculously on your bed, quickly getting into a fetal position and covering your face with the hands like that would help you protect yourself from the embarrassment, of course that not works and you just feels all your body be engulfed by a heavy shame and feeling your cheeks burns, you get one of your pillows and just screams and curses into into it.

After freaking out, you wanted to check out if he was still there, so still feeling the rush of adrenaline now with your legs trembling by the scare that you just got, you get out off the bed and crawled on the floor till were below the window and sitting on your own heels and pulled the curtains close. You sighed nervously, getting on your knees and hiding behind the curtains, you opened a crack into it so you could spy with one of your eyes if he was still there, and… Nothing.

His window still was open but there was no one on the room, you got away from the curtains and sit on the floor with the back against the wall looking at any point of your room, feeling a million thoughts running in your mind nonstop like “What the fuck just happened?”

While focusing on your breath, feeling your heart pounding on your chest, reasoning that despite the embarrassment that… You kinda of like it?... Liked that your cute neighbor that you find smokin’ hot attractive, but never had the courage to say anything, saw you like this and was being so affected by it, being fucking turned on, with his big brown eyes and pink flustered face looking at you so shocked but... admired? Quite hard to know, it was everything so quickly, but you hoped that it was, his dick was sending an obvious message.

Now focusing on what matters… Good god what was that perfect body?! If you could pull him, you sure that would be the luckiest woman alive.

Being weirdly satisfied you laid on the floor, covering your mouth with one of your hands and coming down from your high, starting giggling like an idiot and kicking your feets on the air so embarrassed by the situation but thinking how funny the life is and experiences are not individuals, like as walking naked in your own house because the weather was hot and run into with your hot neighbor by the window doing the same thing.

Well, let's not think for now off by the fact that he lived at the house by your side. And probably tomorrow you would have to say good morning to him.

— as it is my first "fanfic" thing that i write and post here, just tagging some mutuals to boost the post. sorry if i'm bothering! 🤎🦋

@lemoniiiiiii @fear-is-truth @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @silverzoomies @am3ricanh0rrorwh0re @acrosstheunivcrse @tiffysdeath @wcnderlnds @evvyyypeters-fics @evanpeterswifeyyy @evanpetersbf @frankenkyle19 @taintandviolent @enchanting-evan

#writed by julia — ✎#peter maximoff #peter maximoff headcanons #peter maximoff drabble #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x y/n #quicksilver #quicksilver x reader #quicksilver x you #x men x reader #evan peters #evan peters x reader #evan peters x you

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whxtedreams · 3 months ago

Text

Forgetful Love

A Joel x reader birthday oneshot

Summary: she wasn't surprised that he forgot her birthday. Considering the weight he carried on his shoulders, it was a given that it would slip his mind. But she knew that Joel would make it up to her, as he always did.

Word Count: 3.1k

Tags: Birthdays, forgotten birthday, joel just trying to do his best, sad!joel, sarah and tommy mentioned, fluff, hiking trip, reader has she/her pronouns, third person POV

Main masterlist

Joel Miller has a very bad habit of forgetfulness.

It seemed that no matter how hard he tried, he could not quite shake the inclination to forget important details. Whether it was a scheduled appointment, Sarah’s sleepover parties at his house, or even where he last left his keys, the man’s memory often failed him in the most inconvenient of moments.

His mind was constantly overloaded, buzzing with endless to-do lists and responsibilities. It was a never-ending whirlwind of tasks, each demanding his attention and care. No wonder he often forgot things—there was simply too much information swirling around in his head. She could see it in his eyes, could almost hear the gears in his mind grinding as he tried to juggle everything.

So really, she wasn't surprised that he forgot her birthday. Considering the weight he carried on his shoulders, it was a given that it would slip his mind. She understood that his forgetfulness wasn't done out of ignorance or indifference, but merely a result of being so caught up in the chaos and commotion of life.

The day was spent in the quiet haven of her kitchen, where music played softly in the background, filling the air with a soothing, familiar melody. The rich, sweet aroma of chocolate cake hung in the air and the taste of a cool, sweet, iced coffee on her tongue.

When the cake had cooled and iced, the turntable played static at the end of the record and the ice coffee turned warm, Joel texted.

A lot.

Joel: i am the worst person on earth Joel: sarah waited until NOW to remind me Joel: not that its her fault. thats all on me Joel: i fired her as my mini assistant BTW Joel: happy birthday Joel: im sorry Joel: i love you Joel: im coming over now

The texts from Joel, no matter when they arrived, brought a soft smile to her face. Whether it was at 12am this morning or as the clock ticked over to tomorrow, she couldn’t bring herself to feel upset.

She could picture the scene that more than likely unfolded in her mind. She imagined Sarah casually mentioning the forgotten day as Joel strolled through the door, his keys slipping from his fingers as he panicked. Then, a stream of swears escaping him as he frantically searched for his phone, only to realize it was still in his truck, where he had left it after a long day’s work. And to top it all off, his phone was, predictably, dead because he had forgotten to charge it… again.

She couldn’t help but chuckle as she thought about how the scenario was bound to play out. Deep down, she knew that forgetfulness and chaos were just a couple more quirks in the man she loved. That’s why she had already taken the initiative to order takeout, ensuring that even if the day didn’t start perfectly, it would at least end the way it should.

As she stood in front of the table, the evidence of her efforts laid out before her—the homemade cake and the take-out food neatly arranged and plated—she couldn't help but feel a mix of affection and amusement.

She took a quick photo and sent it to him in response to his texts.

*photo attached* Don’t stress!

Ten minutes after she had sent the picture, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the apartment. Joel had finally arrived and she could hear the soft shuffle of his feet as he made his way inside. She waited expectantly at the dining table and watched as he strode around the corner, flowers in hand.

Flowers from his garden.

He trudged towards the table, his shoulders drooped in a mix of defeat and disappointment. The bouquet of flowers in his hand sagged slightly as he approached, and he stopped just short of the table. His eyes met the food laid out before him. "I should have been the one to do all this for you," he mumbled, his frown deepened with guilt.

She attempted to ease his guilt; her voice soft as she spoke. "It's okay," she assured him, watching as he sank into the chair at the table. But she could see from the guilt-ridden expression on his face that he wasn’t convinced, his eyes downcast as he settled into his seat.

She gently took the bouquet from his hand and brought it to her face, inhaling deeply. The sweet, familiar scent filled her senses—a fragrance that reminded her of both him and his daughter. It was a warm, comforting smell, like a snapshot of their lives together. Smiling into the petals, she held the flowers close.

“These are really pretty.” She said.

“Sarah picked them, wrapped them up for you,” Joel's voice was soft as he spoke and just as her fingers traced the delicate petal of a flower, he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a small box and placed it on the table, “even made you this.”

Her smile widened as she carefully opened the box, revealing the origami animals inside. One by one, she took them out. Her laughter filled the room as she admired each one. The origami creatures were a little wonky and uneven, but they were endearing in their imperfection.

“Can see she’s really taking those books I got her seriously.”

"Got a real talent for it. Everything she picks up, she does it perfectly.” As Joel spoke, his fingers fidgeted with the strap of his watch. A frown etched deep on his face.

Her intuition picked up on the nuance behind his words, and she couldn’t help but notice the undercurrent of comparison and self-criticism in his tone. It was clear to her that Joel struggled with feelings of inadequacy.

She placed the origami down beside the flowers and reached gently across the table, her hands enclosing his fidgeting ones. Her voice was soft and reassuring as she spoke, offering comfort and support. "She gets it from you," she said. "Her determination, her talents—they come from you. You've given her the building blocks to excel. You're not the failure you think you are, Joel."

“I forgot your birthday.”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“I should have taken you out for dinner, bought you gifts and made you feel special. Instead you bought your own dinner and cooked your own damn birthday cake.” Joel let out a deep sigh, his eyes met hers as he pressed her hand to his lips and placed a gentle, tender kiss on her knuckles.

Her words were soft and sincere as she spoke, her eyes meeting his. "You always make me feel special. Just being here is enough." she confessed. A smile tugged at her lips as she added, "And let's be honest, I make a damn good cake. I would have done that anyway." The lightheartedness in her tone elicits a laugh from Joel, his head shook in amusement as he dropped her hand.

A soft sigh escaped his lips. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards; a tender smile formed as he looked at her.

He nodded, conceding to her words with a mock reluctance. "Yeah, alright," he huffed as his gaze shifted down to the spread of food laid out before him on the table.

As she stood to take the flowers into the kitchen, Joel continued, "I've cleared my plans for next weekend," he said, a note of excitement in his voice. "We're going to hit that hiking trail I've been talking about. It's got a real nice river and views."

She chuckled to herself as she filled a vase with water and placed the flowers inside, their vibrant colors adding warmth to the room. Hearing his mention of the weekend plans, she decided to tease him a little. "I actually already have plans," she called out from the kitchen.

As she returned to the dining table, carrying the vase of flowers in her hands, she noticed the disappointment etched onto Joel's face. His expression mirrored a mixture of surprise and a touch of hurt, realizing that she had other plans for the weekend.

Without him.

She set the vase of flowers down in the center of the table. Then, she took her seat across from him. Her movements were slow and deliberate, prolonging the anticipation. A playful smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she met his gaze.

She began to dish their dinners and she smiled to herself as she spoke. "You see," she began, her tone lighthearted, "there's this guy who forgets everything under the sun." She paused, letting the words sink in as she met his gaze, a playful sparkle in her eyes. "I had a feeling he would forget today. That he'd be all mopey about it and try to make things up by taking me away for the weekend. So, I already planned to spend my weekend with him."

Joel's eyes settled on her and his smile radiated with adoration. The look on his face was almost reverent, his gaze softened with love and appreciation. The corners of his lips tugged upward and his heart felt fuller than ever before, grateful for her understanding and patience with him.

“I love you, you know that right?” He asked.

Without hesitation, she responded, her voice filled with unwavering certainty.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

Hand in hand, Joel led the way as he guided her along the path. Her gaze, however, was fixed on the ground at her feet. He had teased her multiple times, telling her that she was missing out on the scenic views by looking down all the time. However, she couldn’t help it—the fear of tripping over a rock or root made her keep her focus on the ground.

He had helped her regain her balance each time, his hand steadied her as she stumbled. But by the fifth time, the teasing ceased. Replaced with a more protective, watchful gaze.

The afternoon sun was high, casting a warm glow over the landscape as they reached the river. The grass beneath their feet was soft and lush, and the tall trees provided a shady canopy overhead. The air was filled with the melodic tunes of birds, singing their hearts out, while playful rabbits darted amongst the colorful flowers.

She was at a loss for words, her eyes widened as she absorbed the breathtaking view around them. As he released her hand and continued walking, she stayed still for a moment, mesmerized by the natural beauty of their surroundings. It was only when he placed a blanket on the grass and began unloading food from his bag that she snapped out of her reverie, drawn to join him.

The sunlight glinted on his skin, and his eyes sparkled with mirth as he looked up at her, a wide smile stretched across his face. "I had to fight off Tommy this morning," he chuckled, a hint of playful exaggeration in his voice. "He came over hungover and drooled at the sight of all the food.”

She laughed and took her seat beside him. The contagious nature of his smile spread to her own lips.

They sat beside each other; their shoulders gently pressed together. Their conversations flowed easily against the backdrop of the rushing water and the gentle breeze. Their gazes danced back and forth between the flowing river and each other's eyes. An intimate atmosphere filled with stolen glances and warm smiles.

Joel's voice broke the comfortable silence as they strolled along the riverbank, stomachs full. "I really am sorry," he said, his eyes fixed on the water's edge as they walked together.

She moved closer to him, their fingers laced together as she gently nudged his shoulder with hers. A soft smile graced her lips as she hugged his arm. “I know." she said, her voice gentle and understanding. "But I was never upset with you."

“You should have been.”

“Would you have been upset if I forgot your birthday?” She asked.

“Well, no-”

Her voice was soft and comforting as she spoke, her cheek pressed against his arm, her gaze fixed on his face. "Then don’t stress yourself over it," she said, a gentle understanding smile played on her lips. "The only person who’s upset about you forgetting, is you."

His smile was subtle, barely visible on his lips as he nodded in acknowledgment of her words. There was a hint of relief in his eyes, as if a small burden had been lifted.

“I just want to do better by you.” He sighed, a shrug of his shoulders.

A buzz in her pocket grabbed her attention, pulling her gaze away from Joel and onto her phone. She pulled it out and stared down at the screen, her focus shifted from the man beside her to the message on her phone.

Sarah: Tried calling dad. Phone’s dead AGAIN. Got me thinking the two of you have fallen down a cliff or drowned or something. Sarah: also can you ask him to get juice on his way home PLEASE? Tommy drank it all

She shook her head; a small huff of laughter escaped her lips as she glanced up at Joel.

Of course his phone was dead, she thought.

“How about we take small steps to being better, and I know just how to start you off.” She said as she poked his arm.

He hummed.

“And what would that be babe?”

“Charge your phone, Sarah thinks you’re dead.”

Joel cursed under his breath. His expression turned into a frown as he patted his pockets. He muttered that he must have left his phone back at the car.

Her lips curled into a smile as she stealthily lifted her phone and snapped a picture of Joel, capturing his grumpy expression as he searched for his missing phone.

She sent the photo to Sarah.

Here’s a photo of your very much alive dad realizing that not only is his phone dead, but back in the car. Sarah: He’ll never change Sarah: I love him.

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she read Sarah's message. A pang of affection and adoration filled her chest as she gazed back at Joel, still on the quest to find his misplaced phone.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket and reached out, taking hold of his hands. His grumbling continued like a low murmur in the background, the annoyance at having forgotten his phone still fresh in his mind. In response to his frustration, she gently but firmly gripped his hands, bringing his attention back to her.

Her voice was soft but firm as she told him, "I love you so much." She meant it with every fiber of her being. She loved his flaws, quirks, and imperfections with unwavering affection. She loved him completely, without reservation and with every ounce of her heart.

His response was sincere, his voice filled with warmth and affection as he replied, "I love you too." There was a visible shift in his demeanor as his shoulders relaxed, a weight lifted from the weight of his disappointment. He held her gaze, his own eyes met hers, and in that moment, she knew he saw the depth of her love reflected at him.

Despite his repeated forgetful blunders, no matter how many birthdays he managed to forget, she knew that as long as he loved her, she wouldn't hold it against him. She understood that his forgetfulness didn't diminish his feelings for her. In fact, his efforts to make it up to her only strengthened her belief in the depth of his love. It was a testament to their connection, a reminder that even if he weren't the perfect planner, his love was unshakable and unwavering.

She was sympathetic to his guilt and the weight of disappointment when he let others down. She knew how much he prioritized making the people in his life happy. That's why it was impossible for her to be upset with him. He was trying his best, and that counted for everything in her eyes. She understood his innate need to please others, and she would rather support and reassure him than hold his forgetfulness against him.

Because she loved him with everything.

And he, loved her more.

EXTRA

SARAH POV

Sarah had written the date on various notes and stuck them around the house where she knew he would see them. He didn’t see them, oblivious to them, actually. She thought sticking one on the coffee machine was the perfect place, but she should have known that her dad would miss his alarm again and end up getting a coffee on the way to work instead.

She had set an alarm to remind him in his phone too, only for his phone to be dead before he even left for work.

She instead spent her Saturday picking flowers from their yard and bundled them into a bouquet for when her dad got home and began to freak out. She made little origami animals and left the box next to the flowers on the dining table and waited for her dad to get home.

He had come home that night, a deep sigh as he walked through the door. She didn’t need to see him to know what his face looked like when she called out it was his girlfriend’s birthday today. She heard him swear, heard his keys drop to the floor and the telltale sound of him patting his pockets to find his phone. She heard him swear again and then the front door opened and closed. She smiled to herself when he ran into the kitchen, mumbling that his phone is flat and asking her where a charger was as he digs through a bits and pieces bowl on the kitchen counter. Sarah casually held the charger in her hand and he thanked her five times. She pushed the present she made and the flowers and she could see the guilt in his face as he took them. He promised he would take her out for dinner and that movie she’s been nagging him to go see with her.

She texted Tommy if he was free to hang out with her next weekend because she knew that her dad would take his girlfriend out for a weekend away– she had been purposefully talking about that hiking trail after all.

And when her dad’s phone went straight to voicemail while he was away, she knew she should have found his phone and put it on charge for him.

She didn’t mind doing any of this, they were a team after all.

Notes:

hehe it's my birthday, big old 24!

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction

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merlinmarvelandother-oneshots · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! It's me again :) btw can I be your -💀anon?

You don't have to put a tag or anything but it's just so when I send asks you know it's me (^-^)/

Btw loved the headcanons you made

Could you please do some but this time it's a bit silly like I have this plot in mind :

Skele walks on s/o cutting their hair but with kitchen scissors and then like making it better with a derma shaver (I saw a video on tiktok of someone doing that and it just was funny to me lol)

What would the skele do and think? It'd be funny if some if them are a bit confused since they don't have hair

Again no worries if you don't take the ask ! Have a good day/night and be safe :)

of course you can be 💀 <3

(imma just do the skelebros from the last req bc i love them)

(also the amount of times ive wanted to do the exact same thing)

UnderTale, UnderFell, and UnderSwap skelebros walk in on their s/o cutting their hair

UnderTale:

Sans:

-"whatcha doin', y/n?"

-you look at him through the mirror while you continue cutting your hair.

-"oh, nothing! just wanted a little bit of a change. by the way, could you make sure im getting it even in the back?"

-he does.

-other than that, he just... watches.

-not creepily, or whatever.

-he's kind of quiet the whole time.

-when you finish, you do a little twirl to show your haircut

-"good job, kiddo"

-goes to take a nap

-as long as you're happy, he's okay.

Papyrus:

-"human! what is it you are-" his jaw dropped.

-literally. it fell on the floor.

"ARE THOSE MY SCISSORS??"

-that was his biggest concern. was having to wash the scissors. he uses those to cook! he needs them clean!!

-he gives you the silent treatment after

-for about 20 minutes. what can he say? he missed you!

UnderFell:

Red:

-he was just walking by the bathroom and looked caught a glance of you, scissors in hand, hair in clumps on the floor.

-he thinks it's a fighting thing. to keep monsters from being able to pull it.

-kind of surprised when you said that no, you just thought it'd be fun.

-he's weirded out, kind of. he thought you liked your hair?

-but oh well. as long as he doesn't have to be the one cleaning up the bathroom.

Edge:

-he definitely has the strongest reaction of all of the skelebros.

-he LOVES your hair.

-when you said you just felt like cutting it, he STORMED out of the house.

-he went through extreme grief.

-he didn't tall to you much for the next week or so.

-least supportive, most dramatic. that's for sure.

UnderSwap:

Blue:

-he is SO excited.

-he thinks you'll look great!

-asks if he can help you

-wonders if you'll dye it, too? blue! it'a his favorite color, to go with his favorite human.

-the exact opposite of SOMEONE *cough cough* Edge

-he is the MOST supportive

Honey:

-"hey, y/n, have you seen- oh!"

-it's certainly a surprise, but a welcome one, indeed.

-hangs around in there, just watching what you're doing.

-how are you so good? have you done this before?

-he thinks you look pretty damn good, though

sorry some of these are short ;-;

also idk if you meant just trimming? like i started writing these thinking 'oh! anon meant like long hair and going short! great!' because that's where it is from my (long haired) perspective. if that isn't what you meant i'd be happy to rewrite them x

#undertale #undertale x reader #sans #sans x reader #papyrus #papyrus x reader #underfell #underfell x reader #underfell sans #underfell sans x reader #underfell papyrus #underfell papyrus x reader #underswap #underswap x reader #underswap sans #underswap papyrus #underswap sans x reader #underswap papyrus x reader

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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year ago

Text

VIOLET | RAZOR. (GENSHIN)

✾ tags ; afab + gn!reader, aged-up characters, virginity loss/first times, established relationship, mutual virginity loss, nipple play, fingering, oral (f!recieving), creampies (reader is using a contraceptive), reader is mentioned to be an orphan / run away , 18+

✾ wc ; 6.1k (went to edit and went 700 words over the wc. pain)

✾ a/n ; i'm losing my mind btw. razor my only triple crowned character my most greatly beloved my angel my sweet. also i added the aged up tag mostly bc its the genshin fandom but. if u dont like that dont read. ez peazy.

also trust and believe the voice im picturing in this is his jpn dub. this is important

✾ synopsis ; you resolve yourself after many long years of abstinence, you're going to ask razor about sex the minute he comes home.

Razor is human.

On a technical level, this information isn’t news to you. He looks human. His physical makeup is human. He needs to eat and sleep like humans do. Focusing on the technicals alone, Razor is very, very human.

It doesn’t change that he was raised by wolves, though. And you don’t want it too. You think it’d be a shame if he started to assimilate too much into human society just because he felt like he had too. You know how he feels about it. And that Boreas is the closest he’s ever had to a father figure, thus making his claim about Razor's humanity a rather devastating blow. He feels inhuman all while knowing he is. You think once upon a time, he really did wish to be a wolf.

You’ve known Razor since you were a teenager. You’d ended up in Wolvendom after your exploration of Teyvat led you to its outskirts. You’d bonded over your similarities. Two orphans with no real place where they fit in completely and complete odd-ball personalities - Razor was an easy friend for you to make. Even when you eventually decided to settle into Mondstat - you’d made a point to visit Razor regularly and spend time with him in the forest.

You made an odd pair of course, but you didn’t mind. If no one else understood you in the world - you know Razor always would. He’d listen patiently about all of your adventures and sit quietly as you decided to pester him by braiding his hair or teaching him new words. Loyal, obedient, sweet.

You never formally had the boyfriend conversation in the time you’d spent together. One day, however, Razor took you to meet Boreas out of the blue as well as the leader of his pack. You figured maybe it was something he did with his close friends. It only occurred to you that maybe this was a more serious meeting when Razor promptly gestured towards you and introduced you as his mate.

Razor, predictably, was very confused about your minor freak out. You tried not to let it show during your little chit-chat, but afterwards you’d shaken him by the shoulders and interrogated him about his word choice. This of course didn’t register in his mind at all. According to Razor, you’d been his mate since long ago. He’d been courting you since the moment you met in the way wolves are known too. You’re an adventurer, well-versed in certain animal behaviors for the sake of survival, including wolves.

And looking back on your interactions he was right, Razor had been courting you from the start. The news made you flush, and you went back into Razors camp and thoroughly educated him on human courting rituals.

(“Why matter?” Razor asks, head laid in your lap while he looks up at you from inside the tent “Not important.”

“Why would it not be important?”

He turns towards you, head facing your stomach as one arm lazily wraps around your waist. He yawns sleepily, seemingly not worried about a thing.

“You are mate. Mate last until death.” He explains, casually - like he’d always believed he’d spend every minute of his life with you. Like that was the only natural outcome for you both and that he’d never consider anything else. You want to explain, it’s different for humans. Humans don’t usually mate that way, you should say. But the words die out in your mouth as he clings closer to you “Sorry for..not asking.. properly. What are we…as humans?”

You look down at where he lays, thumb brushing over his cheek.

“Lovers or life partners. They’re closest to the word mate, in definition.”

“Lovers easier,” He grumbles, eyebrows tightening at the complex words in your sentence “You want to be lovers with Razor?”

You laugh. Light and bubbly and warm as you lean forward and try to mask the tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

“Yes. We’re lovers from now on. And mates. And lupical, right?”

Razor sighs contentedly into your midriff.

“And lupical.”)

According to Razor, you had been mates from the minute you met. According to your human timeline, you have been dating since you were both around 17. It’s been a long time since then and nothing in your relationship has changed.

You’re an adult now and you work with the city of Mondstat studying wildlife populations. You live in the city in a cottage, and Razor lives with you - though he spends most of his day outside. He does the domestic labor while you whittle away at papers and projects. Because of your job, you still spend a fair bit of time together in the wild. He has plenty of insight about the wildlife in Wolvendom and is keen enough on changes to give significant contribution to your study. His work as your partner is unofficial, but everyone acknowledges that you come together in a set. Where you go, Razor follows.

You’re happy with your life. With your relationship to your wolf-boy boyfriend, with the career you’ve carved out of scratch and the life you’ve built. You left your orphanage young and spent a long time on the run. You’re incredibly thankful for all of what you have and you could never think of what more to ask for.

This is especially true for you and Razor. You’ve never had any real major obstacles in your relationship. Part of this comes from the wolven habit of mating for life. Concepts like pride are foreign to Razor. He says sorry even when he doesn’t completely understand and he has no concept of betraying your loyalty. Most things you can teach, he learns very quickly. But there are also some things no one ever teaches you to navigate. Some boundaries you can’t be sure you’re allowed to cross.

You’re a blossoming, healthy person in their twenties and so is Razor. He’s scarred and athletic in the outdoorsy way and he’s a little more rugged now that you’ve both grown. He’s hit a growth spurt and he’s taller than you and every time you see his arm flex carrying in an entire boar to butcher in your yard - you start getting so hot under the collar you feel like you’re going to explode.

The problem is: you want to have sex and you want to have it badly. You want it so bad it’s starting to make you feel like you’re a deviant. Like you’re some kind of harlot masquerading as an archon-fearing civilian.

But it’s so hard to bring up and you don’t know how you’re ever going too.

You’re very good at asking for what you want usually. It comes with the territory. And thanks to your boyfriend's cluelessness about human social convention, asking for things isn’t embarrassing. Concepts like shame are learned through a lifetime of socialization that he lacks and while you could sit and try to teach him - you don’t think he would care either way. He listens if you tell him he shouldn’t do something, but that’s because you’re his mate and his lupical.

What other people think is none of his concern. He cares about his Lupical. So if Lisa or Bennet or Klee tell him something, he might take it into consideration. But they, like you, love the parts of Razor that make him how he is and his complete innocence in some ways is part of that.

You know you could very well ask Razor for sex. You’ve spent a lot of time together and you’ve learned many things about him. It’s not like there’s nothing there at all. Like his every other trait, Razor normally relies on instinct to guide him. You’ve learned through kisses and dry-humping that he can get hard at least. You’ll probably never know the details of his arousal, and the only you’ll ever find out is by having sex with him.

You don’t know what else he knows. What Lisa has told him of the birds and the bees.

You have tried to ask Lisa inadvertently, but she enjoys making fun of you too much to give you any straightforward answers. And in her own maternal way, she thinks it’d be better for your relationship if you go ahead and ask yourself.

She’s right about that, but it’s also not very easy. You know Razor would never judge you. He doesn’t even have the capacity to do so. But while Razor knows nothing of shame, you certainly do.

It’s your problem to get over. You know that. You rationalize that your fantasies are healthy and normal for someone your age. But there is something terribly humiliating about trying to express the extent of your desire apart from just having it. Is it fair to teach Razor about desire? Does he know of it already and the both of you just suffer in silence?

Razor is a man. A grown man, and tougher than most men you know. He’s seen more than almost anyone else as part of living in the woods. You know he’s not some innocent fairy. But you can’t get over the feeling like you’re corrupting his sweet preciousness somehow.

(This has its own charm, but that’s not relevant. Or maybe it is. Maybe there’s guilt for that too but it’s not something you can unpack)

You’re reaching your upper limit on patience. Your hand can only do the job so long (though the import of sex toys from Fontaine do help) nothing can truly replace what you want. And what you want is Razor.

So, you’ve made your choice. When Razor comes home from…what he’s doing today - you’re going to ask him to have sex.

You’ve finished all of your work, did as many chores as you can, and now you’re waiting in your bedroom trying to read a book.

You haven’t even read past the first page, actually. But you’re trying. It’s hard to do anything meaningful when your brain keeps pivoting back to what's going to happen when your boyfriend returns home.

You’re nervous and fidgeting, rubbing your socked feet together and running over the laundry list of talking points you’ve concocted trying to make this happen. You shaved but not bare because you know he definitely wouldn’t like it, but you’re clean. You aren’t sure if he’s going to like that either and he’s expressed that he likes when you smell natural. But it soothed your anxiety to shower so he’ll have to leave with it.

You have no idea how this could go. You don’t even know how to prepare for the worst, because you don’t know what the worst is. But you reassure yourself with the fact Razor loves you and leave it at that.

You hear the door open and take a deep breath.

There’s heavy footsteps that get louder and louder. Razor cracks the door open politely, peeking his head into your shared room. He makes a face, the softest little smile you’ve ever seen - before letting himself in and shutting the door behind him. He’s quick to undress himself - jacket and scarf abandoned along with his boots. Leaving him in green pants and a bandage around his chest and arsm.

“Hi,” He says simply, coming down over to where you’re laid. He chooses to sit on the floor, folding his arms on the bed as he looks at you patiently “Missed you,”

“Hey there,” Your heart is pounding just looking at him. He’s unreasonably handsome. Had he grown up in normal conditions, you think he would’ve been a very popular loner type. “How was your family?”

“Good,” He says shortly, eyes warm and light “New pup. First time seeing since I was little. Very small and cute.”

“I’m glad. Bet it’s nice not to be the youngest anymore.”

“Come next time,” He says genuinely “They miss you.”

Your heart is so full you think it might burst. It temporarily soothes your anxiety.

“Of course I will.”

Razors eyes examine you for a minute. Your heart is still racing. Of course he notices it. He knows much more about you than you’ll ever know about yourself. His brow creases in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

You look at him apologetically, immediately warmed by how worried he is. You give him a small smile.

“I’m okay. Just a little nervous. Wanted to ask you about something.”

“Okay. I listen. No need to..be nervous.”

Right. He’s right about that. You sit up and Razor remains where he is. He’s seated comfortably on the floor, on his knees - between your thighs. He’s a sight for sore eyes, terribly rugged and scarred with nothing but honesty settled in his gaze. Carmine and beautiful. You fold your hands in your lap and before you can worry too much, Razor grabs one in his hand.

He kisses your knuckles so gently, leaning his face into your palm.

“It’s okay.”

You figure it’s best to be straight to the point.

“Uhm. Razor. Do you…know what sex is?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s—wait what? Did you just say yes?”

He nods again. “Miss Lisa taught me.”

That witch. You take a deep breath. It’s now or never.

“And uhm, what did she tell you about it?” You ask tentatively.

“Like mating but for humans. Best to do with mate. Good to be careful or else pups will come too soon.”

You stare at him, jaw slack.

“Right. And what else?”

He racks his brain right in front of you.

“Uhm. Can be for…feel good. Should go slow. Lots of things different from wolf.”

“...Do you know how it happens? The specifics?”

Razor goes a soft pink. Razor blushes.

“Yes.”

You have no idea what to feel. Not the faintest clue in the world. This is the first time in your entire relationship either of you have been in an awkward situation. You’re partially relieved it’s not completely foreign, partially feeling hot between the legs because you’re not corrupting anything. You make a face of uncertainty.

“Oh. Uhm. Do you—have you ever.. I mean—have you ever wanted to have sex with me then? I-is that something you’d…want to do?”

Razor almost looks perplexed by this question. He nods, then follows up.

“Yes. A lot.”

You nearly choke on your spit.

“A lot?”

“Yes. But.. Miss Lisa said to wait. Until mate asks.”

You’re going to have a serious discussion with that damned woman later. You take a shaky breath, looking at him carefully. This is going to break you in a way you don’t know if you’ll recover from. But you’re fine, you’ve made it this far. And you don’t want to back down when you haven’t gotten to the finish line. The final blow.

You’re not completely sure where you go from here honestly. Your brain was fully expecting to go on a long rant about sexual intercourse. Now that that’s out of the window, you’re at a loss. You decide, internally, that going straight forward is the best thing you could do for now.

“Then… would you want to have sex with me?”

His eyes widen then he pauses, looking worried.

“Well…yes. But, worried. Not sure…how.”

“Well, uhm. Normally it starts with kissing and t-touching and things like that. You can just do what feels right. Uhm.. and I’ll tell you… what I like. A-and what feels good.” You offer, trying not to show just how nervous you are even suggesting “But uhm… I also… think about it. A lot. With you.”

His eyes light up, and you can practically see the change in him. You’ve never let yourself get close enough to look but when you see him now that you know, it’s obvious. He’s looked at you like this before.

Like he wants you.

“Razor,” You say, bracing yourself for impact “Come up here.”

He’s quick to his feet. You lay back down and Razor lays himself ontop of you, hovering gently. He smells like forest, the rich warm scent of dirt and sunlight mixed with sweat that you’ve grown fond of. Looking down at you, he presses his forehead against yours with his eyes fluttered closed.

“Mate,” His breath is warm like he’s been chewing mint leaves and sweet flowers. He does it sometimes before coming home “Love you,”

“I love you too, Razor. You don’t,” You swallow thickly, suddenly aware of your proximity “Don’t hold back okay? You won’t break me.”

“Want to..” He thinks slowly, brain clearly struggling to come up with the right word “Cherish. Want to cherish mate. Cherish you.”

You give him a breathy laugh as he leans in close to you.

“Did Miss Lisa teach you that?”

“Yes,” He replies, pressing his cheek to yours and rubbing himself against you innocently “Cherish you a lot.”

“I cherish you a lot too,” You offer and he smiles. You feel your heart thump as you look up at him less innocently “Let’s kiss first, okay”

He doesn’t reply. This much is familiar. Though this was something you had to teach him at first, you would go as far as saying Razor kisses better than you. He’s better than you in these ways most of the time. He knows how to read your body language down to the most irrelevant details, attuned to your physicality in a way that could only be inhuman. The first time he noticed a change in your cycle after starting some herbal contraceptives, you were turned on as much as you were afraid.

His mouth is hot and overwhelming, plush as he kisses you passionately. He’s quick to open your mouth up with his tongue. Razor likes to taste. It’s natural for him to slip his tongue past your lips and lick at yours. You think if anyone else did it you’d be turned off. But with him hovering you over you, desperate as he pulls and nips at your lower lip - it’s stimulating. It makes you wet before you can think about it too hard. Your hands curl themselves around his neck, tangling at the thick roots of his gray hair.

He moans when you tug, and your eyes nearly pop out of your sockets. You do it again, a little harder and the same broken sound leaves his lips in the middle of kiss. You swallow the noise before pulling away, looking at his face. His face is perfectly rosy, lips swollen from where you’ve been kissing them.

“Did you,” You look at him erratically, eyes going over every part of his face “Did that feel good?”

He nods, dumbfounded.

“Felt good but,” He shakes his head in disbelief “Don’t know why.”

You giggle, delighted with the outcome.

“No it’s good, that’s normal.” You say trying not to babble “It’s like your body’s weak point.”

“Not weak.”

“It’s not a bad thing. I have some too. Like my neck.”

You can see the gears turning in his head. He tucks his chin against your shoulder and before you can speak to ask him about it, he’s pressing his lips against the skin of your neck. He doesn’t stop at a kiss, though. He proceeds to lick the small patch of tender flesh, before sinking his teeth into it.

You moan. You moan sharp, almost like a gasp of pain. He opens his mouth to ask if you’re okay but when he sees you he stops. He blinks, then gives you a look you’ve never seen.

His voice is almost chipped - richer and more hoarse as his fingers go over what can only be bite marks.

“Feels good?” He says, then adds more urgently “Where else?”

You’ve made him discover something. You’re sure of that. He looks awfully determined about it, too.

You sigh shakily, grabbing his hands. Even though you’re trembling mercilessly, you want this. You want him. You let his hand squeeze around the swell of your tits - your nipples peeking through the thin fabric of your shirt. With your eyes locked on his, you brush your nipples.

“H-here,” You admit watching his eyes go dark. Animalistic. “Uhm. W-with your mouth, you c-can suck on them.”

He’s quiet.

“Like pup?”

You laugh.

“A little bit like that, I guess. But it’s different.”

He makes a small, approving noise with his mouth, once again thinking hard about something before he continues down his path. He leaves open kisses all over your skin, hands reaching to undress you. You help him, peeling your shirt over your head and tossing it somewhere. His eyes are shut closed, in bliss as he licks and bites down your neck with no real grace. His tongue is wet and rough all over you.

You can tell you’re being primed for something animal. Like being tenderized, worked apart in a way that makes you melt into something soft. Something that can be broken without teeth, that can be swallowed in one go. It’s not a romantic kiss as much as it’s a hungry graze, a gnawing lust. He’s not being so reserved anymore, and that means sinking his teeth as far into you as he can go, not enough to break the skin. Razor would never break you. But he might ruin you, might melt you down from your very center until he can tear you apart.

You thought it’d hurt, and it does - but in a good way. There’s some sick sense of relief in how achy your whole body is. You’re burning up because Razor wants you like he’s starving. An emptiness claws at you, makes the back of your gums ache. Makes all the hairs on the back of your neck stand nearly straight as you sink deeper in. You want to be full of him and you want him to get so full off of you.

Razor doesn’t stop his tirade even when he gets down to your chest. Instead his mouth closes around your tit, hard incisors sinking into the supple skin but only slightly gentler than before. His canines feel sharper than yours. They must be.

“O-oh,” You can feel your voice shake as you hold onto the back of his head. He touches the other one with his free hand, squeezing and massaging the skin. He rubs your nipples experimentally in the same way you did a moment ago. “Razor, hngh,”

A noise is pulled from the back of his throat, a growl - so hard and heavy that it reverberates into your skin. You can feel it spread through your whole body, your core tightening up. Your skin is prickly. A solar flare shooting through your spine.

You don’t think you’ve ever been so aroused. You can hardly breathe around the weight of it sitting in your chest.

“Your scent..change.” Razor says through a breath, a thick layer of saliva where his mouth once was “Hot. So hot.”

You nearly whimper.

“ It’s because I’m wet…Aroused.”

“Wet?”

“It means I want to be touched. I want you to touch me down there.”

A beat of silence.

“Want me..to mate with you.” He sits up onto his knees, staring at you. Your legs are around his waist loosely. He presses a hand to your clothed sex. You jolt at the contact. “Want me to fill you, here?”

He puts his hand on your hip, on your stomach - before tucking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts.

“Want to see. What’s wet, I want to see.”

You lift your legs slightly, pulling your shorts off as you're bent at the knee. It’s embarrassing being bare naked in front of Razor, though you’ve seen him in the same state plenty. He’s quick to grab your knee and force your legs apart wide. He’s got that same focused stare, tongue poked out as he brushes the coarse hairs on your mound with his knuckle. You squirm under the feeling.

“Pretty,” He says first, then follows with “It’s…very warm. Hot but doesn’t hurt”

Razor explores with his hands. He runs his finger along your slit, before using his thumbs to spread you apart. He nudges your clit. At first you wonder if it's an accident, but when he does it again - rubs a pointed circle on the aching bundle of nerves you realize he’s being intentional.

“Here, right?” Razor says slowly and gauges your reaction “Feels good for you…here. Helps.”

You want to ask who taught him such a thing but you already know the answer. You nod helpless, feeling the way his thumb goes back and forth. He tries it in different ways, watches whatever way makes your breath hitch the most.

“Here makes you… jump. Like bunny rabbit. Like prey”

The word prey almost takes you out. You can’t make your words out very eloquently anymore. “It’s uhm sensitive.”

He knows the word. You’ve taught him it. He looks at your bare cunt all awestruck, gloved hand resting on your sex as he continues to toy with your clit. You squirm and shake, even trying to pull away. Razor manages to grab you, keeps you pinned with your legs spread, using his own body to keep you like that.

“Razor,” You moan, grabbing at his wrist “Razor.”

“Mm. It’s soft. So soft.”

“I want to see yours.”

It takes him a second to register your words, but he’s not ashamed in the slightest when he does. He takes off his gloves right before. You’ve felt it, briefly, the weight and heft of his cock through clothes but you’ve never actually seen it. You gasp as he pulls it out, tucking his pants down under his balls. He’s hairy - thick dark gray hairs nested at the base. His cock has a pretty curve up, tip ruddy and bright. It’s drooling, dribbling pre-cum and heavy. He wraps his free hand around the base and strokes it instinctively. It’s a good length, but it’s thick. Thicker than you could’ve ever conjured up in your own mind.

You reach for it between your bodies, your hands trembling as you touch it. Razor lets out another throaty growl. Your hand doesn’t fit around it completely. The back of your throat tightens up.

“You’re—it’s big. I can’t—not at once. I h-have to open myself up a little bit.”

Razor tilts his head to one side and you shake yours in reply.

“I need to uhm,” You gesture vaguely “Make it more..wet and stretch myself out. So you fit i-inside.”

“Want to help. Teach me.”

“...Teach you?”

“Easier if I..learn now. When we do it again later. Teach me..how to touch you.”

The words sound sweet coming out of his mouth, honeyed and loving. An obedient and eager pupil, Razor has always been that hasn’t he? And he always listens the best he can, tries his hardest. You suppose that this instance is no different. You suck in a breath and spread your legs a little more.

“Watch,”

Razor watches. He watches as you dip your fingers into your mouth and coat them with saliva. Watches as you snake a hand in between your legs and dip your middle finger down low into your cunt - with a trembling sigh at the sudden intrusion. He watches intimately as you pump them in and out, rhythmic and noisy. The sound of your own wet heat rings in your ears as you spread yourself in earnest.

Half-way through, Razor puts a hand on your thigh. He pushes your own hand away, and waits for you to open your eyes. He stares at you, long and hard.

“I want to eat you. Want to lick,” His hand cups your bare pussy “Here. Make you wet. Open you by myself. Want to eat.”

You’re speechless. Profoundly turned on by the sentiment, so much so you can’t make out your own voice.

“Uhm,” You close your hands into a fist, tucking your chin. “You can do whatever you like, Razor.”

He assesses the statement and you watch him take it in. He ends up on his stomach, lying between your thighs. You’re fascinated by his assurance in himself. He takes the right position between your legs. You spread out to give him easier access and he gives you a silent look of thanks. His breath is warm as it fans your cunt.

Before you get a chance to breathe, Razor sticks his tongue and licks. It’s animalistic with no real finesse at all. He makes up for it with enthusiasm and some conclusions he’s drawn with your assistance. He sucks on your clit nearly feverish, takes it into his mouth like he did your tits minutes prior. It’s drooly and sticky and nasty in a way that makes you ashamed. You’re more ashamed because you like it, you love it really. Spit is running down, dripping down to your ass. It’s a loud slurp - a shameless, nasty hunger in how he licks up your arousal with his mouth and drenches your pussy with spit.

His groans reverberate into you. He likes what he’s doing. The sound and touch and taste - Razor overwhelms you with all of it. There’s a tangible intensity wrapping up around you, keeping you trapped in the wolf's den.

You don’t teach him to use his fingers. He seems to have figured it out. The pad of his middle finger draws the spit pooling along your seam before pushing itself into your tight hole. You gasp at how invasive it is at first. Razors fingers are thick and scarred and you can feel the ridges of your raised skin from healed injured when he fucks you open with them.

It feels good. Being wanted. Being consumed voraciously and openly without any care for shame. Razor is the embodiment of raw desire and all of it- every ounce of it is being used to devour you. The descendant of wolves, the son of the forest - laid between your thighs and eating like something delicious left at an abandoned altar.

Even clumsy, you’re turned on beyond reason. Arousal leaves you shakily pawing at him to slow down. Your voice is reduced to nothing but small whines and mewls - pleas to slow down that fall on deaf ears.

“Razor,” Your voice is clipped “Razor, please - it’s enough. Just.”

When he snaps out of his haze, his chin is soaked with arousal and spit. He wipes it with the back of his hand, looking at you.

“Tastes good. You taste nice.” He praises, heaving and out of breath.

Your stomach flares up with new found lust, hands covering your face.

“Archons, just. Come here.”

Razor climbs up on top of you again. You cup his face and kiss him hard, tasting yourself on him.

“You’re so unfair. But I can’t get angry because you’re not even doing it on purpose.”

“Sorry,”

You shake your head, kissing the corner of his mouth. Trembling with need.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I want you inside. Want you to fill me in here, so bad, Razor.”

His eyes widen. Your desperation must reach him this time, because he nods. innocently. You’re thankful beyond words you’re on contraceptives. At this point, you think trying to use a condom would break you down.

“You just have to put it inside. But please go slowly, okay?”

“Go slowly…won’t hurt you.”

Razor sits up on his knees again, drawing your waist down towards him. Before he pushes into you, he lays his cock against your sex - pushing it between messy folds. His expression morphs, his jaw tensing as the head of his cock swells and throbs against your aching clit. It slides and slips so messily, pussy clinging to his hard length. You guide his cock towards your entrance while he leans forward over you. His palms are rough as they grab your hips, hands settling up under your knees.

You can feel his cock as he rolls his hips slowly. Your nails dig into his back, indenting the skin as you cry out. It’s thick, intrusive as he pushes into your tight little hole. Even after opening you up, there’s an ache inside as the head stretches your pussy open. The raw drag of skin on skin as Razor pushes inside of you. You can feel him with every movement, your legs wrapped around his waist tight.

Razor has always had a limited vocabulary. He likes to speak in short sentences since it’s what he does best. His speech now is a lot more developed, but he still finds it troublesome.

It stuns you when Razor's grip tightens and he swears under his breath - a single word, long and drawn out as his cock pushes into you deeply.

“Fuck,”

“R-razor?”

“Feels good…feels so good. Want…move. Please.”

“You can move, just let me hold onto you okay?”

Razor tucks his head against your neck before he fucks you. In one smooth motion, he pulls himself out completely before shoving himself back in. It’s as gentle as he can go, but you can practically feel him shaking above you. How his whole being urged him to fuck you llike an animal. The desperation rolls off of him in waves, his own hands gripping tighter as he slowly finds a rhythm to fuck you in. Clumsy thrust that turns into careful calculated ones as you urge him to go deeper.

“Deep,” Razor pants against your neck, his breath tickling your skin. His voice is a low growl as his hips snap up to meet the back of your thighs with each thrust. Your bed creaks each time he moves, the frame knocking against the wood “I’m deep inside you,”

“Razor,” You sneak a hand between your bodies, clumsily toying with your clit - pleasure ruining your every thought “Harder. Give it to me harder.”

As soon as the words leave your mouth, Razor gives up on trying to hold himself back. He fucks you with nearly reckless abandon, an impressive amount of strength and weight behind each thrust. His dick pushes in and out of you hard and fast in the most unromantic way. You can feel it all the way up to your throat. It makes the back of legs and and your lower half feel tingly. Your head is blank, nothing but spotted white in your vision. You blink them open to look at Razors face.

He’s biting at his lower lip hard, focusing all of himself on his thrusts. He’s enduring it well. Your insides clench, a fluttery sensation starting to build up between your legs. You can feel it in your belly, the knot starting to untie.

Razor is starting to feel it too him.

“Inside so, ngh - hot. S-something coming, going to—”

“A little more. Gonna cum soon, Razor. Feels so good, you make me feel so good.”

Your mindless praise makes him whimper. A soft noise that echoes through you. You repeat it over and over, in a high voice like you’d praise a puppy. Razor takes it in beautifully, trying so hard not to succumb to his own desires. He restrains despite how hard and how fast and how deep he’s fucking you. You know it’s not easy.

“I’m gonna c-cum, Razor,” You say, at the very edge “Cum with me. It’s okay, you can let it out.”

You cum hard. Harder than you think you ever have in your life, then you’ve ever been able to manage by yourself. The sensation hits all at once, like falling through the sky, you can feel the clouds pushed away by the weight of you coming down through. Your insides tighten and tense one last time before everything releases at once, and waves of the aftershock leave your pussy fluttering. You’re washed with pure euphoria, crying out Razor’s name as you cum.

Razor is quick to follow you. Your own orgasm seems to drive him over the edge, and he cums deep inside. He muffles his cry by biting into your shoulder, groaning as hot seed spills into your cunt with a harsh stutter of hips. He fucks into your pussy, soft and messy before bottoming out and nearly collapsing on top of you.

It takes you a long minute to catch your breath well enough to speak.

You rub Razors back soothingly before you do. He lifts his head, eyes heavy as he looks at you.

“Wow,” He says, eyes wide and blown out. You can’t help but break out into a fight of laughter “Love you…”

“I love you too, Razor.”

“Wanna do it again,” Razor says, looking at you seriously “Can I?”

You feel a pulse of warmth through your whole body before nodding.

“Uhm. Yes. Just give me a break first, okay?”

#razor x reader #gensnhin impact x reader #razor smut #genshin impact smut #writing tag #posts this then disappears forever

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