✦ Mydei/Anaxa
✧ established relationship, domestic fluff, slow mornings, banter, kisses, mild sexual tension
✦ Rated T
✦ 3k words
—
→ Part 2 here
—
The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach… so maybe this will help getting Anaxa to rest.
Anaxa has been restless. Even with the problem of the black tide—or perhaps because of it—behind them, he has been throwing himself even more into his research. More often than not, Mydei finds him falling asleep at his desk or other various places, books all around and on him. Exhaustion has been curling his shoulders and left his eyes distant. Cloudy.
One would think with the catastrophe of the world put back in order, anyone would choose to finally breathe and relax, but Anaxa is not any one. He’s exceptional. One of a kind. And also terrible at keeping watch over his own health, too busy swatting away any sort of concern since “this body has long passed that necessity.”
Mydei sighs as he finds their bed empty, pressing the tray of food against his stomach as he holds the door open. Despite his efforts of slipping out without stirring the ever working man, hoping to surprise him with a warm meal, Anaxa had apparently wasted no time and found some corner of the palace to read and research one thing or the other—even when the sun had barely cracked past the horizon. Again.
👑 Mydei/Anaxa, Explicit, 5,3k words
🏷️ throne sex, soul bond, body worship, light dom/sub, edging, switching, mild angst, service top Mydei, dom Anaxa
Only those with selfless love in their hearts may ascend to seek audience with Reason at the pinnacle—even now as the throne sits barren, its Titan gone.
Mydei and Anaxa pass with ease. They’re accompanied by the flutter of golden wings which leave behind shimmering dust like starlight against the evernight, accompanying their every step.
“Why did you want to come here?” Mydei eventually asks, breaking the silence that had settled between them. The empty throne far across from them marks the approaching end of their journey. Fake stars twinkle through the gaps of the Great Tree’s branches.
Anaxa crosses his arms behind his back as he traces the steps he has walked so often. “Everything ends. It only felt fitting to say my goodbye in your company.” There’s a pause. A smile tickles the corner of his mouth, but not enough to show. He keeps his head trained forward even as he itches to turn it. “Isn’t that right, Your Highness?”
✦ Mydei/Anaxa
✧ service top Mydei, established relationship, body worship, oral sex + thigh fucking, emotional morning sex
✦ Explicit
✦ 4.9k words
—
→ Part 1 here
—
Turns out that Mydei and Anaxa are still hungry, even after breakfast.
As Mydei’s hand travels from the dip of Anaxa’s waist to the meat of his upper thigh, teal eyes snap back to him. Something playful shimmers within them as they fall half-closed.
“Breakfast not enough for you, Your Highness?”
Anaxa loves to use the title to tease—to bring attention to his lineage but not the crown. It’s a pointed jab when he wants to toy even more with Mydei’s feelings.
And it works on him every time.
With a smile, Mydei leaves a kiss on the curve of Anaxa’s neck, hand sliding back up and under the loose shirt that still carries his scent. His fingers stretch across the toned expanse of Anaxa’s middle; they reach from one end to the other. It makes Mydei’s stomach stir with want, and he exhales, shaky, as he tries to gather his words.
✦ Aventurine/Boothill
✧ Relationship Study, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff, Temporary Character Death, Grief, Angst with a Happy Ending
✦ Rated T
✦ 3.6k words
—
Trust and affection bloomed between the cracks of the rubble, and Aventurine would give his everything to keep it at his side.
Their first meeting was charged—two people at odds, or so they thought, with tension spiked high. A current that connected them. That brought them closer, ultimately.
Their first mission had them like a clock ticking out of tune, with the gears grinding against each other. It brought out vulnerabilities they would have rather kept buried as their sharpened edges chafed and screeched.
However, it softened them, oddly enough. But perhaps that wasn’t so strange at all. A gem didn’t become its radiant self without extreme pressure, and a blade needed to be hammered into what it was.
A cyborg cowboy and a gambler willing to risk it all. Two people who could seemingly not be from more different worlds, yet connected by a shared past. Two people that had lost everything at the hands of the same person, and who refused to let it be their downfall.
That loss became their strength. It molded them into who they were. It was only a matter of time until they collided.
💧 Mydei/Anaxa, Explicit, 4564 words
🏷️ soul bonds, established relationship, body worship, emotional sex, service top Mydei, dom bottom Anaxa
Mydei is not one to announce his presence—the world does it for him. Crowds part without question, trees sway in defiance and pity, and animals grow silent as they watch, cautious.
And here, in this quiet corner of Anaxa's private baths, the water trembles with his approach.
“Of course you’d be here,” Mydei says, and Anaxa thinks there’s an edge of annoyance to his voice. It makes his eyes flutter open, and the rush of seeing the demigod before him—tall in stature, chest bulging as his arms cross—is dizzying. But he would be remiss to let it show in his expression. “Would it have killed you to let me know?”
“I wasn’t aware you were intent on finding me, Mydei,” Anaxa replies. He sinks lower into the pool as if to prove a point, the water climbing past his collarbone. The goosebumps rising up his neck are purely the water’s fault. “But since you’ve already disturbed my peace, what do you need?”
✦ Aventurine/Boothill focus
✧ QPR Aventurine/Boothill/Dan Heng/Jing Yuan
✧ side Dan Heng/Jing Yuan
✦ Rated T
✦ 25k words
—
Boothill wants to get Aventurine a birthday gift, and with the bonds of the past and present, hopes to make it a very special day.
This fic centers around the queerplatonic relationship between Boothill, Aventurine, Jing Yuan, and Dan Heng. While avenhill and jingheng lean towards typically romantic ways with each other, as a whole, this fic is about the various bonds Boothill has in his life—from familial to romantic and that which can't be described.
Lineart by Deus, colors and graphic by me!
———
It started with a simple, off-handed remark—the kind Aventurine paid no mind to, simply said to fill the gap. The kind he chuckled at with the wave of a hand and half a shrug before moving on.
But it grows roots in Boothill’s brain. It curls around his heart, squeezing, as he laces their fingers together in silence. Not even Aventurine’s quizzical expression is able to free him.
The squeeze hardens into determination as his decision is made. He can’t magically erase or make up for the countless birthdays lost to time and pain, but he’ll die trying.
If Boothill is one thing, it’s fiercely stubborn with an unshakable resolve.
🥃 Aventurine/Boothill, Mature, 2858 words
Actors AU, Character Study, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Confession of Feelings, Making Out
With art at the end!
— 🍷 —
"If I didn’t know any better…" Aventurine starts, a tremble lacing itself within his voice as his hand moves further, their knuckles brushing against one another, "I’d think you want to kiss me."
"And if I did?"
— 🥃 —
It’s been a long day of forced smiles and maintaining a mask, both for personal and work affairs. So when Boothill and he retreat to a backstage room to unwind after a day of shooting, Aventurine suggests to celebrate with a drink.
“Y’know I’m not one to deny a free drink,” Boothill says, shrugging off a leather jacket and tossing it over the back of the red velvet couch. The white shirt he wears is simple, but when your body is as sculpted as his, you don’t need fancy clothes to look good.
Aventurine takes a deep breath, trying to not let his eyes linger even if the dimmed lights could easily cascade the act. “The usual, I presume?”
— bootrine, explicit, 1.4k words
vampire AU, rough sex (but with feelings), biting, blood drinking, overstimulation, orgasm denial, masochistic tendencies, praise kink, creampie, multiple orgasms, mild dom/sub, service top Boothill, aftercare
Happy (belated) Halloween!
With his new-found existence, there are only a few things that can truly sate him.
It really is quite fortunate that Boothill can take care of both.
Aventurine shifts his hips, relishing the friction, the space created within him something he can’t wait to have filled again as he drops back down. The moan Boothill rewards him with—loud, surprised, cracking half-way on its escape—is its own kind of ecstasy he feels glide down his spine in an addictive chill. Aventurine licks at his lips, still red.
Boothill is so good to him. He’s keeping his hands at his sides, even as the knuckles are turning white with the need to grab more than the sheet below them.
Keep reading here or under the cut.
“Good boy.” Aventurine breathes the deadly kiss to the crook of Boothill’s neck. It responds so beautifully with goosebumps rising in its echo. Blood that tries and fails to dry stains Boothill’s skin, and Aventurine licks at it. Instinctively, fully submitted, Boothill turns his head with a quiet whimper; a little sound that is reminiscent of a please.
Good boys need to be rewarded, and Boothill has been nothing but the best to him.
A predator’s bite marks scarred skin once more, sinking through the layers one by one until he bottoms out, teeth and hips both. Claiming, hungry. Aventurine keeps his hips still, clenching around the length pulsating inside him as fresh blood floods his mouth. It’s intoxicating. It makes him want to carve at Boothill’s chest, to climb inside it, to squeeze the heart and watch liquid vigor drip down his throat.
Aventurine’s own heart races as life flows through him and the metallic taste of Boothill stains his tongue and teeth.
“Please…” Boothill croaks, a shadow of his usual self. Weak, shaking, eyes barely focused as they struggle to remain open. Every erratic beat of Boothill’s heart—Aventurine can hear it so clearly, here; can feel it between his teeth—makes his cock throb inside Aventurine, yearning for release that isn’t granted. Instead, Aventurine chooses to tighten his hold around it.
Another gasp strikes through Boothill’s body as he bows his back, curling upwards from the mattress.
“Ah–hah–ven… please…”
Aventurine lifts himself fully from Boothill. The man just about sobs. Tears gather in the corner of Boothill’s eyes, his cockhead weeping and red.
Aventurine feels so empty without Boothill laying his claim inside himself. His hole twitches, desperate, yearning, but seeing Boothill beg and sob is worth everything. Aventurine savors the moment—the sweat making Boothill’s skin glisten; the frantic rise and fall of Boothill’s chest as he tries and fails to catch his breath; the beautiful glaze that covers warm eyes as they cling to sanity; that pretty flush that dusts his skin.
However, seeing Boothill’s mouth grow slack as he guides his dick back inside is even better.
This time, Aventurine doesn’t take it slow. He crashes back down with a loud smack, the oil and pre-cum squelching every time their bodies meet, and Boothill sings wonderfully for him—moans that start as his name end as incomprehensible gibberish. Fabric tears; the sound is a blade cutting through the air.
Aventurine drives his fangs back into Boothill’s skin. He breaks.
Cum floods his insides, Boothill’s dick throbbing as it empties itself, and Aventurine’s heart soars as the remaining space inside him gets filled. As Boothill’s blood—sweeter now, as it always is when he reaches his peak—slides down his throat in fresh waves. The wooden headboard creaks from the force that Aventurine grips onto it, his inhuman strength threatening to break through. His own orgasm teeters on the edge, just barely out of reach.
But it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Even when his own cock cries for release, untouched and aching, Aventurine embraces the sting and the burn. He doesn’t want to come yet. He craves, insatiable. He craves for Boothill to grant him relief—to fill every remaining void inside him, one way or another. To be bent over and panting.
And so he moves his hips again, not granting Boothill any sort of break.
The reaction is immediate: Boothill gags, helpless to the onslaught of pleasure bordering pain. Saliva oozes down the side of his mouth. We can’t have that. Aventurine licks up from Boothill’s neck to his lips, pushing it back inside—making him choke on it.
The blood still clinging to Aventurine’s tongue gets mixed inside their joint mouths in a messy, sanguine kiss.
Boothill is still hard inside him. Every time Aventurine feeds on him—injects his saliva to mix with his blood—Boothill becomes a little more drunk and delirious. More pliant; losing himself to the sensation. He becomes such a pretty little thing for him, so eager to please.
But Aventurine thinks he has done enough for tonight. He wants to be pushed into the mattress and fucked until he babbles.
“Your hands are free, Boothill,” Aventurine says, sugar-sweet. They were never tied to begin with. His command alone had Boothill at his mercy, yet the man wastes no time. In an instant their positions are switched, and Aventurine keens, loud and excited.
Boothill grabs onto his hips and fucks into him like starved.
“Y-Yes—” Aventurine cradles Boothill’s head, brushing a thumb along his lobe. “Just like that... Just like that… So good…”
There is no coherency to Boothill’s reply. It’s a grunt, a whine, a kiss pressed to his neck just above eternal bite marks. The languid swipe of Boothill’s searing tongue is a stark contrast to the ruthless pace of his thrusts, every single one as fierce as though trying to leave a permanent mark on this undying body.
And Aventurine? He feels alive.
With every animalistic pound of Boothill’s hips, every smack of skin against skin, he begins to forget himself. He forgets the torture, the agony, the all-consuming hunger. The loneliness that plagued him; haunted him as an ever-present companion.
No longer is he alone. Now, he has someone to treasure. Someone that treasures him in turn.
Someone that listens to his command; kisses him like a desperation; fucks him like there is no greater pleasure.
“Boothill—” Aventurine gasps, his skin on fire— “behind…”
And Boothill listens. Pulls out and flips him over like he weighs nothing. Pushes back inside before he can so much as miss being filled to the brim.
Aventurine’s soiled thighs shake from the force as his upper body loses strength and he allows himself to melt into the mattress. The tip of his dick brushes against the bed and it hurts enough to almost tip him over the edge. But no, not yet. He needs more. He needs—
Boothill’s teeth bury themselves in his shoulder and Aventurine screams.
The orgasm that crashes through him is blinding. Distantly, he notices Boothill letting a loud and guttural moan loose—how cum fills him a second time. But all Aventurine can truly focus on is lightning zapping every nerve of his body.
There is nothing gentle about this pleasure—it’s harsh, choking him, setting his body on fire. He sobs, tears setting free the tension that had built up from denying himself this relief for so long.
And Boothill holds him like something precious. His arms are strong and warm as they wrap around his body, keeping their hips flush together. It soothes something within Aventurine’s soul to know nothing will be spilled. That they remain connected in this most intimate and primal way. It’s safe. He’s safe.
The pleasure hums in his veins and settles in his bones, simmering to a comforting buzz. Sleep nudges at him and his breathless body is unable to resist it, not with Boothill whispering comfort and endearment into his skin. The words flow together like incoherent sounds of peace.
Aventurine turns his head to the side, wanting to give voice to his feelings, but Boothill knows.
His body is moved with care; returned to lay on his back. The void inside him is hollowing, and Aventurine thinks a whine must be falling from his lips from the way his throat stings.
But Boothill doesn’t give Aventurine time to miss him. He’s there, kissing him; he’s there, caressing his face and frame. He’s there, whispering sweet nothings, soothing the ache of his body, mellowing the erratic drumbeat of his heart.
