#They lie basking in the afterglow

[stickyspeckledlight]

Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]

The cotton in your mind protects you.

Ao3

word count: 11.4k

TW: Stockholm syndrome, implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts (not detailed but reader does mention having them and thinking about the act), mild gore (little actual gore but the prose uses gory language), reader goes through it and let’s just say aventurine is a terrible influence, tonal whiplash for my own sanity, wow aventurine are you really this emotionally constipated

Note: My first ever yan work! This is a bit of a mess, but I’ll bet five dollars and janitorial duty at Taco Bell that it’s a good mess 👍

(Written before 2.1)

The sun sets as you both bask in the afterglow. Clouds streak the baby blue sky, hued in soft yellows, calm oranges, and blushing pink. 

(And it reminds you of his eyes) 

Sights like these made nights spent in a casino a bit more bearable. You take a deep breath, sighing in contentment and exhaustion, and you wish you could shut your eyes and stretch this moment for an eternity. To remain in the setting eye of the sun, softly breathing as you press against the gentle beating of his heart. To have his hand lazily draped over your waist, the other caressing your head, fingers softly entangled with your locks. Your tears have dried, too. Yes, you’d like to live in this singular moment, divorced from everything else.

But as you’ve learned during your time with Aventurine, time is a rapid to move with.

You shiver a bit. Noticing this, he pulls up a thin blanket. The difference is small. But still, the serenity of the moment is shattered. The soft silk is meant to cage you in for whatever happens next. You don’t mind, anymore. Or, when you’re more lucid, when you let the torrent that is your mind flow, that’s what you decide.

You’re not stupid, but you wish you were. If you were stupid, you wouldn’t ever be forced to trek away from your home. Wouldn’t grab the attention of anyone smart and shrewd (though you did hear about one ‘Dr. Ratio,’ committed to remedies of ignorance). Even if you somehow did and ended up where you were, maybe your mind would be filled with cotton rather than thoughts. That you could enjoy everything all the time. 

But you’re not stupid, nor are you a genius who could hope to outwit the man who holds the aventurine of stratagem. Knowing how normal you are compared to him only makes you more hopeless, so you do your best to fill your mind with cotton again. You feel your inner voice berate you for your willing ignorance but it also cries at its necessity. 

Cotton. You needed to fill your head with cotton, because if you didn’t in time (and that time was short when you were with Aventurine) you might just sob again then and there. You think too much. So you won’t think. At least around him. Because…you still don’t want to acknowledge it in your mind. You protect yourself from the brunt of it and effectively live a lie.

“You’re clenching your jaw,” Aventurine’s voice possesses a perpetual drawl, but in moments like this it softens a little. Almost like he’s talking to a person and not something to use. “Just what could it be you’re thinking about?” 

Could you even be called a thinking creature right now? Cotton absorbs color, and right now the sun, so big it could engulf you, is so beautiful. You tell him the truth. “The sunset’s beautiful. Really, really beautiful. A lot more beautiful than the others.”

He hums. He knows you’re not lying, but you haven’t answered his question. “You’ve made your affinity for the sight quite clear,” he says, and you only notice that odd edge in his voice from your sheer exposure to the man. Whatever Aventurine has against this sight, you’re not sure. He seems to like sunrises, though, if you can trust the times you’ve woken up and see him watching it. And whenever there is no sun, you wake up to him gone or kissing you awake. Though lately, you’ve been steadily receding from your habit of oversleeping, so you more often wake to the sound of his morning rituals. The hand in your hair tightens, and there’s a small tug, firm but not painful, at your roots. He still wants his answer.

Your mind, chosen to be wrecked with cotton, doesn’t know what to think. You say the only other thing in your absent mind. “This one looks like your eyes.” 

You think he likes that because you feel him shift to look at it. You can’t see his face, but you assume he’s taken off his usual smile. Smiling all the time sounded torturous, and you rub your cheek at the phantom pain of your own imagination. 

“Hmm…” and you feel him shift again, and you really have no idea what he wants. From the intonation, he’s about to do something either mischievous or ‘flirtatious.’ “You know, sweetheart,” he purrs, the word heavy on his tongue. He shifts, so you lay on the bed and he lays directly across from you. If this were earlier in your relationship you’d fantasize about ripping his throat for robbing you of the sunset; and he’d tut and make sure to evaporate those thoughts. His hair is messed up, his smile soft but still unreadable. The sun shines on the mark on his neck, and something about the sight makes you a bit…happy. And angry. He takes your face in his hands and locks your eyes. You tense a bit out of instinct. Aventurine’s full attention on you was intense and overwhelming, like a bright sun and a feral beast; the bit of dried blood on his lips is proof of it. You make a note to yourself to do more work on hammering your justified instinct away. Your heart feels like it will burst, as his gaze bores into your own. From apprehension or anticipation, you’re not sure. “If that’s the case,” one of his hands trails down your jaw, the ghost of his touch fluttering against the marks he’s painted on your neck. He’d have no issue finding more all around your body. He softly, lovingly holds your neck like he’s prepared to snap it and equally prepared to drown you in his affection. His thumb finds and lightly presses on a mark, one he drew blood from. “Why not take in the real thing, hm?” His thumb presses harder, and you blink back a wince at the pain. He notices, eyes softening impossibly further before relinquishing his thumb and kissing the irritated skin. “Sorry,” he says, but it’s said the same way a cat licks a mouse’s carcass. But you don’t mind. You’ve made sure you don’t mind a lot of things, and it’s made you equally content and miserable. Maybe you hold onto that latter feeling in stubborn defiance, because losing that shred of yourself would turn you into something that You wouldn’t necessarily hate if it were anyone else, but when it’s You becoming that—that, that, You hate.

But you do enjoy being close to someone like this, and hum contentedly to try and focus on that instead. But Aventurine is perceptive, and though his head is below you, you feel as if you’ve been chained up when you once again lock eyes. “I can hear your thoughts, darling,” He returns to his former position, “I hate seeing you all stressed out,” he says, as if his veins weren’t running with anticipation when you were saddled with debt and when your parents got hit with unfortunate ‘accidents’ that insurance couldn’t cover and he didn’t love the day you became his. “Didn’t you say that open and honest communication is important in a healthy relationship? I’m rather fond of our little romance, and I’d hate for it to crumble.” He nearly pouts—doesn’t surprise you much anymore, but there’ll always be a little bit of whiplash that doesn’t quite go away. Though, You feel a slight hint of bitterness—‘crumble?’ Some cotton burns away. Did he mean that for himself? …Or might it have been a vague threat to you…? You think, but you’re quick to fill your head back up with cotton. The process isn’t immediate, however.

“Our relationship is the furthest thing from healthy,” you point out. You don’t add in that you never sought out romance in the first place, “and it hasn’t exactly been built on a sturdy foundation.”

“You’ve got me there,” He chuckles. “Well, let’s put it like this,” he brushes a lock of hair from your face, “I see that my lover’s been saddled with all these thoughts, and it’s gotten them so awfully quiet,” Lover? No, that’s hyperbole. He tucks his fingers underneath your chin, stroking the soft, unmarked skin; the only area spared from his assault. “Makes a guy worry, you know? The last time you were this quiet was when you first moved in.” 

Yes. It was mostly because You spent the majority of your free time sobbing, leaving your voice all but spent by the time he got back. And it wasn’t like you could be the goofy and sometimes witty and sometimes not buffoonish person You were when You were so miserable. When you wanted to do everything you could to retreat into your own skin—but Aventurine simply ripped you out, exposed, bloody, and sniffling. After that thought, the cotton has completely grown back.

“…And…?” Through the cotton, you can only wonder what he’s talking about.

His smile becomes sharper, and you wonder if he might feel insulted. Does he think you want to leave him, see him get what he deserved and some actual help like You used to? “C’mon don’t you…” you blink a little vacantly, and he seems to realize something. “Or, maybe you’re…” but his voice suggests something knowing. Suggests experience. And the gears in his mind click. “Oh, I know that look!” He laughs, delightedly or derangedly, you don’t bother to differentiate. Either way it makes you shiver. 

“Huh? What look?” You asked, filtered through cotton. He doesn’t answer and cuts to the chase.

He playfully flicks your forehead, and you imagine a bullet going through it, “Riddle me this: what do you want, sweetheart?”

You blink. What do you want? When you first got here, it was security and his or your death. After some time had passed, it was peace. But now…you want whatever storm that’s inside of you to stop. But he doesn’t need to know what you want deep in your soul. So you tell him the truth, filtered through cotton. 

You do something that would’ve been unthinkable to You, and worse, it’s subconsciously without a second thought. You push him back down on the bed by laying on him—flopping on him like a fish, You think, for your mind is such a silly little thing—lay your head over his heart, and take in the sunset. The sun’s nearly below the ground. “…If it’s fine, and only if you want…” you ask, because You detest the idea of being controlling, “I’d like you to…” you flush, “…h-hold me, um, like you are right now, until the sun’s down and, um…” your heart is going to burst and there’ll be a hole of viscera through your chest and maybe Aventurine will admire your pathetic, desperate corpse before burning it, “we can take a bath. And,” you look up at him, “I’ll look into your eyes, as much as you want…” You tell yourself it's because you need to appease him. But you know of the primal thing that lives in your chest. 

It’s true. But Aventurine puts it perfectly.

His smile speaks of years of clawing his way up with honeyed words and masked expressions. “You’re not lying. Thank you. That’s such a sweet wish,” he says kindly (you’re no longer scared of his kind voice), stroking your head like you are an obedient dog, one that he adores and veers on despising, and then wraps his other arm beneath your thighs, “but you know I’d like the truth.” He then says, primally, ready to carve out a space in your body to inhabit, “To know what storm’s brewing in that little head of yours,” he takes in a shuddering breath, and his eyes light with perverse excitement, “if it’s begun to…crack and burn up.” He sits up and carries you away. You’re slightly disappointed you won’t be seeing the sunset in its entirety, but you’ve gotten good at forgetting. Aventurine sighs wistfully. “But…” he grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him, “I don’t mind that second proposition of yours,” his voice is husky, and he kisses you. You flush, and the cotton is the only thing that prevents you from tearing into him with your canines.

As the sun moves further and further away, You think yourself a fool for thinking it would engulf you. Aventurine wouldn’t leave anything left of you, whenever he decided he was done with you.

—

This is your only choice, and it was everything you could do to not shut down the instant you realized. 

You were in denial, at first. It was all just a coincidence, right? You’d always feared this sort of thing—financial struggle—and so getting hit with it should be something you take in stride, and come out of it either in a wreck or just barely getting by. And, if you wanted to get a little nerdy, capitalist economies have to crash into recession eventually, so maybe now was just that time of the era. No place was hiring you, and your parents were getting buried in bills they couldn’t pay. 

But, if anyone with half a brain took a step back, they’d call out the bullshit excuse you concocted in your mind, to deny the ridiculous truth. Because whatever recession was happening, it seemed to only affect you; not to mention that this wasn’t even how recessions worked. The truth that you, you, were the apple of someone’s eye (for lack of a better term—you aren’t delusional—you’re just as disposable as the next person, as much as you wish for the universe to cease operating like it). 

Preposterous! Scandalous! You, a complete idiot, catching someone’s fancy? How the fuck did that happen?! Were pigs flying now? …You take that back, there are indeed flying species of the hog persuasion gallivanting about in the cosmos. But this does not detract from your point. One might say “bimbo vibes,” but you know for a fact, even taking into account your own bias and self-perpetuation of your self-esteem issues (which makes you still having them even worse, but you’ve already gone down that spiral more than you could count), that you do not have anywhere near enough bimbo energy to attract anyone with that kink. Or the looks. This was your knee-jerk reaction to the situation. And to an extent, still is, because thinking about it like that gives the situation a bit of levity you desperately need. You can’t wrap your head around it in the slightest. But you can’t dispute fact. And the fact is that you are wanted by someone else, and you can’t even begin to understand why. Least of all the person who wants you.

The man who hides behind the name ‘Aventurine.’ That fact alone already makes you not want to be so closely associated, and it makes everything more insane and stupid. An IPC executive has no use for you. If he wants to extort you for unpaid or cheap labor, he’s already got a vast selection of underpaid grunts to do his bidding. If there’s one thing the IPC knows how to do, it’s keeping those desperate enough or arrogant enough trapped. You’re not either of those things; though you admit you’ve adapted the former trait in light of recent bullshittery, but you digress. 

Most of what you come up with is met with an easy counter. Aventurine, a sleazy businessman obsessed with sex? He has money—he can just hire a prostitute; hell, you’re sure there are plenty of people who’d throw themselves at him for no charge. Sure, most of them would be coming into it with their own agendas, but he’s sharper than that. Aventurine, a man with insatiable greed? Again, he’s already rich as fuck, and the only way he’s getting any more money is if he looks up the pecking order. Whatever wealth you offer as an asset (the thought churns your stomach) is barely a drop in the bucket. Aventurine, a gambler who loved seeing his opponents fall into ruin? That was actually plausible to some extent, but you’ve made it very clear you’re no gambler (not in tangible matters at least, but you keep your card close to your heart). Then maybe he wants to try and push you over the edge? Try to make you take a risk bigger than yourself? 

So, you’ve settled for this: Aventurine, a man who cannot stand to be sober from the drink called “power.” Desiring complete domination over someone. A personal matter, and briefly you hear the echo of a quote: “We desire that which we do not have.” What doesn’t Aventurine have? 

…A relationship? Well, you shoot that down easily. Whatever kind of relationship this leads to ends with you ruined and him hunting after his next prey. 

He’s a bit like a serial killer, you muse, and you just so happen to meet his criteria for victimhood. But unlike a killer, he’s merely going to make you wish you were dead. If you wanted death, it’d have to be at your own hands. If he gave you that option at all. Another thought you have is that he might use you for snuff or something else equally or more horrific. That’s…you haven’t pursued the thought any further.

You’ve been robbed of much of your control, but you still control the hand that knocks at the door. If you’re going down, it’ll be on your own terms. This is your last, desperate attempt to pretend you have any control at all. You make sure your bangs cover your eyes. 

You just wish your heart didn’t feel like it would explode. You wish that you weren’t actively holding back from breaking down into a sobbing mess. You wish you were made of the same steel heroes were, but you cannot be what you are doomed to not be. 

Aventurine opens the door, giving you a grin that makes you retch. He’s dressed in his usual peacock-esque finery, and something about it makes you frown. Maybe it’s because he’s dressed in the colors you love—forest green, the blue of the sky, the black of where the moon does not shine—and it feels so wrong for something that wants to destroy you to be clad in them. “Sweetheart!” he coos out the wretched (and cringe-worthy) pet name with faux surprise; it propels you to roll your eyes even now. He knew you were coming; otherwise, you’d be detained by hotel staff. It didn’t quite help that you didn’t really bother to dress up either. It made you stick out like a sore thumb, and you’re glad that this is the only time you’ll be at a gaudy hotel. “You’ve come to visit little ol’ me! I’m charmed.  Aren’t I a lucky man?” 

You fantasize about his guts strewn about on the floor, accompanied by your maniacal laughter and sobs of elated despair. “...You could say that, Mr. Aventurine,” you aren’t foolish enough to be curt, so you settle for polite and cordial. Professional and businesslike, though you know that gives him a slight advantage. “There’s something I wish to discuss with you. I think that’s best accomplished behind closed doors.” 

He clicks his tongue playfully. “No need to be so cold. We’re friends here, aren’t we?” 

“I suggest you drop the ‘sweetheart,’ then. Friends don’t call each other that, Mr. Aventurine.” 

He raises his hand in mock surrender, and you want him to get to the fucking point before you lose your nerve. “Oh, fine. Then,” he gestures to the lion’s den. If only he were the gentleman he was pretending to be. “Walk on in, darling.” You cannot suppress the groan that comes out of you. His smile widens; you're sure he gets some kick at riling you up.

You don’t have the energy to deal with him, and you certainly don’t have enough to suppress the sigh of irritation you let out. He seems to look like…some sort of positive emotion that you don’t know what to name. You’re not sure if you want to name it.  

The sunlight catches his predatory yet enrapturing eyes. His eye twitches, clearly trying not to shut. Maybe, you muse, the sun hates him as much as you do. It brings a weak smile to your face. You make sure to take your sweet time to enter. You won’t take off your shoes, either. He can deal with a bit of tracked dirt, you think, but then you notice that he’s wearing his shoes as well. In his own place. And here you thought he was monstrous enough.

But when the door shuts, any semblance of levity you could summon dissipates, and you’re reminded of what you’re here to do. Aventurine’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, and you want to rip it off and feed it to the birds. Thankfully, he just leads you to the living room. The sun is cast overhead. 

“So,” he circles till he’s in front of you, “What could be so important that you’ve come to see me this time of day?” The cat purrs to the mouse, petting it with claws retracted; for the time being. It makes you abandon courtesy for curtness. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t cancel some business meeting to make this happen.”

“Oh! You’ve got me!” he chuckles, “My, you’ve already gotten to know me so well. Don’t you think we’re like two peas in a pod?” He teases, and you know he specifically means for it to piss you off. Not to mention it’s an incredible reach. But to his credit, it works.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you spit, and his hand lets you back away from him. “I was thinking about…” you take a sharp breath—you can’t lose your nerve now, “...the ‘deal,’ you gave me a little while ago. The gamble, to be more precise.”

His smile stretches so wide it seems to crack his face, and you feel phantom pain radiating along your own mouth. His eyes, those alluring and dangerous rims of pink and electric blue, are spiked with adrenaline. You wonder if his eyes are dilating, but you don’t want to look at his eyes any longer than you have to. “I knew you would come around. But I see it in your eyes—you want to discuss the terms, right?” 

He’s right. “Yes.” 

“Admirable,” he says lazily, “but before you start, you should know that I’m not budging on my reward.”

“I know,” you bitterly say, “this is about my reward.”

Interest ignites, burning the blue of his eyes hot with intrigue.

“If I win, then I want you to reimburse my family, and then some, for all of the shit you’re making them go through. And then I want you to leave them the hell alone and not harm them.”

You can’t tell if he looks more interested or disappointed. “That’s hardly different from our original deal. The only difference is that you’re not getting any compensation.” At least he doesn’t deny that he’s the one the source of your family woes this time. Likely because you two already jumped through that point. You may not be sharp, but there are things even you can’t be gaslit on, and you think Aventurine realized this and decided not to bother. “Do you really hate the idea of getting money from me? You do remember that I told you that you can use me however you want, right?” 

Money that’s sourced from less than savory grounds, you think. You hate how he wants to use you, and you equally hate using anybody. “Yes. You made that very clear. I know what I’m doing. Now, come on.”

“Don’t be so hasty. I’ll have to modify my will so—”

“No need. Get the gun already.” You aren’t too worried anyway. Businessmen like him know to honor their deals. He’ll probably dismiss it easily and assume you’ll either donate it to charity or give it to your family.

He laughs, not so dissimilar from nails digging into a chalkboard, “You’re that eager to kill me? And you were so against it too! I wouldn’t have expected your morals to shift so quickly.”

You bite your lip. “You don’t seem to be all too worried about dying,” you point out, “You were the one who proposed this in the first place.” Another reason you don’t want to associate with this man. He treats his own life far too callously, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that whatever there is to unpack, it’s bursting at the seams. Normally you would’ve been sympathetic, but this is the manner of man that wants to seize you. You don’t want to know what would happen to you, under his dominion. 

Still, at least you know that he prizes adrenaline above all else. Why else would he risk his life for a hit of it? It’s useful info and also the only wrinkle in your plan…but you’re not banking on this entirely.

Aventurine doesn’t respond, but his eyes accentuate his mirthful grin. It reminds you of yourself, muttering a joke under your breath. You do like inside jokes, but you cannot say the same for the ones you’re left out of. No matter how demented this man’s humor is, knowing what he finds funny would at least give you more to glean on him. A part of you does enjoy piecing together puzzles, even ones you can’t solve.

He produces a simple revolver from his jacket. Sleek and as dark as a moonless night, even you can tell that its craftsmanship is more than deserving of admiration. But it spikes your anxiety. You want to dig a hole and suffocate, to feel your lungs burn like lava and to have your fingers raw when you have second thoughts and desperately try to claw your way out. You blink back tears, but you know what you must do.

He takes his sweet time with the gun, but you don’t pay attention. Your eyes are trained on the ground as you try and fail to psych yourself up. You know what you're doing. Your parents would tell you this was a bad choice, and you agree, but you weren’t given very many good choices.

A shot rings out. Glass shatters from behind you. The coffee table. Your breath halts. Something searing and hard digs into your chin, forcing you to look up. Your gaze is misty from the pain, for you’re more resilient to the cold, not the heat. 

“Sweetheart,” he smiles kindly, “I don’t like being ignored.” Despite your best efforts, a tear has rolled down your cheek. Your chin feels like it will be seared and forever be fiery hot. You need to get this over with before your mouth starts to uncontrollably twitch into a frown. He roughly lodges the gun from your chin, but replaces it with a kind touch that sends spiders crawling down your back. “Aw…” he coos, his cheeks faintly dusted with pink as he begins to lean in, “there’s no need to cry, dear.” 

You can’t stop it. You let out something that sounds like a growl, and shove him off of you. “You don’t get to touch me,” you hiss, a sound you didn’t know you were capable of, “Hands to yourself,” For some indiscernible reason, another tear falls, “you haven’t won anything yet.”

He’s not fazed. “Ah, I suppose I’ll have to concede there,” for now, “Here you go then, friend,” Despite his claim of concession he yanks your arm up and forces it in your grip, “Let’s see who luck favors.”

You shake, a little, but you’re not shaken enough to lose all your rationality. “Is there still a bullet in here?” 

“Yep,” he pops the p, like you two were old pals, “though I suppose I should roll the chamber again. Give me a second.” He takes the gun away and gets to work. You’re both thankful and sobbing on the inside. At this rate, your ribs will be dust from how your heart hammers into them. 

It’s back in your hand after what feels like an eternity and a microsecond. “Now there shouldn’t be any problems. Feel free to start shooting,” he purrs, adjusting it to point toward his chest. He moves to secure the barrel to his chest, and you must act now. You’re shaking and you want to die—

Ah. 

Good. 

You won’t lose your nerve then. 

“Actually,” your words shake with imminent tears and ramping fears, “there’s another term I wanted to discuss.” Your words aren’t threatening, but it’s ominous enough to give Aventurine pause. Now that he’s given you the inch, you’re taking the mile. You take a deep breath. It could be one of your last.

You’ve forced the barrel against your forehead. You’ve either gasped or Aventurine’s breath has hitched. You feel tears welling up, but you’ve made it too far for things to end here. You will yourself through your terror. “If I get shot, I win. If I don’t, you win.”

A tense silence whistles about. The air is almost electric from shock. But you know what you’re doing. You know it’s stupid, but you’re hopeless and this is the closest thing to a shred of hope you can grasp. See, you did a bit of research (on a library computer; you weren’t taking your chances). You found out that there are a few stories (very few, buried underneath the announcements of a music video and interviews and what-have-you) about Aventurine playing roulette—and even more about how he’s made numerous casino goers lose everything. In other words, he’s a lucky bitch. 

And you’re not that lucky. You doubt your luck is good enough for a regular gamble, but for your life? You treasure it, and sealing the gun to your head leaves you on the cusp of a breakdown. This is what you’re banking on: you’re not lucky enough to win a gamble, but you’re unfortunate enough to lose your life over something so inconsequential. Your parents would murder you if they saw you. Say you owe them nothing, and you do agree—but you can’t shake your habit of overpaying them. You’ve left a note at home for them to dig up, but it wouldn’t be an apology. If there’s an afterlife, you’ll apologize for eternity. You think the only way you can apologize is by searing your soul in the hells till nothing is left of you. 

You do have a more selfish reason for taking this approach, but it’s also incorrigible and unreasonable. You don’t need to dissect it. 

You think he’ll take it up. Sure, maybe the adrenaline he’ll get won’t be as great if he were the target, but so far he’s been the type to take pleasure in pushing others down a peg. He smiles at your distress, after all. So surely your quivering, sniveling form is giving him a kick? And surely, surely he’ll want to see your eyes glassy, your expression forever contorted in a fearful, desperate sob?

But Aventurine’s voice is missing its usual lilt. It’s hard, no longer deceptively light. Not playfully pushy but demanding. Maybe this is how he speaks to his enemies, you think, suppressing the urge to crawl into yourself. “…What?” A shard of ice is lodged in your back and makes your heart skip a beat from the surprise. But you can deal with the cold. It helps that it numbs the piercing pain in your back.

“I said what I said,” you push the terrifying thing harder into your skull, “these are my terms.” You’re more adamant than ever to not look into his eyes. You fixate on your shoes. You won’t speak more than necessary.

He seemingly contemplates for a moment. You’re about to push further when he finally speaks. “Do you remember what I said when I first proposed this gamble?”

Your mind is too fear-stricken for recollection. “You say a lot of things. C-can’t remember all of them.” Shit, your mouth has twitched a bit.

Shockingly Aventurine doesn’t poke fun at that, and is unusually focused. “I don’t take deals where I’m on the losing end. You’ve skewed this far too much in your favor.”

No. Oh, no. You were wrong about something. Lava starts to sting at your eyes. If you were wrong about this, then what else were you wrong about?!

“W-what? You’re not the one risking your life!” You exclaim, and it makes you look up at him, “How are you on the losing end?!” You shriek, because you aren’t a composed person at heart.

His eyes, lifeless and intense, widen as they bore into your own, pinning you down. If you squirm, you think he would stab knives in them to keep you down. You’re afraid of even blinking. He isn’t smiling and your knees want to shake. “Let’s go through this one by one, so you understand. One: what do I want?”

“W-wha?”

He repeats himself, harsher. “What. Do. I. Want?”

You settle for the safest answer. Your heart feels dead. You’re sure it will wither to dust. “M-me?” 

“Bingo.” It scares you that he’s not saying that with a lilt. It scares you that he’s not trying to manipulate you. It scares you how there’s only a thread between him ripping you in half. “And here’s something very, very important to know about me,” his hand caresses your cheekbone, positioned to catch any tears that fall, or to crush your skull, “I do whatever it takes to get what I want.”

“Then how is this different?! You’re still taking the risk of not getting what you want no matter how you slice it!”

The smile he gives you is all at once angelic and biting. “I don’t like it when I don’t get what I want.” His pupils dilate. Your eyes well up looking into the malice and…something, that plunges you in ice water. “If I can’t get what I want…hm, how do I describe it?” his voice begins to regain its lilt, fueled by your increasing distress. He smiles like he’s teaching a child a lesson, but you swear his eyes are growing duller. “Well, it’s like being trapped in a land without dawn,” his other hand softly holds your shoulder and it feels so wrong because you swear he’s holding back from brutalizing you, “there are chains around your neck, ankles, wrists, waist, eyes…” he chuckles sardonically, and a vindictive grin spreads as he leans in, till you can feel the ghost of his breath, “your life is a living hell, but the cold of the metal seeps down to your very bone.” You yelp; his grip has tightened. “Something stirs in your chest,” the hand caressing your face comes to rest over your heart, “begging to destroy everything and everyone that’s made you suffer.” His fingers dig into your chest, as if he’ll rip out your heart. “Tell me, my friend, do you want a man like that alive?”

You want to close your eyes so badly. Your mind is an inky landscape, blackening every single thought you hold. A soft flutter to your cheek knocks you out of your stupor. You register expensive perfume, something tickling your skin, and soft lips kissing away your tears. Immediately you shove away the opportunistic beast and stumble in your escape.

You’re in too deep. You need to make this work, because as much as you're terrified, something deep within you purrs at the weakness he’s given you.

But it’s good to know how spiteful he is. You already feel much better about your own plan. Both parts of you purr in delight: one knows you must twist the knife, and the other has been waiting for the opportunity.

“Coward,” your mouth is faster than your mind, “you coward!” Your meager wit and anguish over the past few months begin to tumble out uncontrollably, “I don’t care about your shit—you’ve hardly given me any say about anything. You’ve had the upper hand this entire time, and now you want to backpedal? This is too much risk for you?!” You heave, and you’re too enraged to care about how disgusting you must look, “You said to me there’s nothing you like more than a good gamble. Well, I’ve got a GREAT gamble for you, and if you’re upset you’ve got no one but yourself to blame! You wormed your way into my life, you orchestrated its steady decline, and you pushed me right here! You don’t get to back out of this like a coward!” You’re breathing heavily, and your vision is watery red, and you throw the gun in what you think is his general direction, and your vitriol spills out of you, “Take it and take whatever fucking risk exists! Languish for a month or a day or an hour because you didn’t get what you want like a little baby! If I’m going down, you’re coming down with me!” You’re heaving at this point, and you absently lean on the couch so you don’t collapse. Your composure is in shambles, but you’ll try to save a complete breakdown for when your choices catch up to you and you’re choking on your own blood. 

You hear a slow, rhythmic clap, and it shocks you that your ears aren’t flooding with blood at it. You hesitantly look up to see Aventurine grinning like a beast. 

“You, dragging me down…” the lilt has come back, and you realize that he likes something about this; that he’s schemed a part of it, “...so I see.” He drawls. He tilts his head, regarding you with the interest one has in an animal displayed in a zoo. “I’ll admit,” each slow step he takes toward you makes you sink further into the couch, “I was expecting you to cave with that. Yet you still insist…sweetheart,” should you be glad he’s calling you that again? “Let me be the first to tell you that it’s a great honor to push people like you into a corner. You were correct to fear me to try and avoid this.” So you were right on one thing, but it’s only a single thing. He’s inching ever so closely, and before you can start getting away he’s pounced on you. 

You yelp in surprise and begin to thrash, “You—get, get off of me!” You attempt to be intimidating, but your intense terror makes you seem like nothing more than a child scared to get a shot. Perfume burns your nostrils. More tears are shed, but he’s merciful enough to not lap them up just yet. 

He giggles and just pins you down. He waits until you're humiliated and exhausted before continuing. Your mouth twitches, and against your better judgment a sob brews in your chest. Your mind floods with ink, now. You try to tell yourself to keep it together, but the more you repeat it the more terrified you become. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d change the terms like this,” you squirm and look away—you don’t have the bravery to look at him directly right now. He lets you. “I was sort of expecting you to try and stand up for yourself, or maybe even demand I put in two bullets…but, you’ve run counter to my expectations. For one, I didn’t have you pinned to be this spiteful, nor this willing to give up your life.” You flinch and make a hateful sound as he starts to pat your head, continuing on as if this was the most normal conversation in the world, like he was the most normal person in the room, as he smiles so warmly—you’re a frog being boiled, but you’re too tired and afraid to retort, “Heh, this must’ve taken all of your guts to do, right?” The affection in his voice forms a lump in your throat. “I’m proud of you. Take pride in that,” he wipes away a tear, “and you’re right.” Suddenly, all warmness is gone and you’re blasted with heat. His grin shows his teeth, and for a moment you think you’ve really died. “I’ve always loved the thrill of going all in.” He laughs, a depraved sound of hedonism and complete despair, “If I win, it’s the jackpot. I get you, and you get me.” Get him? “And if I lose,” your head is tipped up by the cooled barrel of the gun to look into his eyes—

You whimper. The only thing that registers in your mind is that you’ve found yourself in a fox’s jaw about ready to clamp down.

“I live with my loss at the hands of a nobody. And it’ll gnaw at me from the inside…” he says breathlessly, “Yes, that’s a risk I can see myself getting behind,” Ink has made your soul quiver further. “And only taking deals on the winning end…I do that enough for business. That's to say…” he suddenly pulls you up, causing you to stumble and lean into him. He chuckles as your addled mind and body reorient, but the arm slung around your waist prevents you from straying too far. It’s the pillar you must rely on, but one wrong step and it will crumble to dust.

It scares you. 

But.

There’s another side to your fear. What sort of things do we fear, you think? These months have taught you that people hate that which they fear. When the fear amps up, so does the hate. You aren’t blind to how he looks at you. He’d vivisect you if it got him what he wanted. Your teeth grind. Oh, you hate him, you hate him so much. But your hate doesn’t burn, nor does it freeze. It’s a part of you; it hums through your veins; it thrums with the beat of your heart. There is nothing special about what is merely a fact of life. You are its vessel, and for that it sustains you.

You won’t see the fallout of your victory, but the mere idea sends a wave of ecstasy through you. 

The barrel of the revolver presses against your heart. 

“I accept your terms.” His voice edges with adrenaline and delight, but, and rather exquisitely, your instincts think, an edge that he must be the one to win this gamble—that in this moment, for him to live with loss is completely undesirable. It pleases you greatly, that you seemed to have ever so slightly peeled off his mask. But unfortunately for him, you’re not lucky enough to avoid a stupid death. You quiver, but not with fear; not entirely. Still, a part of you wonders if he’s just been testing you with his easy agreement. Should you be glad if you got full marks? Or should you hope you’ve failed?

Still, a brief feeling of levity blooms in your chest, and you seize it immediately. 

You did it. And unexpectedly, rather than further terror, relief washes over the heat and ink, because now that you’ve felt dead so often in such a short time, death is salvation. But just as quickly as the water came, a blizzard freezes the sea. 

Click. His lips are against yours. 

Of course. He wouldn’t let your final moments be pleasant. 

He takes advantage of your inexperience to entangle your tongues, and his hand against your head pushes you deeper and deeper as he tries to devour you. You gasp and tear up when he bites and bruises your lips. You’d like to fight back, but you want to get this over with. Even if it means being taken advantage of in your last moments, mother death’s repentance is merely a chamber or two away.

But still, no matter how demented you are in the moment, you are human, and the instinctual desire to survive makes you recoil.  The eye contact exacerbates it. His eyes hold a sea. On the surface, you can freely see the coral and starfish, difficult to understand but beautiful. But deeper, where the sunlight does not shine, the predators have taken to hunting one another, having wiped out the prey. And when only one is left, then it can only move up and up, until it’s the only thing left standing. And now it looks to consume you to satiate its unending appetite. Your lungs burn. 

You’d love to shut your eyes, but doing so feels like losing. At least when you do so, you can see yourself be devoured. Your awareness of yourself is the only agency you have right now. 

Click. He pulls away, and you take in a greedy breath. You feel a deep imprint on your lips; a bite, just barely not drawing blood. Your heart beats and a tear trickles; you’re not dead yet. That’s ok. You’ll be dead in a moment. 

“You look so certain you’ll win,” he observes, “it’s a good look on you.” 

You scrunch your nose. “Pull the trigger. I’m getting sick of looking at you.” 

“But, if I do, then you might breathe your last,” his eyes narrow, though you’re not sure if it’s predatory or softening, “can’t I take the sight of you in?” 

“Ha!” You cough it out. “For a man who dresses to the nines, you sure have bad taste.” 

“Aw, don’t demean yourself like that,” he mockingly reassures, “I’ll have you know you’re perfectly enchanting.” 

You decide to play along because banter is banter, and no matter how spiteful you are, you’ll take comfort and levity where you can find it. “And you’re a Knight of Beauty.” Absently, you wonder how terrible you must look. You feel your eyes still well with tears, still sniffling back bits of snot every now and then. 

You’re not sure if everything’s just catching up to you, or if the thought has propelled you to the realization, but you’re so, so, so tired. It does make your tears dry, a little, and your muscles relax. 

You see he’s starting to lean in again, and you immediately put a hand between you and his lips. “Don’t.” You growl. “Just…just shoot,” you sigh in exhaustion, “I’m tired. Just shoot. If you’re not satisfied, then you’ll have my corpse.” The implication is disgusting but he’s disgusting, and you really just want to sleep. You’re pretty sure he would’ve done it even without you saying. 

His hand drifts down to your waist. “Can’t say the image is pleasant.” Is his voice colder? Tired? Distant? Or are you finally losing it? 

“I’m already a teary mess. It’ll just be colder and a little stiff.”

He scoffs, “If I wanted someone steely, you wouldn’t be here.” True.

You bite your cheek and look at your feet. “Shoot.” 

There’s a pause in the air. You wonder if he’s contemplating on saying something to you, or just getting it over with. Both would make sense. You close your eyes. You will yourself to not think, because you know if you do that your life will just flash before your eyes. And if that happens, you’ll die completely miserable.

Click. 

You’re breathing. His hand is on your waist. The gun’s pressed to your chest. Nothing’s changed. Why aren’t you on the ground choking on blood? 

“I win.” You hear. You shut your eyes when sunlight gets into them.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

You’re still here. 

It didn’t work. It didn’t pay off. Your knees give out as you finally are no longer able to keep your tears at bay. You feel fluttering around your eyes, and you dare not open them. Shhh, shhh, you hear, but you only cry more. Everything has come to impale you, and you cry as you feel your organs spill. You’re his. You’re his. You want to die. Everything is coated in ink. You process nothing but the terror and rage and fear and despair and laughter and anything and everything you’ve ever experienced. You try to curl in on yourself, but you’re stopped by a beast’s hold, warm and predatory. 

“Shhh, it’s alright…” a hand strokes you to soothe, but it’s more akin to sandpaper rubbing on raw skin, “Let it all out…we have plenty of time. I don’t have to hold back and neither do you,” he reassures. It makes you sob harder.

You heave and sob. All you can think about is the unknown future that awaits you. You barely register being placed on a plush surface.

When your sobs finally quiet, you’re forced to look into his eyes. There’s a flush on his cheek, a slight inconsistency in his breathing, and his eyes have dilated with adrenaline and…and…you’ve never seen that emotion before, whatever it is. 

You wonder what face you’re making, as he smiles ferally. “You were right. That was great,” he hisses with elation and laughs. “Oh, you’re beautiful.” 

The world spins. You’re lying, and he’s on top of you. 

Oh…oh no…You begin to flinch and twitch uncontrollably. You aren’t thinking. You flail, kick, and cry even as you exhaust your meager energy, but he doesn’t budge. You need to get away get away get away get away—

“One last thing, to really seal the deal,” he smiles, insidiously kind and horrifying, “to commemorate my victory and your defeat.” 

He bites into your neck, and you scream. 

The fox swallows you whole.

—

He lets you roam freely, whenever he’s gone. To say you were baffled and suspicious was putting it lightly, so you refrained from taking advantage of it for a long, long time. In fact, when you found out his spaceship-apartment-thing was mounted with surveillance in every nook and cranny, rather than walk out the door, you found a cramped closet to hide in for a few days. Curling into a ball all day wasn’t easy on the joints, but you were taking any semblance of privacy you could get. But Aventurine, petty and cruel, forced you to seal off your haven with your own hands before he tore into you. If he wants you in his sights or roaming about, he should just make up his mind already.

But, for this one occasion, you choose to abuse this privilege. You usually come back around the same time he does to appease him, but you finally decided you needed a vacation after he forced you into one of his stupid gambles and forced you to fulfill another of his especially perverted fantasies; on top of forcing you to help him get acquainted with a gacha you played—and he’d be the direct cause of your cake turning out burnt. Sure, there are those big moments where lava and ink converge, but it’s the little things which sting and nick that pile up. The real kicker was when he forced you two to share a plate of pasta one night and when, of course, you two landed on the same noodle, he had the brilliant idea to suck it up at the speed of light; likely hoping it would get him to your lips sooner. How romantic, making out while you both had half chewed food in your mouths; you truly could not commend this man’s genius enough! Unfortunately for his plans and your sanity, you couldn’t keep up, and that is why you know what it’s like to have tomato sauce in your eyes. Not to mention that there were pepperoncinis in there. You were washing it out for days. At least he seemed genuinely apologetic over it, but copious amounts of jewelry don’t supplement how he never asks if you even want or like it.

So, yeah, you’re no fan of how he fucks with you. You gladly made this choice, and all the risk it came with. 

“So, this is where you’ve been.” You think he’s still a little surprised, just as you are. You haven’t done much in the way of defiance, both because you wanted nothing more than to remain within yourself, and because you feared his retaliation (very, very much). The few risks you have taken never pay off. Even this one didn’t pay off in full: for you didn’t even go to see your parents. You tried to tell them the horrible truth and because they deserved to know their child’s fate, but every time you approached their house, something stopped you. Shame, fear, embarrassment, sheepishness…you don’t know. You almost laugh. To think, a quarter of why you’re here is because of the danger they were placed in, yet you can’t even muster the courage to talk to them. Maybe you want them to think you’re dead, because then that’s the version of you that’ll be eternal in their minds: loving, goofy, brimming with potential and optimistic pessimism; and not the pathetic wimp you truly are. The mere risk of seeing disappointment shine in their eyes (they wouldn’t but what if they did? What if?) was enough to scare you off. You dismiss them from your mind because you have to deal with Aventurine, unfortunately. You wonder if you’ll forget them, if you cast them out of your mind enough. “I’m charmed. Our special place.” 

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. This was mine before you ever came here, and it still is.” 

You met each other here on a moonlit night. You couldn’t see each others’ faces, but it didn’t stop you from conversing. You don’t bother to think about it more, because what started as a memory that made you feel warm now enshrouds you in a volcanic blizzard. You’ve already mulled over it plenty anyway—on how such a mundane conversation started all of…this. 

Now, the sun is setting. It calms you down.

“Darling, this is a national park. You don’t own it.”

You tsk. “Shut up. I don’t feel like dealing with you right now. And you literally called this place ‘ours,’ you conniving bastard.” 

“Unfortunate,” his arm slings across your shoulders, “because it’s been such a lonely week without you…” you don’t share the sentiment. His other arm cages you by the waist. You imagine his body rupturing and exploding, showering blood and guts that you’d dance in. Or would you soak yourself in his organs, to savor his defeat? Maybe you’d open your mouth, let your mouth and throat be coated in his blood so you— 

Huh. Something’s off again. You are no stranger to violent thoughts, but lately, at rare times, your fantasies get accompanied by something strange you can’t quite put your finger on.

You make a face, as you look at him over your shoulder with a deadpan glare, “And you’ve let me parade about.”

He giggles. “What? I had no clue you were here till a few hours ago! Honest.”

“Says the surveillance freak.” You wave your phone, “Not to mention I’ve so conveniently kept this tracker with me.”

He drops the act. “You didn’t even try to cover up your tracks.” He sighs, “I must say, your defeatism is probably the least attractive part of you. Can’t say I really understand.”

Then why does he still keep you around? It’s already been nearly half a year.

“You and I have no illusions that I can escape you, and I lost a bet. I try not to be a sore loser.” 

“And yet you so often cry when you lose our games. Kick and scream sometimes.”

Your chest feels hollow, and you hate the feeling so much that you want to die right then and there. “What, should I be jumping for joy when you rape me?” 

Silence. You can almost think he’s a little remorseful. But then his fingers snake up to pull at your collar. Peeling back your skin, to try and coax you out of it. More like tear you out.

You scoff, but your eyes heat up. “Seriously?” Your voice carries a mix of disappointment, anger, fear, and despair. It cracks, “Hardly three minutes and right after I—”

“Relax,” he’s so soothing that your muscles tense up and your heart beats to the nines—what a reassuring boyfriend! He continues his ministrations until he has a good view of your neck, and hums in pleasure, “I can’t say I’m entirely peachy with what you’ve done, but you haven’t been that bad—” you feel yourself slightly relax, “—so we’ll get a room first.” And your heart drops, but you did expect this. He hums, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice, “Unless…you’d like to really make this our special place?” 

No. He can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t he won’t—The slightest bit of life crosses your relatively lifeless face. “Don’t you fucking dare—!”

He covers your mouth, silencing you, and squeezes tight when you try to speak; you feel something in you wither. “Alrighty, I get the idea,” He casually concedes, but you doubt he was all too adamant if he dropped it so easily. “We’ll both save ourselves for later. In the meantime, let’s keep quiet, mhm? We really wouldn’t want anyone to just interrupt us.”

You seethe, but then his grip becomes near painful. Humiliation wells in your chest, as the muzzle tightens. You forcibly relax, and reluctantly nod. Fresh air has never been sweeter. A drop of sweat trickles down your face.

“Good. Very good,” he purrs. “You’re always so good; thank you. I’m glad you see the mutual benefit in doing so.” He brushes a spot at your neck. It’s the spot he first bit you in, and thinking about it still makes you shake in pain. And he’s always sucking or biting at it to stake his stupid claim. You brace yourself. And right on cue he’s latched on, and your scream is muffled by your hand. You’d like to say you’ve gotten used to it, but you’ve never had a good tolerance for pain. Against your wishes, tears fall. Aventurine lunges at the opportunity, sensually licking them and leaving behind a disgusting trail of slime to dry. He kisses your cheekbone, leaving behind a weeping crimson flower, “You really are a crybaby…” his voice sends spiders crawling into your ear.

You desperately wipe your cheek with your sleeves, mostly because you know shoving him away doesn’t work when he gets like this. And then your short lived adrenaline fades.

“Shit!” He’s drawn blood. Again. And you liked this shirt! But you can see why he doesn’t—it was a high collar and a long sleeve, able to cover the mural of bites and bruises he leaves on your body. The majority were faded, but some of them were just a little more permanent. You briefly wonder why he’d ruin your shirt; he’s made it very clear that the mural is for his eyes alone. You suspect he wanted to create an excuse so you’d be forced to wear some jacket or shirt of his.

“Sorry,” he kisses the spot, but each kiss burns you. You don’t understand why he bothers to say the word when you both know he’s not capable of feeling remorse, at least, not for you. He keeps stinging your tender flesh.

You groan, blinking back mist. “You’re making it worse.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, giving you a bloody peck on the cheek, “but can you blame me? You’re not wearing any of my gifts. Makes a guy a little jealous, y’know?” He kisses your cheek again, firmer to imprint his bloody kiss.

“Yes, I can blame you for making conscious decisions,” you coldly snap, but you’re already tired, “Once again, jewelry is overrated and I reaffirm that your taste is shit.”

“I recall my jewelry and clothes were some of the first things you complemented.”

“Aye,” it’s true, but you see an opportunity for levity and take it, “but I have since evolved from my follious self.”

He’s getting that feral look in his eye again. Why?! You didn’t even do anything! You snap. “What is it? Spit it.”

“You’re doing it again.” 

You can’t stand his touch any longer. “Doing what?” You hiss, shoving him away from you so you can face him. But you almost wish he didn’t let you, because there are few things he would trade for you in his hold.

He whistles. It feeds your frustration. You assume that it’s what he usually wants from you. “If this is some weird sexual innuendo then it’s fallen flat on its ass, you affluent horndog. I thought you said to wait later, anyway.”

He blinks in brief shock, before laughing—his canines shine in the orange sunset, “No, no no, not this time around. Let’s put it this way, and I’ll be very clear, just for you,”

As he calms down, an angelic smile spreads in his face, and you know you’re looking straight at damnation. 

“I’ve learned that defeatists succumb to themselves. Pushing them past their limit helps, but it’s not entirely necessary.”

…In the back of your mind, you make a horrific realization. 

You have tilled fields, so You may eventually sow them with cotton.

—

What does your face look like, right now? If you hazard a guess, it might be bestial. You only know your eyes are wide open and not flooding.

In an unexpected subversion, it is you who pins Aventurine to the ground. You don’t pay much mind to his expression: parted lips, breathless, glimmering interest and fulfilled desire in his eyes; it’s unusual and you would’ve drank it in if not for the tornado in your mind. It’s torn through some cotton, leaving the field barely clutching to life.

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” You do not recognize your own voice. You feel your body shaking and find that you’re breathing heavily. 

He smiles. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” His head tips in faux questioning, “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”

You grind your teeth. He hasn’t answered you. “You played Russian Roulette.”

The body of his opponent is slumped on the table across from you two. Their blood continually drips, crying out in defeat. You couldn’t care less about that, because there’s a thought playing on repeat in your mind. 

That could’ve been his body.

His eyes twinkle as he smirks, “Are you jealous?” He cruelly teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?” 

“No.” You’re not being sensible. The cotton in your mind is shredding. You want to balk at the idea, and You want to jump at the opportunity. “Answer my question.”

“Mmm,” he hums, and his nonchalance makes you shake, “well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.”

He’s right. You know just how much pleasure he takes in putting everything on the line. Your question is answered, but for some reason it’s still not satisfied. The few surviving patches of cotton are still in your way.

That depraved feral look in his eyes only grows at your internal battle, and his gloved hand cups your cheek. “What’s wrong?” He goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?”

For a moment, the cotton has come back, regrowing into a beautiful field. But then the scent of blood wafts to your nose, and all of your senses have increased tenfold. The drip of blood sounds like pouring rain, poking numerous holes; the tile below your palms are lifeless slabs of ice, sticking itself to you so you’d have to rip your skin off to get away; blood and perfume and spilled champagne root themselves into your sinuses, bleeding 

them out; chocolate and salt roil on your tongue, scraping along like a rusty iron blade; and Aventurine, beautiful, cruel, loving Aventurine, has never looked clearer, so enthrallingly vivid and colorful you are tempted to sob at the beauty alone.

Hell hath flourished, and it burns the cotton to dust.

You begin to unravel. 

“I want to hollow out your chest.” You admit maddeningly, and you wonder how much your insanity bleeds out. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you think your breath has grown more erratic, “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing, on nothing but you!” You’ve leaned closer till your breaths fan over each others’ faces. Small patches of water begin to drop onto Aventurine’s face—his face that is so breathtakingly and satanically beautiful without the cotton obstructing it—your breath hitches and your mouth twitches, as you take in a quivering breath. “If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” and then something ugly sparks in your chest. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”

The puddle of blood begins flowing toward you. 

It completely burns the cotton, and that is the moment You are no longer safe. But hell is beautiful, you find, and you so gladly drench yourself in its flames. You are still painfully aware of how wrong it all is…but, the storm within you is starting to calm, you don’t cry with your every free moment and you no longer agonize about your parents. You…you think this is peace. To harbor obsession for the man who trapped you in this hell and tortured you and then drowned you in affection and obsession.

You sob, a sound of euphoric despair, and you confess the terrible truth,

“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp, “I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back as you break down, “I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, “I love you I love you I love you I love you!” You’ve collapsed, curling in on yourself but resting your head atop his heart. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…I need you, and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” Oh, you feel so ugly and you feel so much lighter and, and—

His breath shudders, and then swiftly takes you in his arms. You flinch out of your daze, but his grip doesn’t cease, like he wants your bodies to meld into each other. His grip is tight, almost biting, but in your mind free of cotton, it feels secure and adoring. He sits up, shifting so you straddle him. Red dusts his cheeks, a similar shade to the crimson pooling beneath you two. His eyes hold a hunger satiated and a new voracity, gleaming with animalistic intent that makes you shiver. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders, grounding himself to hold back, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he’s panting, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession?” Your heart soars. “You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.”

As the dawn shines on you both as he kisses you, it clicks.

He wanted someone just as desperate as him.

The whisper against your lips is almost reverent, “I knew you were the one,” His eyes are like a meadow, where you dance and sing and never leave, even as your feet howl in pain brushing against poison ivy and oak hidden amidst the grass and flowers. Now you recognize the emotion that drowns in them: an all consuming affection which threatens to erase your existence to everything but him. “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me. It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.” 

Your tears flow, but the corners of your mouth twitch upwards. Insanity has sunk its claws into you, your stress and limits explode in a desperate supernova, and your very being trembles with ecstasy. Aventurine joins you, standing up and spinning you around in his firm hold as you both laugh and laugh in the dawn’s sunlight, with red not trailing too far behind. This is a spectacle you burn and freeze and drown in, witnessed by your spectator in rot.

Then you're devoured, but you’ve grown your own claws and fangs.

Driven by nothing more than instinct, in the throes of your tryst, you bury your head in the crook of his neck,

And bite.

[satorusluver]

Bad boyfriend, good fuck.

Word count: 280 ish

Tags/warnings: smut (MDNI), fem reader, toxic relationship, mating press, unprotected sex, creampie

Toji is the "you know I hate it when I'm left on read but he make it all up in the bed" type boyfriend. He will ignore your texts and calls for two or three days and then show up at your house and blow your fucking back out as an apology. He knows what he's doing too, because in a matter of minutes he'll have you too cockdrunk to remember why you were mad at him in the first place.

You'll only be able to focus on the fat head of his cock nudging against that spongy spot deep inside you that makes your toes curl. He makes sure he angles you so you can watch his cock fuck you too - having you lie on your back with your legs spread and knees pushed up so you have a good view of his thick length disappearing into your body over and over.

He wants you to know exactly what it looks like, 'cause how can you be mad at him when you're so fucked out on the sight of his cock, eight inches of girth almost thick enough to unhinge your jaw, ramming into and splitting open your tiny cunt?

He's sorry, he whispers in your ear as you drift off to sleep in his arms, basking in the afterglow of three apology orgasms and with his cum still leaking out of you. He's a piece of shit, and he'll admit it freely, but he's a piece of shit who loves you and has a dick big enough to ruin you for other guys. He just hopes that's enough to keep you around the next time he screws up.

[fandomxpreferences]

So Funny Story (I'm Fucking Your Daughter)

Funny Story Universe

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Mitchell!Reader

TW: allusions to smut, swearing, angst kind of, I think thats it?

Summary: You've had a thing with Jake for a while now. The thing is, your dad doesn't know and your brother is desperate for you to tell him.

Word Count:3.2k

A/N:if you read this on desktop and the bottom is fucked up, please know ive tried 100 times to fix it and Tumblr hates me

It was never supposed to go this far, honestly. This whole predicament started out as friends with benefits, and that's how it was meant to stay. Somewhere along the way, the boundaries got muddy and occasional hookups turned into regular sleepovers. Without either of you trying or even realizing it, the relationship blossomed into something more serious. 

In the blink of an eye, the blonde aviator became integral to your life. It's really not your fault; falling for him was so effortless. Loving Jake Seresin is as easy as breathing once you get past the arrogant bravado. 

There's just one problem. One giant, monumental, bat-shit crazy issue. Your dad Maverick doesn't know. In fact, when you waltzed into town, the first thing that he told the aviators was that you're off limits, especially to Jake Seresin. Mav knows his type because he is his type. 

The love em and leave em type that can't be tied down. That's not good enough for his little girl, and he won't allow it.

Ironically, that's how it all began. Telling Jake he can't have something is like dangling candy in front of a child, and you love to push the boundaries and do things to prove a point. 

The point being that your dad can't tell you what or who to do. It took all of three weeks to find yourself in the aviator's bed, and you never left. With each day that passes, your anxiety grows, and you know that as you approach your six-month anniversary, you're teetering on hurting Mav when he does find out. 

The only person in on the secret is your big brother. Well, he's not technically your brother, but the two of you have been raised together since diapers, even going on to apply to the academy and flight school together. The way he found out was less than ideal. 

You and Jake are basking in the afterglow of mind-blowing sex, your naked bodies pressed together as you come back down. You're less than decent with the comforter strewn over your ankles as Jake drips out of you. 

Jake's breathless laugh fills the room as his hand rakes through the dark blonde locs your fingers were just tangled in. This has been happening for almost a month now, and you've fallen into a comfortable routine. 

You couldn't stop if you wanted to; truth be told, you'd rather pluck out each of your teeth one by one than never feel Jake Seresin on you again. You've found yourself in freefall, plummeting face-first toward love.

You're too wrapped up in each other to notice the heavy footsteps in the hall and you jump as the door bursts open and slams into the wall. 

"Hey, Hangman, I was won-"Bradley's thought is cut short as he lets out a shrill scream and rushes to cover his eyes. 

"What the fuck?! Y/N, what the hell are you doing?!" 

Jake scrambles to cover the two of you up and you shrink into his arms as he wraps you in a protective embrace. 

"Well, I'm not doing anything now." You mutter, and Bradley lets out an exaggerated gag. 

"No, no, fuck no. Absolutely not. Please tell me this is a one-time thing that's going to the grave." He begs, and your mouth curls up into a sheepish grin. 

"I can lie if it'll make you feel better." You offer, and he groans. 

"God damn it, Y/N. This is the one thing Mav forbade! And don't even get me started with you, Hangman. You're as good as dead." He peeks through his fingers before snapping them closed again.

"For fucks sake, can the two of you please put on some clothes if we're going to be having a conversation?" 

Jake rolls his eyes but moves to slip on a pair of boxers as you grab his shirt and sweatpants. 

"We weren't really looking for a conversation, but come on in, I guess." 

You give Bradley the okay to look, and he shoots daggers at Jake. 

"You're not really in the position to be making smart-ass comments, shit for brains." His voice is sharp, and you snap your fingers at him. 

"Hey, watch your mouth. You're the one who came in unannounced. I'm pretty sure that key is for emergencies only." 

Bradley looks at you in shock and sputters for a few seconds.

"Wh- you. Are you shitting me right now? You're defending him?" He asks, and you shrug. 

"That's what girlfriends do." Your tone is casual, and you can almost see Bradley's heart threatening to explode. 

"Girlfriend?! Oh dear god, please strike me down now. Do you think if we put our heads together, we could figure out time travel so I can go back to a simpler time before I knew about this?" He ponders, hands gesturing wildly between you and Jake.

You snort and shake your head at his antics, allowing yourself to settle back into Jake's chest. 

"You're telling Mav, right? Hopefully, the second I walk out the door?" 

Jake smirks, and you already know he's about to say something out of pocket. 

"I actually had other plans, and I think having Mav present would kill the mood." 

Bradley's muscles ripple with restraint, and he points a finger. 

"Tread lightly, Bagman. That's my baby sister." He growls, and you scoff. 

"Put away the tough guy act, Roo. You and dad need to get over yourselves and realize you're not my keepers." 

Bradley's features soften a bit, and he sighs. His shoulders are tense, and he begins pacing back and forth while mumbling under his breath. 

"Okay, so when are you telling Mav?" 

You shift under his gaze, and he can sense by the way you're batting your eyelashes that he isn't going to like your response. You only do that when you want something, and you know exactly how to get your way with him. 

"Well, that's the thing," You start, and Bradley sets his mouth in a hard line. 

"We- I was hoping this could be our little secret." 

Your lower lip juts out, but it does nothing to make Bradley cave this time. 

"No."

You climb out of bed and amble toward him, doing your best to look small and innocent. He eyes you with suspicion, and you stop in front of him. 

"Come on, BradBrad. Please? For me?" 

That seals his fate. 

"Fuck- fine! How long?" 

You squeal and engulf him in a tight hug that he reluctantly returns. 

"Just a little bit longer." 

He sighs in defeat, and you pull back with a bright smile. 

"When you tell him, keep me out of it. I'll be buried alongside Jake if he finds out I knew, and I can't think of anything worse than an eternity next to that dickhead."

You slap his arm lightly, and he turns to leave. 

"I can't believe I got drug into this bullshit."

That was almost six months ago, and it turns out you and Bradley have different definitions of just a little bit longer. He's resorted to calling you every day, pestering you relentlessly about when you're coming clean. 

You're sprawled out in Jake's bed while he gets water in the kitchen, and your phone rings on schedule. You answer the FaceTime call, and Bradley's distressed face pops up on the screen. 

"When are you telling him?" He asks, skipping niceties altogether. 

"Well, hello to you too." You jest, but he doesn't look the slightest bit amused. You swear you can spot a few new wrinkles coupled with gray hairs, and guilt eats at you. It fades quickly when you hear the bite in his tone. 

"Y/N, I'm serious. When are you going to tell him?" 

You groan and roll onto your side, a migraine settling in. 

"I don't know, Brad! The wedding? Why would I tell him when I'm just going to get a lecture? The two of you aren't exactly the most level-headed people when it comes to me!" 

Remorse swims in your brother's eyes, and he takes a deep breath. 

"Wedding? Are the two of you really that serious?" He questions, and your free hand comes up to rub your temple. 

"I don't know, maybe? The thought has crossed my mind." 

A ghost of a smile covers his face, and he rubs his jaw. There's a knock at the front door, but you don't pay it any mind as he starts speaking again.

"Well, little sis, if it's really tha-" 

You cut him off when you hear voices float up the stairs and shoot up in bed. 

You vaguely hear Jake say, "So, funny story." followed by another man's voice.

"Shut the fuck up. Hold on." Your ears strain to hear better, and Bradley frowns when your face blanches. "Oh my god." 

You jump out of bed and start scrambling around, desperate to find an escape. 

"What's going on?" 

Your head snaps back to your phone, and Bradley hasn't seen you this frantic since he caught you making out with your high school boyfriend that you snuck in. 

"Dad is here!" You whisper shout. "Why the fuck is he here?"

Bradley scowls and tries to sort out the situation in his head. 

"Are you sure?" 

You scoff as you climb out the window and curl up on the roof, shivering as a cold breeze whips around you. 

"What do you me- yes, I'm sure! You think I don't recognize my own dad's fucking voice?" 

Your voice is hushed, and Bradley's eyes widen when he realizes you're serious. 

"Well, what the hell is he doing there at ten pm?" He asks and the pointed look you give him causes him to snap his mouth shut. 

"Just shut the fuck up before you get me caught!" You bite, and you vaguely register him moving around. This is absurd. You're not a teenager in high school. Why the hell are you hiding from your dad on your boyfriend's roof?

"God, I have the worst luck. It could be raining dicks, and I'd look up and catch a titty!" You complain, and Bradley snorts on the other end.

You wait with bated breath, praying it's just a quick visit, but you have no such luck. 

You hear the door to Jake's room open, and Bradley searches for his keys. So much for leaving him out of it. 

"I'm on my way." He informs you, and your eyes are wild as you acknowledge him with a nod. Your breaths are erratic as panic claws at your throat; for once, you don't argue with him. 

The second you hear the window slide open, you know you're done for. You're met with your dad's hard eyes and try to muster an angelic smile. His jaw is set, and there's a burning crimson peeking over the collar of his shirt all the way up to his cheeks. 

"Hi, daddy."

You don't even get a chance to stand before a loud crash rings out, and you rush back inside, almost falling in the process. He has Jake pinned against the wall with his arm across his throat, murder clearly not off the table. 

Jake just takes it, his face relaxed and posture open. You know better, though. You've managed to get past that unphased exterior, and you can read the fear in Jake's eyes like a book. 

"What is the one thing I fucking said?" Mav growls through clenched teeth, and you're on him in an instant. 

You try your best to pull him back, desperate for space between the men, but it's no use. Mav only has maybe half an inch on you, but the man is a lot stronger than he looks. The adrenaline pumping through his veins does nothing to help and you resort to pleading. 

"Dad, stop!" 

He turns to look at you, and for the first time in your life, there's no mercy or gentleness on his face when he stares at you. 

"I'll deal with you in a minute."

You've never seen him like this, which sends a shiver down your spine. You knew it would be ugly, but never in a million years did you think he would go this far off the rails. 

Thoughts race through your head at a million miles an hour as you try to think of what to do, but the problem is solved for you. 

There are loud thumps as Bradley bounds up the stairs, and the scene unfolds quicker than you can process. You watch as he picks your dad up and removes him from Jake, your feet carrying you to your boyfriend at lightning speed. 

"Are you okay? I'm so sorry." You weep, and you can't recall when you started crying. 

You try to look behind you as Mav struggles against Bradley, but Jake cradles your face and forces you to stay looking at him. 

"Hey, I'm fine. Look at me, sweets. Don't worry about that right now, let Rooster calm him down." 

Mav fights against the larger man with a valiant yet futile effort. Bradley considers wrapping his arms around him entirely and forcing him to stay in place but decides not to push his luck. 

Just as the thought enters his mind, Mav slams face-first into realization and stops abruptly. 

"Did you know about this?" 

Bradley swallows and retreats with slow steps as Mavs wrath is re-focused on him. He feels like he's going toe to toe with a wild animal and wonders if playing dead would work.

"I may or may not have had a teeny bit of knowledge about the situation." He says cautiously, and your dad's eyes narrow into thin slits. 

"You didn't think to tell me?" He snaps, and Bradley raises his hands defensively. 

"It wasn't my place. Besides, based on this reaction, can you blame us for keeping you in the dark?" 

He immediately wishes he could take it back when Mavs fist clenches at his side. You briefly consider making a break for it and going into witness protection, but you don't have the chance before your dad's attention is back on you. 

"You know how this ends, Y/N. I have told you time and time again not to get caught up with men like him." 

His voice is softer now but still holds an edge, and Jake's arm tightens around your waist. Mav doesn't miss the subtle shift; his jaw ticks upon seeing the man's hand on his only daughter. 

In his defense, he's been through this with you before. He and Bradley are so protective because you've had your heart broken more than once by hotshot military men, and you never seem to learn your lesson. 

You know this time is different, though. You just have to get your dad to see it. 

"He's not like that, dad. He's different. I trust him." Your voice is small and Mav shakes his head. 

"You always think that! They're all different in the beginning, but it always ends the same. Let's go." He motions toward the door, but your feet stay glued in place. 

"No."

His head whips around to look at you, and you almost laugh at how high his eyebrows are raised. You've got a history of defying him, but you've never blatantly told him no to his face before. 

"Excuse me?" 

You stand a little straighter now and take a step forward, but Jake keeps his hand on the curve of your spine. 

"I said no. I'm not leaving, and I'm not wrong. This isn't the beginning when you're still under some spell, and this isn't going to end with me heartbroken."

Your dad scoffs and places a hand on his hip, clearly over this entire ordeal. 

"What do you mean this isn't the beginning?" 

You take a deep breath and try to steady your voice before answering, and Bradley looks like he wants to die. Being buried next to Jake doesn't sound so bad if it gets him out of this. 

He knows your response will send Mav into another tailspin, and he braces himself, ready to jump in again if he has to. 

"Jake and I have been dating for six months. I love him, and he loves me." 

There it is, the nuclear bomb. The words hang in the air as Mav processes the information, and his eyes dart back and forth absentmindedly as he does the math. 

"You've been seeing him since you got here?"

You can see the hurt on his features for the first time since he arrived, making your stomach twist. His shoulders drop, and all the fight leaves his body. 

"It started out as a fling. We never meant for it to get this serious. We were going to tell you but time just kept passing and it got to the point that we didn't know how to anymore." You explain gently, and he sits on Jake's bed before jolting back up. 

"God only knows what's happened in those sheets, can we go to the living room or something?" He asks with his face scrunched in disgust, and you huff a short laugh through your nose. 

The four of you go downstairs and sit in the living room as your dad continues raking over every interaction he has ever seen you have with Jake in his mind. 

"How did you manage to keep this a secret from everyone when you all work together? Or am I the only one that doesn't know?" 

You shake your head and lay on Jake's shoulder. Your migraine has upgraded to a jackhammer doing to town on the inside of your skull, and you want nothing more than to take a painkiller and close your eyes. 

"No one else knows. We haven't told them, at least." 

Mav nods and settles into the armchair, clearly making himself at home as he props his feet up on the coffee table. You feel the waves of displeasure rolling off of Jake. The man is religious about keeping the house clean, and his eye is already twitching at the fact your dad still has his shoes on. 

You're about to say something when a more pressing matter comes to your attention. 

"Wait, how did you know I'm here?" You frown, and Mav freezes. You give him the signature Mitchell look that tells him not to bullshit you, and he shrinks back a bit. 

"I tracked your phone when you didn’t answer my calls." He mumbles, and you lurch forward in your seat. 

"Pardon? You tracked me? How do you even have access to that? No, better yet, why do you have that? You don't think that's a tad invasive?" You half shout, and Bradley winces. 

Two angry Mitchells under one roof is never a good thing. The last time it happened, he had to make up a story to send the cops away. 

You're brought back down when Jake's large hand squeezes your thigh, and you close your eyes while taking a deep breath. That's one thing you love about this man. He's the only person you've ever met that can bring you back from the edge. 

Bradley and Mav share a look at your sudden shift in demeanor, and you know they're both thinking the same thing. Neither of them has ever been able to snuff out your temper once the fuse is lit, and the fact Jake did it without so much as a word speaks volumes. 

"Okay, I'm fine. Everything is fine." You breathe and Jake smiles. He's proud of the way you've grown since dating him. Your spitfire attitude makes him look tame. He never imagined he'd love a woman who encourages his antics rather than trying to control him. 

That's why you two work so well. You bring out his chaos, and he brings out your calm. It's the perfect ratio of give and take. The two of you bring out the best in each other, which is part of why you fell so fast. 

"Listen, dad. Jake and I are going to keep seeing each other whether you like it or not. He makes me feel safe, wild, and loved; I couldn't ask for a better man. If you could try and pull your head out of your ass for more than three seconds, you might be able to see that." 

There's another thing Jake adores about you. You never shy away from speaking your mind, and you never sugarcoat the truth. He's seen you make grown men cry, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that you're the only one who could ever put the legendary Maverick in his place with little to no effort. 

Mav goes to bite back, but the look you give him has the words dying on his tongue. You're a clone of him, yet somehow even more of an immovable force. He knows there's no point in arguing; you're not going to budge. 

"Okay. I'll try to get on board." He relents, and Bradley's eyes dart between the two of you. 

Mav turns to Jake, and your boyfriend sits up, ready to take a verbal berating. 

"If you hurt her, I will ensure you never touch an F-18 again. She better never call me crying over you, Seresin, so help me god." 

You feel Jake nod next to you, and some of the tension dissipates from your shoulders. 

"Oh, and for the love of Christ, don't get my daughter pregnant." 

Bradley chokes on his spit and your eyes widen with horror. 

"Dad! Oh my god." You groan, but he stands firm in his statement. 

"I mean it. You're still at the height of your career. The last thing you need is a baby out of wedlock." 

You know it's coming from a place of love and concern, but it doesn't make it less embarrassing. No one expects Jake's response, and Bradley raises his eyebrows at you. 

"What if I marry her first?"

Mav looks genuinely taken aback, and the mouthy pilot is struck silent for the first time. His mouth opens and closes a few times, and you watch with amusement as he tries to make his brain work. 

"One thing at a time." 

At that, Bradley stands up and shoots your dad a look. 

"We should get going. It's late, and I think I speak for everyone when I say I'm ready for this to be over." 

Mav nods, and you stand to give him a hug before Jake shakes his hand. 

"Love you, dad. Love you, Roo." 

"Love you too." They say in unison, and you release a breath you didn't know you were holding when the front door closes. 

You turn to Jake with your arms crossed, an arrogant smirk painted on your lips. 

"So you want to marry me and get me pregnant, huh?" 

“Is that okay with you?” He asks and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“More than okay. Why don’t we start practicing tonight?” You suggest and his eyes darken before spinning you around to face away from him. 

“Lead the way.”

[delicious-in-imagines]

Hello!! Could I request some nsfw headcanons for Kabru and Mithrun?

Of course, love! Requests are OPEN!

NSFW will be below the cut! Spoilers for Mithrun!

Kabru of Utaya

This man is going to eat you alive. I said it before, and I'll say it until I'm blue in the face - there is nothing that is going to escape his notice. Every single weakness is going to be carefully catalogued until he knows just how to take you apart bit by bit.

This is a man who lives on his knees. He'll usually start by slowly disrobing you, turning each shed layer into an act of devotion. The languid way he trails his lips up your skin, inch by inch revealed and scorch with the warmth of each kiss that he gives. There will be no hiding from him, settling his hands on your hips as he rests his head along your knee, staring up at you with lidded eyes and a knowing smile.

He doesn't really do quickies - I'd say the opposite, slowies, even. With lips and tongue and teeth, prying and pulling with the calloused surfaces of his hands, he'll tear you apart to the very core. I see him as someone who loves to indulge in overstimulation, taking and taking as much as you'll give, until you're begging for mercy at his wicked tongue.

He gives as good as he takes, so if you want to take the reigns to give him a taste of his medicine, he's more than willing to lie back and allow you to have your wicked way with him. His face and chest will flush as you chart your own path across the smattering of scars and blemishes across the dusk of his skin.

His eyes will flutter shut, lips parted in soft moans with every sensitive spot that you discover and ruthlessly tease, paying him back for the same behavior. He'll grit his teeth with his brow furrowed the closer and closer he gets, until his body draws taut, crying out your name - though it's drowned out by the sounds of the bar above his room.

Mithrun of the House of Kerensil

As each new desire begins to slowly but surely take root and unfurl, those inklings of his past self begin to filter through - as well as echoes of the man he once was. To put it short, he is a possessive lover. He wants everything that you're willing to give and more, you've stuck with him so far. A lot of feelings from the past were consumed, shame being among them. He's indulging these new desires as they crop up, and pairing those two together... he doesn't care where the two of you are.

He's absolutely the person to pull you just around the corner for a quickie, grappling at your heated flesh and sinking into you with lips and teeth anchored at your neck and shoulders. There is not an ounce of shame in his body, and when you're done, he'll spare a moment to make you look presentable - though he looks completely unbothered by your barely private tryst.

He loves to have you on your knees, lavishing his skin in attention and praise, threading his fingers through your hair and looking down at you as you service him. He's a stoic man, even in these situations - to the point you may think that he isn't enjoying himself. His pleasure shows, it doesn't tell - in the way his brow furrows, biting at his lips, and staring down at you through lidded eyes. He doesn't moan or gasp, and it's only the slight hitch or heave in his breath that tells you just how much he's enjoying your mouth around him.

Any position that he can grab at your body under him is his favorite, being able to bend and twist your limbs while he shares this newfound pleasure with you. I like to think that he doesn't last long when the two of you first become intimate on account of just how long it's been - but he's absolutely going to go as many rounds as his body is willing to give him.

The afterglow is probably the softest point that you'll get him, when the two of you are basking in the remnants of pleasure, and he curls around you. His fingers will play across your skin, indulging in the closeness and brushing gentle, chapped lips across your skin. He'll murmur out nonsense against your skin, and is one of the few times that he'll vocally express his love for you.

[danytherelentless]

They Will Suffice

Jon Snow x fem!reader

summary: a pleasurable moment during your pregnancy with your husband

warnings: smut, illusions to sex, fingering, sweet talk, a little bit dirty, pregnancy, slight pregnancy kink (if you squint really, really hard)

The wind is howling and furious outside, it rattles the shutters of the windows and whistles through the gaps it manages to slither through the walls creating a chill in the air in spite of the warm pipes within the walls of the castle.

You lie in bed with your husband, a quiet and comforting moment between two lovers. Basking in the afterglow of love-making leaning back into his strong arms as they wrap around your front and caress you belly.

His bare knuckle grazes where your child kicks. A budum rhythm over and over again.

"It appears we have awoken them," you muse, looking up to see him. His handsome face is wrought with concentration, dark brows furrowed close.

"He," he corrects you.

You huff a laugh, "he? So sure are we?"

"Yes. I dream of our son in your arms. Of him playing in the Godswood with Ghost," he presses a kiss to your brow.

"Every man wishes for a son. But dreams will not make our child grow a cock if they do not already possess one," you warn. You can't help but feel a little nervous at his surety of a son. What would happen if you birthed a daughter instead?

"I would not be disappointed with a little daughter, my love. I just know that this..." he strokes the underside of your belly where there is another thump, "is our son."

You hum in acknowledgment, a small smile curling at your mouth.

"And what shall our son's name be?"

"Edric," his response is instant.

Your eyes soften, "for your father?"

"Hm. Little Ned," he is smiling now, a small, beautiful and oh so rare thing. It makes your heart swell and tears well up in your eyes.

"When we have a daughter you shall name her," he tells you, as if it is a certainty.

"And what if we shall only have sons? Or only this one child?"

"Then you can name them too. You're the one doing all the hard work," he tells you.

"I suppose you are right. Though you certainly take care of me," you respond with a teasing grin.

"I do now, do I?" he teases right back, one hand going further down to your .

"Mhm. I find myself quite satiated in your presence."

"Careful, I might become unbearable with all this flattery," his teeth graze at the side of your face. You sigh as you sink further back into his arms.

"We can't have that now, can we?"

His hand slips between your thighs, your knees parting some more to allow him better access.

"I find myself not fully satiated tonight, however," you continue, a stir in your lower belly, an urge to squeeze your thighs tightly together.

"Oh. We can't have that now, can we?"

His fingers slide between your folds, already slick once more. He had already cleaned you up after your previous bouts of love-making quite nicely, though is appears it was for nought as you would soon be a mess again.

"I'm not sure I have such energy as you," he admitted as he slid a curled finger into you, thumb circling your nub. A moan broke past your lips as he moves much to slowly.

"Well... your fingers will have to suffice," you let out another broken moan as he gathers your wetness and slides in a second finger.

"Hmm, so wet. So warm," his lips are pressed against the side of your face, teeth grazing the flesh as he whispers his sweet praises into your ear.

His practiced movements speed up, your knees part wider. His cock is hardened somewhat against your back, though not nearly at full mast.

"I can't believe I have you, so perfect, so tight, right in my arms," he speaks, lips dragging across your jaw as you throw your head back against his shoulder.

His fingers curl further, rubbing along that soft spot inside of you which had your thighs twitching and your eyes rolling back as your nails dig into his flesh.

"Right there," you moan, breathless, "please."

"Please what? What do you want?"

"I want to cum. Please make me come," you let out a louder moan.

His movements speed up, "come for me, wife. Finish for me."

You reach your peak, your third that night, fingers curling into the flesh of his thighs, a high, broken keening sound passing your lips, eyes squeezed tightly shut and mouth forming an 'o'.

"So pretty," he strokes your thighs and swollen belly, "so perfect."

You don't hear what he says next as you are lulled into a peaceful slumber, howls of the wind distant to your ears as his warmth envelopes you whole and drags you down to the depths of rest.

comments are greatly appreciated, don’t be a stranger :)

you can find me on Wattpad and AO3 by danytherelentless

let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for any of my works (character specifications and smut or not)

[rubylovessharks]

okok so what about a s/o who has a lot of sexual experience that doesn't seem to be bothered during sex by touch and such bc of how used they are to people just touching them not in the lovely dovey way, but then once they have fallen inlove with Leona they become super sensitive <3

leona is so inlove and i just KNOW that once hes in the fucking mindset hed say all he thinks about. all these 'i love you's and such 🩷

Leona Kingscholar x gn!reader, smut. (its not really smutty i just want soft leona)

cumming inside, reader has(had🤭) a sex related career

Usually you'd never shiver from pleasure during sex. You're used to it from your job. Yet now, for some reason as you lay under your usual patron who's been paying you for a while, you shudder under his touch. For the past month or so he's taken great care of you even after your pay hours. Not just sexually, you heard it in his voice one time as he whispered 'I love you's into your ears and neck, leaving marks all over your body, yet it was never a lie. Here you are again underneath Leona taking his full length in, and after a few good hours of going at it as well. And he's saying it again. "I love you.." he'd cup your face with his hand ".. I've been trying to show you...for a while now...." And he's telling the truth with how he's been treating you. Just a bit more nicely than he would treat others, just a bit more generous to you.

This is the feeling you are feeling right now. Your body immediately becomes sensitive to his touch, oh and he notices. He would like to ask if you're ok but he can see that this is something else. "I can see that the feelings are mutual" and he picks up his pace. Hitting the right places just so that he can see your face showing pure pleasure. And that's when he commands you. "Tell me. Tell me you love me and only me... That you wish to take my hand in marriage.. and be mine." at this point he might be blabbering you're not sure, but it's getting harder and harder to think with a guy like Leona destroying your insides. So what's better than telling him the truth?

"I...I love you! O..only you..yes..!"

Just as you finished your sentence he came, and so did you. Now you two are basking in the afterglow of a few good rounds of sex, and are both really tired. So talking about everything will have to wait until tomorrow morning (which isn't too far ahead-) but one thing for sure is that you'll be quitting your job soon. No need for that when you already have Leona as a (soon to-be) partner, right? That is all you get to think about before drifting off to sleep with a big lazy lion on top of you.

[coeurify]

basking in the afterglow of a soft n slow sexy time with ellie would be heaven on earth i swear. both of you still sticky with the sheen of sweat, but a dopey smile spread across her lips as she plays with your hair as you lie on her chest, peppering kisses on the skin there. she never knew life could feel like this after all that she’s went thru, but being there with you shows her what true contentment is like </33

:((((( im so soft

Your head would be pressed into her neck, short little breaths still seeking for steadiness from your lungs, limbs still heavy feeling.

Neither of you minded the sticky feeling that coated your bodies too much. How could you when you instead could focus on the skin of Ellie’s neck, on the flesh that dawned the same sheen of a slight sweat as yours?

Every touch against each other was softer than the last, the lips you pressed to the crook of her neck, comforting little pecks that just acted as another way to find connection. The hand that threads through your hair, scratching your scalp in a way that made you shiver. Everything was so gentle, slow touches that coaxed you into relaxation.

You were sure this is what people meant when they spoke of heaven, of an oasis on earth. This was that for you, proven as much when you turned to look up at Ellie, watching a soft smile form on her lips.

“What’s got you smiling?”

“Just thinkin’ about how lucky I am.”

You knew Ellie meant it, even if you couldn’t answer, shoving your face back into the home it found in her neck, mumbling something she couldn’t make out other than, “loser.”

To Ellie, you were like her own personal angel. Something sent by whatever it was above to bask her in a sense of light she thought she would never find again. You were more than she could have ever thought she deserved, and sometimes she thought if she pressed you with her fingers you may disappear.

But now, with your bodies pressed against each other, breathing in tandem.. it was all very real to Ellie.

[crimsonedquill]

Soft lazy morning sex headcanons (Hogwarts Legacy)

Was in the vibe for some fluffy smut HCs, so figured I might as well make this one my first for HL. Also, I changed up my usual sequence for this post to reflect the order in which I wrote them (sue me)

NSFW (18+), obviously.

Poppy Sweeting 🦡

You don’t know how she does it, getting out of bed and already having finished half of her chores by the time you wake up

That said, she doesn’t protest when you pull her back in, telling her that mornings are for sleep

Her giggles turn to soft moans when you start placing sloppy kisses on her neck and your hand sneaks down into her skirt, your fingers working her clit with an expertise that has her unravelling at your touch alone

Within moments her clothes are off and you two are back between the sheets, the sweetness of your lovemaking ridding you of any sleep still on your mind

She’s always the first to cum, her little whines stifled by your lips

You’ll lie basking in your afterglow together, and she asks how she’s ever going to get anything done when you treat her like that.

Ominis Gaunt 🐍

Sleep might be the only thing in the world he loves more than you, so you know you have some competition

Pressing soft kisses to his nape or caressing his lobe with your lips doesn’t seem to work, even though the little trembles running through his body don’t escape your notice

You know he’s awake, so you have no intention of letting him off the hook that easily

You kiss your way down, making sure to pay attention to every small birthmark and imperfection on his creamy white skin

He finally catches on when you’re past his navel, his fingers lazily tangling themselves into your hair as you close your lips around him

You don’t stop until you hear him groaning, his release betraying his awakening

He’s fully intent on returning the favour, which means it’s well afternoon by the time you’re both done. Totally worth it. 

Natsai Onai 🦁

There’s nothing better than waking up holding the stark naked form of your Gryffindor goddess in your arms

You take the time to kiss each other awake before she gets up to prepare a bath for you both

Sliding into the soapy water, you could easily fall asleep all over again as you relax into her arms, her breasts cushioning your back as she starts taking care of you

She gives the best massages, tenderly washing your arms and shoulders as you feel yourself getting lighter

It never comes to that though, as her hands get to work practising that special kind of magic that has you moaning out her name within minutes

She gently works you to your climax, after which she’ll draw out the aftershocks by placing gentle kisses on your shoulders

There’s definitely no better way to start the day than Natty’s baths.

Sebastian Sallow 🐍

You know last night was good when you pick up right where you left off

He has you pinned down easily, breathing into the crook of your neck with a wanting that leaves you melting like honey into his embrace

Running his hands all over your body is something he’ll never be able to resist. He knows all the little places that make you squirm, leaving no inch of skin untouched

Whether it’s taking you in a gentle spooning position or devouring you as you ride his face, he always treats you like royalty, not allowing himself any pleasure until you’re a sweaty hot mess

By the time you both have your needs fulfilled, the sun is already up and you’re probably even more tired than before

That doesn’t stop you from cuddling until you fall asleep again. The world can wait, especially with the arms of that dreamy Slytherin boy wrapped around you.

Imelda Reyes 🐍

It’s literally physically impossible for her to sleep in. She’s always up when you awaken to a new day, either doing push-ups or stretching her ethereally fit body

You often just lie there and admire her as she works out, relishing the way her muscles move under her delightfully exposed skin

She knows that you’re ogling her and she loves it. If she’s in the mood, she’ll taunt you with some teasing remarks to reel you in

It doesn’t take long for you to bite, and within minutes you’re entangled in all kinds of special yoga exercises that have you both sweating and crying out each other’s names

You tend to end up in a heap of limbs on the floor, which doesn’t bother you in the slightest. In fact, when you feel Imelda’s lips on your naked skin again, you figure the two of you could perfectly go for a few more rounds…

Amit Thakkar 🦅

Mornings with Amit are quite peaceful. He tends to stay up late to study, so he’s often still asleep by the time you wake up

He loves it when you use your body to wake him up, softly kissing his neck while you interlock your legs with his

There is no escape from some welcome friction as your sensitive parts start rubbing together, your hearts beating as one as you hold each other close

Things quickly escalate and soon you kick off the sheets, the breeze of cool air bringing relief to your hot bodies

You love it when he comes first, trying to bring him just a little closer with your legs before you come crashing over the edge, burying yourself in his neck to stifle your moans

You’ll need some help untangling yourselves when you’ve both ridden out your highs. That’s alright; all the more an excuse to keep him in bed a little longer.

[threadbaresweater]

Nanami x you. NSFW. 18+ only please.

He's beautiful like this, you think– laying flat against the bed where the sheets are disheveled, the pillows pushed aside; his hair is damp, plastered in swatches against his forehead, and there's a sheen of sweat on his sun-kissed skin that you lean to drag your tongue through, savoring the taste of him with a soft, appreciative moan.

No one gets to see him this way. Blissed out, thoroughly fucked, buried inside you while his broad hands are settled on your hips. No one else sees the lust that settles in his gaze when he smiles at you, languid and lazy and full of such adoration it makes your stomach tighten and your head buzz. These moments are for you and Nanami alone, when the rest of the world keeps moving outside your door. Time doesn't exist here. The only thing that matters is that you're together, that he knows how much you love him, that you're able to share this with Nanami alone. You are his, and he is yours. All is well in your soul.

He lifts one of those hands to cup your cheek, and you bend to him, pressing your lips to his– featherlight, fleeting– and when he licks into your mouth, you push a little harder, threading your fingers through his hair. Nanami gasps and winds his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest, then rolls to the side.

Morning sunlight slants in through the window and casts its rays across your room, a sure sign that Nanami should have left for work at least an hour ago. "I'm late, you know," he murmurs against your lips without urgency. Between your legs, his cock slips out and you whimper at the way your body jolts, the loss of warmth a bit jarring. He kicks a leg over yours and pulls you as close to him as he can, breathing against the skin of your jawline, your neck, your ear.

You grin against his shoulder and curl yourself into his chest. "Could've said no," you tease. As if he had it in him to deny you. As if he didn't wake up with his dick pressed against your ass, fingers dancing along your abdomen while he yawned against the back of your neck.

He replies with a grunt, squeezing the fat of your thigh. "And miss this? Not a chance."

You lie there for a little while longer, basking in the afterglow, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. He smooths his hand down the curve of your spine, across your shoulders, lips pressed to your forehead. And when he does finally rise, you watch him stretch as you lie swaddled in the sheets. Arms above his head, shoulders flexing, corded muscle moving in such a way that your head spins with desire all over again. He's beautiful like this. When he's relaxed. Sated. Naked and vulnerable. His sharp edges softened, his defenses down.

He steps away toward the bathroom, and soon you hear water running, the slide of the shower door; the steam billows to the ceiling, and you smell his shampoo. He'll be the Nanami that his colleagues see– the one whose confident, straight-laced demeanor is known and respected in his profession. He'll comb his hair and brush his teeth; he'll share a cup of coffee and a bite of breakfast with you, and you'll needlessly straighten his tie after he slips his shoes on at the door.

To know Nanami Kento is to love him, and you know him better than anyone– perhaps even himself.

[sonofthedunes]

I'm imagining afterglow Luke and omg he's so sweet and beautiful 🥺

anon, i’m gonna do you one better: imagine it’s the very first time you’re seeing him like this. the “grand finale” has occurred, you’re both lying there staring at the ceiling and panting as though you just tried outrunning a herd of fathiers. it was messy, it was clumsy, and it might have ended just a little too soon-but you loved every second of it. you can hardly believe it happened-with him. and as you look over to gauge his reaction, it seems luke can’t either.

he roughly runs a hand through his hair, blinking rapidly, and starts giggling. it’s the sort of giggle that spills out like a gush of spring water, almost effortless and full of ebullient joy. he cracks a toothy grin. “…wow,” he says somewhat hoarsely, cheeks a healthy shade of pink. “that was…” briefly he covers his face with both hands, searching for a word that apparently doesn’t materialize. “wow.”

“yeah,” you agree, turning on your side to really drink him in. luke mirrors your movements, forming his bent arm into a makeshift pillow. the gazes lock, hold, and you let your eyes travel along the body that’s no longer a mystery. in a little while, when you return to your quarters and your lonely bunk, you’ll ruminate on the exact taste of his salty sweat; the veins in his magnificent large hands; the wild, desperate look in his eyes as you fumbled with each other’s clothes; the sounds he’d made during the act, those shaky breaths and whimpers, the low moans and pleading that sent shock waves right to your center.

but for now, this is enough. to lie together companionably and enjoy the afterglow of it all, bask in the warmth of luke’s slightly tanned skin and the affectionate way he studies you. “you alright?” he asks, snuggling a bit closer.

“oh, i’m fine,” you hum, leaning in so that your noses practically touch.

“was it good?”

“you were wonderful. really.”

maker, he’s beautiful when he smiles. “so were you.” quick as hyperspace he plants a kiss on your parted lips. “really.”

shaking your head, you chase after the promise of another anointing from that sweet mouth and insist “luke, you’re too nice to me.”

he happily gives it to you and replies, “this is ‘being too nice,’ huh? well…i guess i’ll just have to keep doing it until you believe you deserve it. you free tomorrow night?”

you frame his impish face between your palms and bestow loud, smacking kisses on every part until he’s laughing and squirming against you. sometimes it still feels like a dream, his choosing you. “i think my schedule just magically cleared up.”

[kentoberry]

HAVE A TASTE. — zhongli.

ABOUT: zhongli wants something special from his golden darling.

WORDS: 518

CWS: sub fem reader, fingering, overstim, mirrors, watersports, praise/degradation, ruined org*sms, breeding mention, dirty talk.

minors dni.

"take it like a good little whore." zhongli spat in your ear; his harsh tone sending shivers down his spine.

the ex-archon showed no mercy as three of his long fingers rapidly pumped in and out of your sloppy cunt, abetted by the calloused pad of his thumb drawing tight, rutheless circles against your oversensitive clit. all that you could do was cry out, grasping onto the final straws of composure as zhongli continued encouraging you.

before you sat a full-length mirror, allowing zhongli to witness the way that your face contorted in pleasure. occasionally he would grip your chin and force you to see what a mess you were making. your pussy leaked against the towel that the man had laid out in anticipation, countless ruined orgasms having heightened your sensitivity and left such gorgeous filth in their wake.

zhongli's fingers curled into a "come here" motion, expertly playing with your sweet spot as you grew closer to falling apart on his fingers. his free hand alternated between slapping and groping your sweet tits and wrapping lithe fingers around the perfect skin of your neck. he continued to whisper in your ear, urging you to submit to him.

"you know what i want, darling. give it to me and i'll let you finish. or perhaps i'll even give you my cock, hmm? how does that sound? do it and i'll fill you up — i know you want to be reduced to a mindless, pathetic little breeding bitch."

as he spoke, zhongli cruelly pressed the heel of his hand against your lower stomach: the exact spot where your bladder lie. all of the stimulation reduced you to tears, crystalline droplets streaming down your face as he continued to press harder. when combined with a gruff encouragement whispered into your ear, you relented.

warm jets of piss shot out of your cunt, mind going blank as your lover didn't miss a single beat despite the nasty action. instead of pulling away, he continued to play with your filthy cunt, building your orgasm back up as your urethra let out few hot, sporadic trickles.

"good fucking girl, what a mess you made. you were fucked so good that you pissed yourself,"

your cheeks were already hot as a result of the act, though zhongli's words only made your temperature rise further. you could barely stutter that you were about to cum, for your voice was too shy and meek to be considered audible.

he fucked you through your orgasm, mesmerized by the way that your drooling cunt released periodic trickles as your walls contracted around his fingers.

you leaned back against the man as his ministrations finally gentled, allowing you to bask in the afterglow before lightly nipping at your earlobe. he slipped two of his soaked fingers past your plump lips, giving you a taste of the lewd concoctions of arousal, piss, and cum that rest on his digits.

"i'm a man of my word, my love. let me make you cream on my cock, and perhaps i'll stuff your whore cunt with something more than just my cum."

[mmmichyyy]

62+27🙌🏾

#27: "no. regrets." & #62: "if you can't sleep... we could have sex?"

"you're up late."

"jesus," mickey jumps, nearly falling out of his seat. "you scared the shit out of me."

"sorry." ian plops onto the couch, and mickey tries not to think too much about how close his roommate is sitting next to him. "couldn't sleep, and i saw the light on in the living room. what're you watching?"

mickey turns towards the tv and shrugs. "just criminal minds."

"what an uplifting show to watch at one in the morning."

"it usually puts me to sleep, actually."

"hm." ian raises his brows. "are you sure you're not watching it for a certain someone?"

"i regret telling you that," mickey groans. "i just like reid's character, okay? plus, he's not even my type."

ian looks at him with curious eyes. "what's your type, then?"

hot redheaded alien-looking dorks, mickey wants to say. instead, he throws a pillow at ian's face, to which ian catches and tosses back at him. "don't have one, really. i'm fine with any dick up my ass."

"hm. not every dick," ian mumbles.

mickey's eyes widen. "what?"

"just saying," ian shrugs. "you've never made a move on me, and i have a dick. an above average one, actually, if i'm being honest."

"wh–where is this coming from?" mickey sputters. "you're saying you want us to fuck?"

"what i'm saying is," ian leans in close, warm breath caressing mickey's skin, "if you can't sleep, and i can't sleep, then we could do something together to occupy our time–"

before ian can finish his sentence, mickey catches him by surprise with a soft kiss, their lips slotting against each other hesitantly at first, then quickly deepening and insistent as their tongues intertwine in a fighting frenzy, heated and molten.

"show me this above average dick of yours, then," mickey breathes into ian's ear, and ian responds enthusiastically by dragging mickey to his room and slamming the door shut.

-

afterwards, as they lie in bed together basking in the afterglow, sweaty and thoroughly spent, ian turns to face mickey and ghosts his fingers along mickey's arm.

"was... that okay?" he asks, quiet, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

"gallagher," mickey brushes ian's hair back and smiles when he sees ian melting into his touch, "i've been wanting to do that since you moved in."

"okay, good," ian says, relieved. "i was scared you'd regret sleeping with me and kick me out of the apartment."

mickey snorts. "my only regret is not jumping your bones earlier."

"well," ian rolls over and straddles mickey, bracketing his thighs around mickey's hips, "we have a lot of time to make up for, then."

[violet-shadows]

I Need You (NSFW)

Masterlist

Summary: Some playful teasing between you and Azriel turns into something more. 

Pairing: Azriel x short!Reader (she/her, AFAB)

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: PIV sex, fluff

‼️ Explicit Sexual Content - Minors Do Not Interact ‼️

“You’re doing this on purpose,” you huffed, turning to glare at Azriel. He feigned innocence, though the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth gave away his amusement. 

“Do what on purpose, sweetheart?” He asked sweetly and you rolled your eyes, gesturing upwards with a dramatic huff. 

“All of the cups are on the second shelf, Azriel. All of them.” You knew what this was about and you tried to hide your own amusement at your mate’s childish games. It started the night before when Azriel returned from a week-long mission, and now he couldn’t seem to resist placing things just out of your reach. 

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

“Did you miss me?” he asked, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as you cuddled together in bed, basking in the afterglow of reunion sex. 

“Hmmm?” You pretended to think on it, knowing full well that Azriel was aware of just how much you missed him when he was gone. “Not really…”

He laughed, squeezing you tighter, and shook his head. “I’m hurt,” he joked. “If nothing else I’d figure you’d miss having someone to reach the tall shelves.” You batted at his arm playfully, laughing along with him. 

“Must I remind you that I had to navigate this world solo for many years before you came along?” you retorted. “I know how to use a ladder.” 

“Is that so?” He pulled back to look at you, his hazel eyes glimmering with humor.

“Indeed,” you nodded, scrunching your nose. “I’d reckon I’m something of an expert in the matter.”

“Oh, my apologies, madame. I didn’t know we had a ladder expert in our midst,” he said sarcastically. “Say, did you become an expert before or after you fell off of one and broke your wrist last year?” 

“That was a freak accident,” you hissed, batting at his arm again. Azriel gave a hearty laugh, throwing his head back so that it rested on the pillow next to yours. In the warm evening light, with a grin on his lips, he looked downright angelic. 

“Well I guess since you don’t need me, I’ll let Rhys know I can go on longer missions,” he said, shrugging for dramatic effect. 

“Azriel!” You chastised, moving to rest your chin on your hands, “that’s not what I said!”

“That’s what I heard,” he replied, refusing to meet your gaze. 

“Azriel,” you said, your tone growing serious. He met your gaze, his own darkening as you rose up to straddle his stomach. “I do need you.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, sweetheart,” he teased, his expression one of equal parts lust and amusement. You lowered yourself down so your face was inches from his, deciding two could play this teasing game.

“Azriel,” you whined, making a show of batting your eyelashes. You pressed even closer, loving the way his pupils had blown wide since you climbed on top of him. “I need you,” you whispered, blowing warm air against his neck. His hands came up to rest low on your hips and he met your gaze with half-lidded eyes. 

“Say that again,” he ordered, voice low and gravelly. You rolled your hips, pressing your body down against his so he could feel the slick between your legs, glazing his abdominal muscles. 

“I need you,” you moaned, kissing him on the mouth. He let out a guttural grunt of pleasure, his hips bucking slightly beneath you, and brought one hand up to grip the side of your head, pressing your mouth against his as he returned your kiss greedily. 

You pulled away, both panting, and he kept his eyes locked with yours as he growled, breathlessly, “Again.” 

“I need you,” you gasped on command, leaning backward until you could feel his hard length rubbing against your inner thigh. He shuddered at the friction and wrapped his hands around your waist, guiding you down to grind against him. “I need you, Azriel. I need you to fill me up. Only you,” you gasped, straightening your posture in preparation as you began to ache with need. Azriel swallowed thickly, letting out an animalistic moan as he felt the effect of your words.

He lifted you up then, a silent invitation, and you reached down to guide his member into your opening. As always, it was a stretch to accommodate his considerable size, but with your previous activities easing the way, you quickly had him sheathed within you. You gasped at the heavenly feeling of fullness, your head tilting back in pleasure. Azriel’s hips began to move beneath you, canting upwards in slow, gentle movements. You met his thrusts, grinding into them as you ran your hands over his abs, which were shiny with a combination of sweat and your slick. His hands remained firmly locked on your waist, lifting you with ease you wouldn’t have thought possible before you met him, and his pace began to quicken. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” his line of sight had fallen away from your eyes, fixed instead on the point where your two bodies joined. He was staring at your abdomen, transfixed by the slight bulge that appeared each time he thrust upward. The sight of it was incredibly erotic, and you knew from previous experience that few things drove your mate wilder. “Good girl.”

“You’re so big,” you moaned, gasping sharply when his pace quickened. 

“You take me so well,” he praised, his breaths labored. “Remind me. Who do you need?” 

“You,” you gasped, slumping down to rest your forearms on his chest as the pleasure between your thighs built. “Azriel. My mate.” He rewarded you with an expert role of the hips that had you jolting with ecstasy. “I need you.” 

He all but purred beneath you, his moan a low rumble from deep within his chest. You met his next thrust with a snap of your hips and in a flash, he had you flipped, pinning you underneath him. The new angle had you grasping at the sheets, the pressure of his body weight only adding to your pleasure. He kneeled on the bed, pulled you towards him, and wrapped one arm around your low back to elevate your hips. You locked your legs behind him, arching your back as he began to move again, rolling his hips into yours at a pace that had you seeing stars. “Yes!” you cried out, feeling your orgasm near. “I need you, Azriel. I need your cock,” you gasped, grinning in satisfaction when he groaned, his eyes shut as he panted above you. 

“You feel so good, baby,” he gasped, lost in the throws of ecstasy. “I love the way you feel around my cock. I missed you so much.” He leaned down, the rhythmic rocking of his hips never faltering, and placed a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses across your chest. You gasped, your lower stomach tightening when he ran his tongue across your pebbled nipple, first in a flicking motion then long, languid strokes. The arm underneath your hips tightened, pulling you closer to him, and your walls clamped down around him. 

You cried out as you came, letting out loud and breathy whimpers that you couldn’t possibly hope to stifle. Your legs shook where they were wrapped around his waist and soon Azriel was coming too. He groaned, the sound partly choked as he was consumed by waves of pleasure. You felt his release spill deep within you and shivered, still seeing stars from your climax. He slumped into you, resting his forehead against your chest as your both worked to catch your breath. 

After a minute, he lifted his head, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on your lips. Then, he pulled out of you slowly, a proud grin on his face as he watched his seed leak out of you. “I love you,” he murmured, moving to lay next to you and pull you into his arms. You sighed contentedly, resting your head against his chest and listening to the strong thrumming of his still-quickened heartbeat. “So much,” he added, kissing the top of your head.

“I love you, too,” you replied, pressing your cheek against his bare skin. “And I do need you. I always need you.” His grip on your waist tightened and he slung his other arm around to rub soothing strokes into your side. 

“I was joking about the longer missions,” he murmured. “I miss you too much when I’m gone.” 

“Good,” you smiled, lifting your head to look at him. His gaze was soft and open, bearing a fond look that made your heart squeeze. “I miss you too… For the record, though, I am perfectly capable of reaching things when you’re away.”

“Sure you are, my love,” he laughed, his chest vibrating beneath you. “Sure you are.” 

⊱ —————— ❈ —————— ⊰

Back in the present, you smiled fondly as you remembered the previous night’s activities, too distracted by his lingering smell on your skin to be too annoyed. Azriel seemed to have the same thought, his lip quirking into a crooked grin as he approached you, backing you into the counter. He towered over you, leaning forward to cage you in with his muscular arms, and your breath caught in your throat. Just as it seemed he was leaning in for a kiss, you mission to find a cup all but forgotten, he looked past you and fetched a mug from above your head. “Here you are, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You just have to ask if you need my help.” 

You smiled, placing the cup on the countertop behind you, and leaned in closer until your bodies were flush.  “I think I might need something else from you, this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” He grinned, and without warning, he hauled you up with his hands on the back of your thighs. You squealed in surprise and delight, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself and locking your ankled behind him. Now eye to eye, Azriel gave you a long kiss before pulling away, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and whispered, “I think I need you too.” 

⊱ —————— ❈  —————— ⊰

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[hyu7eii]

under the moon's gaze — l.dh

SYNOPSIS — it was one of those summer nights. The nightly breeze cools what was left of the heat from the summer sun and all that's left to watch the vibrant verdure was the moon and the stars. But despite that, with dew-like shine, they blossom under the moonlight as if the golden pour of their beloved sun had never left. The night stayed full of life; even without the sun, in some ways, warmth seeped through under the moon's gaze.

PAIRING — lee donghyuck & reader

GENRE — countryside!au, childhoodfriends2l, fluff

WARNINGS — trespassing, making out

WORD COUNT — 3.0k words

NOTES FROM AUTHOR — so this was also from my old blog :') hope you enjoy it!!

You watch as the speckled night moves the moon to the highest peak of the sky. The coolness of the air felt great on your skin, you almost think you could fall asleep like this, but alas, a certain face couldn't help but ruin those plans of a well rested slumber.

Funny how even in imagination, he still seemed to be causing trouble.

After tossing and turning for the umpteenth time this evening, you find yourself seated by your house's front porch watching this big rock in the sky with little to no fascination. You were bored.

The afterglow of the summer day made the night life seem much brighter—unwilted and evergreen. It painted a scenic picture, the moon was at the perfect place, the stars shone brighter than ever, and the trees swayed along to the lullaby of the creatures home to the grass. But no matter how beautiful these things are, they still could not take your mind off of the person you find much prettier in your eyes.

You sigh. How merciless love could be that even picturesque sights like this didn't amaze you anymore.

Perhaps you were being dramatic, simply caught up in the fact that no matter what you did, he stayed like a pest in your mind. Maybe if you tried even harder, you would successfully distract yourself from him. Yeah, you thought to yourself, just stop thinking for a second and just bask in the night sky.

The stars twinkled at you and you smiled back. At first the sky looked like a canvas filled with strewn dots—scattered and unrelated, but then you found yourself gazing at something that looked like a triangle? But it wasn't quite a triangle because it was rounded and much longer. It almost looked like a... fish's flipper?

You weren't an expert in constellations by any means, but you started making them nonetheless. Perhaps you should give them new names and meaning.

You continue to flesh out the unfinished fish flipper shape, conjuring up an image of a whale jumping over heavy ocean waves, flashing you an almost cartoonish grin. This was quite fun. You looked below it to see a small creature running while holding a triangle of sorts. The stars inside the triangle helped make an illusion that it had holes, therefore concluding to yourself that it was a mouse holding a block of cheese. But what was it running from? You see a tail and claws reaching out to the mouse. You look at it for a bit and realize it was a cat; now the scene made sense. You name that one constellation "tom and jerry".

You let your fingers trace patterns lazily on the sky, connecting the dots just like those activity books you used to practice on when you were younger. One line goes to the left, then down, then you trail it to the right, and you continue on mindlessly.

After you are done, you pause. What did you just draw? You didn't have any image in mind as you were mapping out the shape, so you left it up to your imagination to make up for the lack of sense.

You follow back to the lines, letting your fingers walk the familiar stars to make out the shape. It didn't remind you of an animal nor an object. Perhaps a person?

Star one, star two, star three, sta—

Wait a minute. You feel your cheeks burn.

Did you just trace Donghyuck's moles?

It wasn't like you memorized each of their locations on his face (that was a lie), but you completely failed the point of why you started playing astronomer. Now you're back to square one, wondering how, even in the stars, you see him.

And it was just like the wind carried your thoughts to him because, as soon as you thought of him, your phone rang with his name blaring on the screen.

You picked up the call, giving up on distracting yourself from him. "Hello?"

"I see you over there." You look over to his window just beside your house and you see him clad in pajamas, hair sticking out in different directions, and a boyish grin on his face as he waves at you. You guess that he just woke up.

Before you could give a response, his voice sounds through the phone. "I'm coming over there, wait." Then he hangs up the phone, again, giving you no room to give a proper reply. But that didn't matter as you felt yourself smile. As long as you got to see him you were happy, even if he had rudely hung up on you. The weariness from your lack of sleep was now replaced by this giddiness that has you up and ready to run across the fields. You sigh albeit blissfully; you were definitely in love weren't you?

"Why are you smiling to yourself like a creep?"

You could only glare at him as the smile slipped away from your face.

"I wasn't smiling like a creep," you say defensively, "I was just… "

You stare at him and you feel your chest squeeze just a tiny bit (it wasn't just a tiny bit). You thought butterflies and sparks were just cheesy cliches, and honestly speaking, you never felt them around him. But when you look at him, you are reminded. This was the boy that pulled at your hair in kindergarten, the boy who you got in trouble with for playing out too much, the boy who you always went to when you were feeling down, the boy who, in his own way, shows you how much he cares, and the boy that still shined so brightly in the night.

You didn't see him in the stars; he was the brightest star, and though the moon may be beautiful, you would rather spend the evening basking in his glow.

"You were just?" You hear the questioning lilt in his voice and you snap back to reality.

Coughing into your fist, "I was just… thinking," you (try to) nonchalantly look at anything but him.

"Alright… " You ignore his skeptical gaze.

He suddenly comes closer, settling down on the space beside you, knee slightly grazing yours. He had his arm leaning on his knee as he rested his face on his palm. "What were you thinking?"

Did he have to be so nosy? You were starting to think he already knew what you were thinking, he was a smart boy after all. "Nothing really, and isn't it past your bedtime? Why are you even here?" you tease abruptly, trying to change his focus.

He gasps like the drama queen that he is, "Now you're treating me like a kid! Are you trying to act like my mom or something?" There is a slight pout on his lips when he says that. Not that you were looking at his lips (another lie), but it reminded you of the times he would get sulky at you when you were children.

"No, you just keep acting like a kid." You say almost fondly; your comment didn't hold any meaning and was just said to further tease him. He scoffs at you, rolling his eyes, "Says you."

You gulp a little. Since when did he become hot?

Of course you were lying, the boy in front of you now wasn't the same one you knew all those years ago. You don't know what kind of shattering force that played with you right now, but they make you hyper aware that this boy grew out of his chubby cheeks, his former languid body growing a stronger build, and the top of his head now surpasses yours. Though the younger him was incredibly adorable, you couldn't help but like this a little more. He certainly grew up well, didn't he?

It was silent for a moment, both of you just appreciating the fine evening. With Donghyuck, there was no such thing as awkward stillness. Though there are times he didn't know how to shut up, he surprisingly knew when to let the quiet do the talking. He was more mindful than he let on and you sometimes wonder what exactly is he thinking about.

"Follow me, I'll take you somewhere," he juts out of the blue, standing up and looking at you expectantly.

You raise a brow. It wasn't like you didn't trust him—if anything he was more reliable than he seemed, but you wouldn't put it past him to put on mischievous acts at any time.

"And where would you take me?"

"Uhm, to…?" He thinks as well. You were starting to think this was one of his pranks.

"A walk! Let's go for a walk." He grabs you by the arm, hoisting you up to stand. You guess that he sees the skepticism on your face because suddenly he hooks his arm around yours as if to handcuff you to him. "Come on, trust me a little. It's not like I'm gonna throw you off a cliff or something."

"Now that you say that I'm even more suspicious." You laugh when he sarcastically rolls his eyes at you.

Both of you walked in silence, side by side with his arm around yours. It felt nice just being like this. Being with him felt nice. You felt a high around him you couldn't quite explain; it was almost like a trance. You were bound to his painting, now linked to him in a way where he became ubiquitous. Your eyes will remind you of him, your mouth will speak of things that remind you of him, and your feet will remember wherever his own falls. And just like now, you follow his footsteps as he leads you into a dream.

He was beautiful, wasn't he? The sight around you may be riveting, others around you may find people much more attractive, but all of that didn’t matter because they weren’t Donghyuck. No matter how many times you repeat that, it would never dull how captivated you were by his light.

Before you know it, he stops. He turns to you as he removes your linked arms to cover your eyes with his hands. You let him do what he wants, not putting up a fight even when your sight becomes dark. "We're close, don't peek!" You hum fondly, wondering where he is taking you.

You feel grass tickle the skin of your leg, the land beneath you now softer as you hear a fence being opened. He still covers your eyes as he guides you inside to wherever he was leading you to.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Shh, we’re almost there.”

He suddenly brings you to a slight uphill, gently and carefully guiding you as he brings one hand to the small of your back while the other still covers both of your eyes. You were used to his touchiness, but for some reason, this particular one made you feel flustered.

With a few steps further, the both of you stop. His hands leave your eyes and your sight is greeted by a familiar field. Memories of both of you being chased by Mrs. Park crosses your mind and you shiver. You should have never trusted Donghyuck.

"Hyuck, we're not allowed here!"

“Says who?” You almost had to will yourself not to immediately start running back home like a coward, but you also think it was best to simply just leave your pride and stay away from trouble.

Mrs. Park was a scary woman, most doing their best to never anger her. But the problem was she was always angry no matter if it was her birthday or the happiest day of her life. Even in your almost adult self, you still felt as terrified as you were when you were a kid.

You deadpan at him. “Remember when we last came here?" You could almost hear her shrill screams out in the distance.

“Your point is?” You facepalm, sometimes it was a curse when you couldn’t put up a fight with him.

Despite your senses telling you to turn back, you stay knowing that you would much rather spend time with Donghyuck than spend your time staring up at your bedroom's ceiling with only thoughts of him.

“Hey look, it's still here,” he goes to a tree, looking at it with almost glazed over eyes. When you looked over the tree he was staring at, you immediately knew what he was talking about. You went beside him, also looking at the carvings on the tree, chuckling when you see both of your old handwriting.

"May this tree serve to protect us from the evil that lurks within this field" and a stickman depiction of Mrs. Park with devil horns beside it was carved messily on the bark of the tree. You reminisce the moment you both wrote it.

Both of you were six then, playing around like you usually do when you hear an almost glass-shattering cry. Mrs. Park was livid, screeching around almost like a ghost from those horror games Donghyuck used to play. "We should make a protection barrier!" he said, and that's how both of you ended up hiding behind the tree, hoping that it would protect you from the monster that was Mrs. Park.

“I can’t believe she hasn't found it yet.”

He laughs, “If she saw this she would probably scream so loud that her big shiny earrings would crack.”

He suddenly lowers to the ground, lazily leaning against the tree. “We haven’t been here in a while, a certain wuss was too scared of big bad Mrs. Park to come back,” he gives you a look.

"Yeah, and a certain person cried to his mommy when Mrs. Park caught him."

He scoffs, "I wonder who that is," knowing full well that it was him you were talking about.

He gazes up to the moon. You didn't know if he knew you were staring so intently at him. If only he could see himself the way you did, he would know how you feel. You wouldn't want to look at anything other than him.

"Why are you staring at me?"

"You look good."

"I always look good."

At that, you wholly agree, shamelessly. Even when you are caught, you don't let up.

He looks at you with an almost smug face. “I knew it.”

“What?”

“You were bound to fall in love with me someday,” he says, probably teasingly, but you weren’t in the proper mind to figure that out.

"Yeah… "

"Yeah?"

"I guess I am in love with you."

Now, he wasn't expecting that. He gawks at your seriousness, placing both of his hands on your shoulders. “Are you okay, don’t tell me you're starting to lose yourself there?” he shakes you profusely.

You stop the shaking hands that were starting to make you feel dizzy. “No, I am perfectly fine," you say, a little annoyed that he ruined your moment.

You see Donghyuck staring at nothing, but he had a big smile on his face and his cheeks were a little red. And at that, maybe you felt a little bit of hope.

It was silent for a bit, both of you trying to avoid each other's gazes. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe you shouldn't have said anything. But this was Donghyuck, after all your years together, he wouldn't let just these feelings break that friendship and everything you built together.

“I like you too, I guess.”

You laugh.

He covers his face with his hands. “Why are you laughing!”

And you continue to laugh, not at him, but more so because you were happy.

He hid his face on your shoulder and you felt his shoulders shaking as he joined your laugh. Both of you were idiots.

“Can we kiss?” He looks up at you from your shoulder, starry eyed.

Now you were starting to feel the flush grow hotter, but you still nodded nonetheless. He made you feel so heady, both of you slipping away to a special place only both of you know.

You feel goosebumps on your skin as you feel his hand graze yours, also feeling how he slightly trembles when you both lean into each other. It was dizzying, almost drunk. You just wanted to feel him close, never wanting to stray far away from his light.

It was taking too long, both of you were taking too long. You press into him, surging your lips forward and all seemed to be right.

It was soft; the grass below your hand, his cheek that you were cradling with your other, and his lips that fit perfectly with yours. At first, it was just a fleeting kiss, lovingly giving him a peck. But when you see the fond look in his eyes, you couldn't stop from giving him more.

He was sweet, you feel his hand land on your waist as he rubbed small circles with his thumb. Again there were no sparks, but with Donghyuck you didn’t have to act unfamiliar. Both of you moved in rhythm, simply just being in the moment as both of you enjoyed the sweet caresses of each other’s lips.

Time didn’t exist and both of you continued for as long as you liked. You don't know how, but you ended up on his lap, still kissing as if both of you couldn’t get enough.

You smiled when the kiss broke. His eyes were closed, leaning his forehead on yours, also bearing a smile on his face. "We should've done this sooner."

"Let's make up for lost time then," you say as he sighs into another kiss.

When you parted, he looked marvelous. His hair was messed up, clothes wrinkled, and his lips swollen as he looked up at you with soft eyes. You cursed in your mind, he was so pretty.

He leans his head into your chest as he hugs you. “We should get you home, you know,” he says, but he doesn’t let you go.

“Okay, let’s go then,” you say, knowing that he didn't mean it.

“One last.” And both of you stayed in each other's arms for the rest of the evening.

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. hyu7eii. 2022. written content should not be reposted and/or translated in other platforms.

[vera-king-hrfl]

Eventually, he recovers enough to slowly ease out of you and lift his weight from your bruised body, rolling onto his back next to you and gathering you against his still heaving chest. The two of you simply lie there for several minutes and breathe, basking in the afterglow. You finally lift your head to look at his face, and you see that familiar little crinkle between his brows that means he's stewing in consternation over something or other. You kiss his cheek.

"Everything alright?" You ask softly. You suddenly fear he is already feeling regret over your liason, or else telling himself he doesn't deserve you. But he turns to you and smiles...

"Yes," he says, turning himself onto his side facing you and propping his head on his hand, his elbow on the mat. His eyes flutter, and he takes a deep breath. "Gods yes, you were... that was... you, my dear, are the most incredible lover I've ever known and... and you've given me a night I never dreamed I'd experience. I am sorry that I lost control for a... moment. It just felt so right with you. I have always feared frightening... and I'm sorry I hurt you. I can heal these."

His fingers trace the claw marks on your body, the punctures on your flank, shoulder, and neck. You shake your head, catching his hand and kissing it, wanting to keep his marks, but here's still something brewing in his skull so you keep your peace. He draws a quick breath and pauses, then speaks again.

"I want you to know that I would never seek to compromise you. We can keep this as secret as you wish. I know relations with tieflings can be... looked upon unfavorably... by some. But, even so, I'd be very pleased if I could see you again, when we get to the city. Not because of the lovemaking, or... at least, not only because of that, I mean, I just..."

He's stuttering and you silence him with a kiss. You don't care about the pinpricks in your rump or the soreness between your legs. You enjoy the sting of the bites. You definitely don't give a damn about his heritage. You brush your lips against his, trying to put all of your feeling and your intention into the kiss. Finally you withdraw and gaze into his eyes.

"You didn't do any real damage and I heal fast. Please, I'm proud to wear your marks. I wanted you to let go and be in the moment. I pushed you. You've done nothing I haven't wanted and enjoyed." You caress his cheek. "Zevlor... you think I would be ashamed of you? I like that you're a tiefling, I don't care what other people think. And I will meet you in Baldur's Gate. In the bright of day surrounded by people. I feel no guilt or shame for being with you. On the contrary, I am proud to know you and I will be glad to walk the city on your arm. You need not keep this a secret, unless... unless you want to."

He's staring with wide eyes, a slow smile tugging at his lips. He chuckles and then sighs, flopping onto his back once more.

"Very well. You make a convincing case. The Gate, then," another soft huff of amusement, closing his eyes, "it matters not. No one would believe me anyway."

You wrinkle your nose. You'll see about that.

The night is getting old, and both of you have much yet to prepare, so with regret you draw on your clothes, give him one last lingering kiss, and depart on slightly unsteady legs to seek a wash and a few hours of rest.

[dee-writes-smut]

LAZY MORNINGS

FEATURING Cassian x reader

SUMMARY lazy mornings, simple fights, and tender kisses; all gone, all lost without him.

CONTENT WARNINGS major character loss, depression, emotional descriptions of kissing (?)

AUTHORS NOTE happy 100 followers, here's some devastating angst as a thanks! Enjoy! :)

I wanted it all. The lazy mornings in bed, the fight over which movie to watch, the bumping into each other in their small kitchen. The disagreements and the tears and the kisses and their love. For once, I wanted to be selfish, and I wanted to have it all.

The transition from sleep to wakefulness was seamless with Cassian by my side. As the first tendrils of dawn painted soft hues across the room, I would stir from slumber, greeted by the comforting weight of his arm draped possessively over my waist. His warmth enveloped me, cocooning me in a sanctuary of bliss where time seemed to stand still.

In the quiet stillness of the morning, I savored the sensation of Cassian's breath against the nape of my neck, a gentle rhythm that mirrored the rise and fall of my own chest. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly laundered sheets to create an intoxicating bouquet that stirred something deep within me.

"Cassian," I would murmur, my voice still heavy with sleep, "just a few more minutes."

His response was a gentle hum, a silent affirmation of our shared desire to linger in this moment of tranquility a little while longer. With his fingers tracing lazy patterns along my skin, I would bury myself deeper into the folds of the sheets, reveling in the sensation of his steady breath against my skin.

Minutes stretched into eternity as we savored the simple pleasure of being together, the outside world fading into insignificance in the face of our shared intimacy. Each touch, each caress, spoke volumes, conveying a depth of emotion that words could never capture.

Eventually, the call of hunger would rouse us from our languid state, and we would stumble into the kitchen, limbs entwined and hearts full. The familiar rituals of breakfast became a dance of shared moments, each movement fluid and effortless as we navigated the space between us with practiced ease.

Cassian took charge of the coffee, his hands moving with precision as he measured out the perfect ratio of ground to water. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the scent of his cologne to form an irresistible blend that stirred something deep within me. Meanwhile, I busied myself with preparing the rest of our meal, slicing fruit with care and toasting bread to golden perfection.

The rhythmic clink of knives against cutting boards filled the air, a soothing melody that accompanied our shared silence. As we worked side by side, I couldn't help but marvel at the easy rhythm of our partnership, the way we moved in sync without needing to exchange a single word.

Breakfast would be a simple affair, yet it held a significance that transcended the mere act of nourishment. As we sat across from each other at the table, our eyes would meet in silent communion, words unnecessary as we shared the unspoken bond of love and understanding. But it was after breakfast, when we would return to the warmth of our bed, that the true magic would happen. We would lie there, limbs intertwined and hearts open, basking in the afterglow of our shared meal, lost in the sweet serenity of our love.

No relationship is without its rough patches, and ours was no exception. For all the lazy mornings and tender moments we shared, there were also moments of discord that tested the strength of our bond.

Our disagreements were fierce, fueled by passion and stubbornness. This particular argument had been brewing beneath the surface for weeks, simmering like a pot left unattended until it finally boiled over.

"It's not just about the mission, Cassian," I argued, my voice tinged with frustration. "It's about us. I can't keep pretending like everything's fine when it's not."

Cassian's expression hardened, his jaw tightening with tension. "This is bigger than us," he countered, his voice strained. "The Rebellion needs us. We can't afford to let personal feelings get in the way."

His words cut deep, slicing through the facade of composure I had been desperately clinging to. The weight of his duty hung heavy in the air between us, a constant reminder of the sacrifices we were both forced to make.

We clashed over matters of duty and sacrifice, our opposing viewpoints pulling us further apart with each passing moment. The tension in the room was palpable, like a taut rope ready to snap at any moment.

"I can't do this anymore," I would whisper, tears welling in my eyes. "I can't keep pretending like I'm okay with you risking your life every day."

Cassian's expression softened, a flicker of remorse crossing his features. "I know," he would reply, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I can't just walk away. You know that, sweetheart."

I would retreat into myself, the weight of our disagreement pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. Doubt crept into my mind, casting shadows on the once bright future we had envisioned together.

But amidst the chaos and confusion, there was also a glimmer of hope—a willingness to listen, to understand, and to forgive. We were two souls adrift in a sea of uncertainty, reaching out for each other in the hope of finding solid ground once more.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. "I'm scared, Cassian. I'm scared of losing you."

He would draw me into his arms, his touch a lifeline in the darkness. "I'm not going anywhere," he would assure me, his voice filled with determination. "We'll find a way through this, together."

In the quiet of the night, with our hearts laid bare and our fears exposed, we would find solace in each other's embrace. Our tears mingled together, a silent testament to the depth of our love and the pain we felt at the thought of losing each other.

And as the first light of dawn crept through the window, casting a soft glow over our entwined forms, we made a silent vow to do better—to communicate more openly, to listen more attentively, and to cherish each other with every breath we took.

Amidst the chaotic ebb and flow of our lives, there existed pockets of pure bliss—moments where time held its breath, and the clamor of the world melted away, leaving only the tender dance of our souls.

Our kisses were a language unto themselves, each touch a sonnet of desire and devotion, weaving a tapestry of unspoken vows and whispered confessions. In the sanctuary of our embraces, I found solace, as if the universe itself conspired to bring us together in perfect harmony.

His lips were an oasis, tender and yielding against mine, kindling a flame that surged through every fiber of my being, an inferno of passion that blazed brighter with each lingering caress. His touch was an electric current, coursing through me with a pulse of urgency and longing, binding us together in a symphony of sensation.

We stole kisses in the most unlikely of places, our love a secret shared with the world—a stolen moment in the bustle of a crowded street, a whispered promise beneath the moon's gentle gaze. Each kiss was a revelation, a testament to the depth of our connection and the fervor of our love.

But it was not merely the physical act of kissing that tethered us—it was the unspoken language of our hearts, a melody of longing and belonging that resonated with every touch, every brush of skin against skin. In the tender aftermath of our embraces, we lay intertwined, our breaths synchronized in the quiet cadence of the night, content to dwell in the sanctity of our shared affection.

Our kisses were a kaleidoscope of emotion, laughter bubbling up between stolen breaths, joy and mirth dancing in the spaces between our lips. Other times, they were a silent plea for reassurance, a whispered prayer against the uncertainties that lingered at the edges of our lives.

And as sleep eventually claimed us, cocooned in the warmth of each other's arms, I knew with unwavering certainty that I was exactly where I was meant to be—loved, cherished, and infinitely blessed by the presence of this extraordinary man in my life.

In the quiet moments of our intimacy, I could feel the weight of his love, an anchor grounding me amidst the tumultuous seas of life. With each kiss, it was as if the world around us faded into insignificance, leaving only the profound connection that bound us together.

Our kisses spoke volumes, conveying emotions too deep for words to articulate. They were a dance of vulnerability and trust, a testament to the depth of our bond and the strength of our commitment to each other.

As our lips met in silent communion, I felt a sense of belonging that transcended the physical realm, a profound knowing that in each other's arms, we had found our home. And in those stolen moments of intimacy, I vowed to cherish every kiss, every touch, as a precious gift from the universe—a reminder of the extraordinary love that bound us together, now and for eternity.

In the aftermath of Cassian's sacrifice for the Rebellion, I found myself adrift in a sea of memories—fragments of our love that seemed to shimmer and fade like distant stars in the night sky.

The lazy mornings in bed felt like a distant dream, a fleeting moment of bliss now shattered by the harsh reality of his absence. I could almost feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine, his steady heartbeat a comforting rhythm against my skin. But when I reached out, all I found was empty space—a cruel reminder of what we had lost.

The arguments over trivial matters echoed in the empty rooms of our home, their echoes bouncing off the walls like ghosts of our past. I could hear the frustration in his voice, the stubbornness in his stance, as we clashed over insignificant details that now seemed trivial in comparison to the gaping void left in his wake.

But amidst the echoes of our disagreements, there were also moments of laughter and joy, the playful banter that had once filled our home with warmth and light. I could almost hear his laughter ringing in my ears, see the mischievous glint in his eyes as we teased each other mercilessly. Those moments were a balm to my wounded soul, a reminder of the love that had once flourished between us.

Yet, even as I navigated the caverns of our shared memories, reality intruded in the form of his family, checking in with concern etched into their every word and gesture. They offered solace, companionship, and a shoulder to lean on, but I found myself retreating further into solitude, unable to bear the weight of their well-intentioned sympathy.

The stolen kisses filled with laughter and longing haunted me, their memory a bittersweet reminder of all that we had shared. I could almost taste the sweetness of his lips, the warmth of his embrace, as we had reveled in the simple pleasure of being together. But now, those moments felt like distant echoes, fading into the darkness like whispers carried away by the wind.

But most of all, I missed the feeling of being loved—truly and unconditionally, in a way that transcended words and defied explanation. I longed for the warmth of his touch, the strength of his embrace, the way he had looked at me as if I were the center of his universe. But now, all I felt was the cold emptiness of his absence—a void that seemed to stretch on for eternity, swallowing me whole.

As I traced the lines of his face in my mind's eye, I realized that I had taken our love for granted, assuming that it would always be there, steadfast and unchanging. But now, as I sat alone in the silence of our home, I understood that nothing in this world was permanent—not even love.

In the quiet moments of reflection, I found myself grappling with the realization that love, no matter how deep or enduring, was not immune to the passage of time or the cruel twists of fate. And yet, even as I mourned the loss of what once was, I couldn't help but cling to the hope that perhaps, somewhere out there in the vast expanse of the universe, our love still burned bright, a beacon of light in the darkness.