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bluemusickid · 3 years

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That Blue-Eyed Boy

Pairing: Gym Trainer!Jake Jensen x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, 18+, enemies to lovers (sorta), Jake being Jake, oral sex, masturbation, hot stuff, shameless PWP, purely self indulgent smut, unprotected sex (don't be silly, wrap your willy), sexy talk (bad), MINORS DNI

A/N: Hiyaaaa. So smut has been long overdue on my blog and I'm gonna give it to you (excuse the pun lol). I wrote this for the amazing @sweeterthanthis 's 6K challenge. Lau, you are a gem and you deserve every follower, if not more, which you definitely have by the time this fic is out lol. Love ya, hope I'm not too late, heh. 😅 I based this on a story one of my friends told me about how she nearly hooked up with her trainer (i'm glad she didn't tho, he was...bad.) anyways, hope it doesn't seem too illogical. Shameless PWP here lol.

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18+ blog, Minors not welcome, you are responsible for your own media consumption. Not beta'ed, any mistakes, grammatical or otherwise are all mine. I post my stuff only on Tumblr and AO3, nowhere else. I do not give anyone permission to reproduce, copy or translate my work. Likes are welcome, reblogs are much appreciated! Dividers by the wonderful @firefly-graphics

Prompt 44. “I’m gonna treat you so nice, you’re never gonna let me go.” - Pretty Woman

Walking into the gym, you prepared yourself for another day of arduous exercises. This had been SUCH an oversight on your part. Turning 25 was bad enough without your brain telling you that it was time you slowed down on clubbing and paid more attention to your health.

So you took up that gym membership that your friends had gifted you. Like A FOOL. You remembered the first day you entered, the day of reckoning. You’d spent wayyy too much on a new workout wardrobe, and Lulu Lemon was a bad idea to visit when tipsy.

And on top of that, your trainer was an asshole.

Jake Jensen. Blond bastard. The sun had nothing on how bright he was everytime you saw him in the gym. The first time you’d met he’d been suuuper enthusiastic, taking you all around the gym, selling you all the features and “vibes” of it. You’d never forget his parting words to you, "I’m gonna treat you so nice, you’re never gonna let me go."

Fat chance. The first day was a disaster according to you, but as per his theory, "learners are winners!" Christ. His optimism would be the death of you. Or him, if he pissed you off enough. You were close to hating him, but his cheerful disposition couldn't bring you to commit to your hatred.

You surprised yourself when you completed 2 months of diligent exercising. Not that you would ever admit it to him, but you'd come to enjoy it as well. On the days you would feel especially lazy, you would get a "come on, trooper!" text from Jake, prompting you to groan yet reluctantly pull on your pants.

"You know, there's a word for people who work out all day and do nothing else." you'd grumbled once, after a particularly hard set.

"And what might that be?"

"I think, and please forgive my French, but it's Loser." you shot back, ignoring his chuckle as he added another plate to your bar.

"If helping people reach their goals and be fitter makes me a loser, then i'll gladly be the biggest loser, sweetheart." he drawled with a wink, lazily adjusting his pants.

And as much as you tried to ignore it, you couldn't deny, that Jake was kinda hot. He tried to be subtle, but you caught him checking you out once or twice, his cheeks reddening as he'd realised he'd been caught. You couldn't blame him; you'd done the same. He wore the tighest dri-fit t-shirts, accentuating all of his muscles. That man had the body of a Greek God. Not that THAT mattered, but dammit, you were only human. You'd seen him do squats and pushups, and fuck if that didn't make you horny. He was annoying, sure, but you didn't complain when you saw him workout. It wasn't just his physique, it was his passion. He was passionate about his job, which might've been weird to some, you included, but also a major turn on. Which is why it was extra tough when you were asked to bend forward more, or catch your legs, your mind ONLY choosing to focus on the innuendo.

You walked into the gym, preparing yourself for another day of crab walking and crying in pain everytime you had to move your body.

"Hey trooper, ready for our animal flow class?' you heard him, wincing as you could practically imagine him bouncing with energy. How the fuck was he so bubbly? Did he take some special kind of pills? Uhoh, better not ask that question, you mentally berated yourself.

"Yes. But go easy on me."

"That's not my style, trooper. Go big or go home." He said with a grin and a wink, sauntering off to get his gear ready. You groaned. An hour of him stretching and bending was not bound to end well for you. Oh well, might as well get it over with. You were bound to be drenched that day, one way or another.

The class was hard. Every muscle of yours seemed to scream in agony as you tried to gracefully move into the different poses, failing to do so. And it didn't help when Jake would walk over to you to steady you, his hand touching you ever so softly. Every time you felt him, your breath hitched. His whispers of assurance, of him saying 'you can do it, sweetheart' went straight to your core. When he praised your form, you swore you could've seen his eyes darken just a little as he huskily whispered, "good girl."

The hour went by pretty quickly after that. Your panties were probably wetter than your gym attire. All you wanted to do was take a nice cold shower and go home and curl up with your trusty Wand. With that thought in mind, you walked back to the lockers. You passed by the sauna on your way, absentmindedly glancing through the door which was slightly cracked open. What you saw knocked the wind out of your lungs.

Jake was sitting there, legs wide apart, completely naked. It was unlike anything you'd seen before. It was a bit hard to see, but he was completely drenched, droplets of sweat and water dripping down his chiselled torso. His thighs, the most muscular thighs you'd ever seen were spread apart, showing you, oh-

Oh. My. GOD.

He was...big. Bigger than what you had ever seen. You nearly squeaked at the sight. It didn't help your current state of love-hate; where admittedly, you were leaning more towards love than hate. He shifted a bit, his thighs tightening and giving you a better view of the subject of many wet dreams of yours.

It was with great difficulty that you tore your eyes away from him, slowly making your way to the girls' locker room. How you managed to walk away from that was a feat in itself, and you were sure that you deserved a medal. But you knew it was wrong.

How would you even broach the subject? Hey, I know you're just my trainer but I accidentally saw your cock and now I can't stop thinking about it? UGHH.

You walked into the shower cubicle, looking forward to a nice, cold shower. You would not think about the menace and his perfect, thick, meaty...

You couldn't help your hand from sneaking down, towards your core. It was like you were an out-of-body spectator, and your body and libido were working in tandem. You circled your nub, gently at first, increasing the pressure ever so slightly. Your eyes were wrenched shut as you imagined Jake's hands in place of yours, moving in-and-out of few, slow at first, but then increasing in his speed. You were close, you could feel it; your climax dangerously close. You heard yourself moan Jake's name in the heat of the moment, wishing that he could've been the one filling you up.

The door opened at that moment, your eyes flying open as you saw a pair of gorgeous blue eyes stare back at you; the same blue eyes you had been fantasising about. Oh, FUCKETY-FUCK.

"What the HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?!" you screamed, struggling with your towel.

He had the decency to avert his eyes as he stumbled back, covering his eyes.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry, but I heard your shower running and presumed that someone had left it on by mistake. The gym was empty so I decided to do a last minute check before I left, and t-then I heard my name..." he trailed off, apologetically, his cheeks redder than a tomato.

You wanted the ground to swallow you up. He'd heard you. He'd heard you masturbate, and TO HIM. This had to be the worst day ever. Staring at the cubicle door, you figured it was best to clear the air.

"Could you turn around please? I'm coming out."

You tentatively opened the door, peering out to see his back. His gorgeous ba-

NO. FOCUS.

"Umm, I guess I should explain before it gets even more awkward." you chuckled, nervously. You couldn't see his reaction, and you were equal parts happy and weirded out about that.

"I..do have...certain feelings for you...and I kinda wish that you hadn't found out...this way..., but if you can please just forget about what you saw..uh, heard, I would be really grateful." you grimaced, the little speech sounding worse when you said it out loud.

For a moment, he said nothing. You were about to ask him to say something when he turned around, his eyes impassive, but darker.

"Forget about what, trooper?"

Walking towards you slowly, he stopped in front of you, his hot breath taking over your senses. He bent down, your lips close enough to touch, but not quite.

"Let's see if you want me to forget."

He closed the distance between the two of you, his lips on yours in an instant. You couldn't process what exactly was happening, your eyes the shape of saucers. But then your brain complied as you savoured the feel of his suspiciously soft lips, his tongue begging for entrance. You moaned, arms snaking around his neck, holding him to you; the towel the only barrier between your engorged nipples and his chest.

You lost all track of time, your tongues meshing together as your hands roamed, marvelling at his taut body, pulling up the tshirt slightly to properly feel him. He groaned, pulling back, panting as he asked you with a small grin,

"Still want me to forget, sweetheart?"

You growled as you pulled him back to you, fingers grabbing onto his hair for support as you attacked his lips with yours. The sudden action caused your towel to drop, baring you to his eyes. He pulled away from your kiss, dropping small kisses till he reached your breasts. He touched them softly, bending down to take a stiff nub in his mouth, the soft caress of his tongue causing your mind to go haywire. You tugged on his hair, wanting the same treatment for your other nipple. He complied, swirling his tongue around the fleshy mass, softly biting, and alternating between licking and biting.

You could swear that you had never been this turned on or wet before. This man was a wizard with his mouth. Popping off your boob, he looked at you as his hand ventured lower, softly swiping through your wet folds. You gasped as you hitched a leg on his waist, wanting more.

"Christ, babe, you're so wet." He breathed, his fingers gaining momentum as he watched your face contort in pleasure, slack-jawed.

You hung on for dear life as you felt yourself nearing your climax, yet again. You undulated against his hand, his palm bumping against your clit. This pushed you over the edge as you moaned loudly, clinging to him as your walls constricted around his fingers.

You dropped your head to his shoulder, leaving small kisses as you both caught your breath. In one quick movement, Jake backed you up against the wall, his hand moving to his pant button.

"I want to taste you, but I'm too horny, babe. Will make it up to you later, I promise." He grunted, hurriedly pulling his pants down, taking himself in his hand. You stared at his gorgeous thick cock. The tip was red and he was already leaking precum. You took him in your hand, swiping your thumb over his tip. He took a sharp breath, thrusting himself into your hand. Hitching your leg over his waist again, you guided him to your opening, before leaning over to whisper in his ear,

"Show me whatchya got, trooper."

With that, he began to move, like a man possessed. Gathering your wrists in his hand, he held them up, using it as leverage to push into you harder. You moaned, running your tongue lightly over his jaw, the soft beard prickly against your flesh. He groaned, looking at you before latching onto your lips for another mind numbing kiss. You were all heady sensations; no thoughts in your mind. All you could do was hold on as Jake fucked you into the wall. You felt the coil winding up, your legs shaking as you felt it building up again.

"Jake...i'm..cumming.." you sqeaked, winding your arms around him to hold yourself up.

Reaching down, he swirled his fingers around your swollen nub, slightly flicking the top. That pushed you over the edge as you screamed, running your fingernails across his back. He cried out, emptying himself inside you as he felt your walls engulf him tightly, pulling out every last drop from him. Your legs were shaking from the onslaught of your violent orgasm, thankful that he was holding you upright.

He put you down gently, a moment or two later, wiping you with your discarded towel. You were unsure of what to say to him, now that you were thinking clearly. You were sure he would probably terminate his coaching with you, transferring you to someone else.

Which is why you were pleasantly surprised when he left a passionate kiss after cleaning you up.

"You have no idea how much i've wanted this. Training you was a task. The only thing I wanted to do was bend you over every piece of equipment in the gym and fuck you senseless."

Your breath hitched at his honest words. Damn, all that worrying was for nothing, you realised.

"I wanted the same." You whispered. He raised his eyebrow, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"So what now?" You asked, getting dressed. It was weird, doing that in front of him but he seemed unfazed.

"I'll still be your trainer here, that is if you still want me to be."

"Of course."

"Then that settles that. Of course, we still need to figure out our situation outside the gym." He murmured, leaving a small peck on your lips.

You sat on your couch, sipping your cool white wine. What a day it had been. You truly hadn't expected something like this to happen, and yet, it had, and it was one of the best sexual experiences you'd had, no lies. Even now, reliving it hours later, brought a smile to your face, your core tightening in response.

Your phone buzzed at that very moment, breaking you out of your delicious daydream. It was from Jake. You opened it, heart beating in anticipation.

I'm coming over with tequila and pizza. Hope you're ready, trooper.

You grinned, getting up to get ready for him. He was right, you realised. He treated you so nice, you were never gonna let him go.

Lmao yesssss, this was shameless PWP, but oh well. I needed it. DESPERATELY. I apologize for any mistakes, I typed this on my phone.

Tagging: @donutloverxo @gotnofucks @the-soulofdevil @chrissquares @worksby-d @patzammit @denisemarieangelina @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @savior-adriana

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babydarkstar · 3 years

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cacoethes

part two: bring your sweet loving

rating: E (18+ ONLY) || pairing: ezra x f!reader || word count: 10.5k

chapter summary: as the night winds down and tensions simmer, we learn more about you, pieces of your past, and your relationship with ezra.

warnings: ezra’s gigantic mouth that won’t shut up (suggestive language) and two criminals not knowing how to act; caretaking, i guess? reader cleans ezra but it’s nothing erotic; SMUT; handjob and graphic depictions of a glorious dick; dirty talk; dubcon maybe bc painkillers but he’s enthusiastic abt it; praise kink; switches having a great time; ezra’s subby in this but i promise he’s a dom too just not tonight; mentions of death, killing, tattoos, scars; mention of past drug use, bad coping mechanisms; mm i hc that ezra is a tiny tattoo guy so there’s that; fluff bc im sweet; author is a southern peach, forgive her if it gets a little slow and twangy up in here

a/n: un-beta’d bc mistakes are sexy. i’ll go back later and fix whatever i find but for now. enjoy. i’m literally just making shit up about this universe as we go but it’s working out for the best so bear with me. lmk if u want me to add u to be tagged here. tagging: @pedros-mustache @jk7789

crossposted to ao3 :) || playlist || one || two || three

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“Here, Cee,” you said, adjusting the threadbare blanket over your cot and splaying a hand over it while she eyed you from across the tent, still standing amongst the carnage of a violent field surgery, “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”

The poor girl was scared. Well—not scared, not anymore.

Vengeful, for certain, though it seemed to dwindle with every minute she watched you interact.

Definitely wary of the two of you.

Which was appropriate, given that Ezra had killed her father and left her alone on an uninhabitable moon, only to be scooped up by his partner and deceived into thinking she was safe, and then forced to perform impromptu surgery to hack off an arm. But she appeared more wary to accept help from you than wary of you.

And honestly, if Ezra hadn’t just lost a limb and you didn’t want to hover beside him after not seeing him for a month to make sure he didn’t slip the veil in his sleep or disappear beneath your fingertips—and if you weren’t trying to earn her trust, you’d have made her take the floor.

But things were different now, they might always be. She had saved his life. You owed her your cot to sleep on.

“Wait,” Ezra said, swallowing thickly as he blinked, seeming to just process the words you had spoken, “You think so little of me that I’d let you sleep on the dirt after the day you’ve had? Now, I agree that our guest should find comfort in a cot of her own, but I will not deny you the simple respite of sleep. That would prove me an unworthy companion.”

“Ezra,” you said, giving him a look of incredulity that seeped into your tone, “You can’t be serious.”

He eyed you and clenched his jaw, still stomaching the fact that he had one less limb to worry about, and a bunch more problems to deal with. It was a look that told you he was not arguing with you, you were going to sleep on the cot. He would not be coddled like a child just because he lost an arm.

Which was, in itself, ridiculous. You didn’t plan to coddle him—you weren’t the type, not really. But. He’d lost a fucking arm. But he was also still delirious from the anesthetic, so that didn’t help his desire to prove something to the universe.

“You’re taking the cot, I’m not having this conversation,” you said, wiping his sweaty brow with your sleeve, “Tap into the ruthless outlaw inside of you and take it without regret. You know I hardly sleep anyways, I’ll live without a bed for the night.”

“Then I must insist you share it with me, precious angel,” he sighed, and you could almost see the cogs in his head turning as his distant gaze darkened into something hungry, “I’ve longed to feel your body pressed against mine since I left with Number Two. The divinity of your skin.” He hummed, eyes fluttering shut, “More…more precious than the ore we risk our lives for. Sweeter than fruit. Fresher than a rainstorm.”

“Ez,” you warned, snapping a glare at him.

“Your body…so tender, warm,” he continued, entranced in his own fantasy, not even hearing you when you warned him yet again, “All soft and pliant beneath my touch. It has been far too long since we partook in a pleasure as indulgent as one another—before our partnership with Two, if I can recall. Grant me heaven tonight. I deserve the satisfaction of watching you drip honey for me—”

“Hey! None of that,” you snapped, cocking an eyebrow—and fighting the flutter in your chest and the heat tingling down your core, “There are young ears present, Shakespeare Erotica. Not to mention young eyes.”

You would do no such thing with him as long as this teenager remained in close quarters and under your care. He turned to look at Cee, as if he’d forgotten all about her for a moment. Or maybe it was that he didn’t care. Bastard.

“I’m okay as long as you guys don’t fuck in front of me,” Cee sighed, resigned to have dealt with too much in her past to be worried about flirting—no, verbal-fucking.

“We won’t be doing any of that,” you assured her, giving Ezra another pointed look before slinging his arm around your shoulders and helping him to the cot. He grumbled incoherently, moaning and groaning the few steps it took to ease him down into the squeaky frame.

When you finally got him down—forced him to lay down—he let out another soft whimper of pain, followed by your name. “Don’t go.”

Brushing the hair off his sweaty forehead, you bent down to press a kiss there, “M’right here, Ez. Rest. I’m gonna clean you up, okay?”

It was the least you could do—and that way you could take inventory of every inch of him to ensure he didn’t have any other wounds hiding and festering and threatening his life. Just as this wouldn’t be your first time tending to him while he laid incapacitated, he’d done the same for you plenty of times. There was very little, if anything at all, the two of you hadn’t seen of each other. Vulnerability had another name here: normalcy.

“After—” he rasped up at you, coughing and then righting himself, “After we find our way off this Kevva-damned moon—which we will—I understand if you no longer deem me…worthy of your affections. It’s the only explanation I can find for your denial of my offer to dote on you. I only pray you make good on your long-standing promise to drop me where I stand should I ever disappoint you, dear heart of mine.”

Okay, you didn’t know where all the insecurity and sentiment was coming from, especially hearing it from the mouth of your dear old confident mean-streak Ezra, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. It made you ache to think that he didn’t trust you to stay with him, that he viewed himself as lesser because he lost his arm. Well, he was lesser, but only by mass.

Also, really? The only explanation he could find for you not wanting to sleep with him was that you hated him and didn’t want him because of his injury? He couldn’t think of any more glaringly obvious reasons, those of which had just been pointed out to him?

With a sigh, you brushed your thumb across the silvery scar on his cheek, “Rest now, chatterbox. I’ll be here when you wake up—and every morning after, for as long as I can. Only death could pry you from me, and me from you. You’ve got me, forever….I still see you as you are—a hundred percent you, a hundred percent mine.”

The words felt foreign on your lips, but he was bound to forget them the moment he fell asleep, so you didn’t feel as weird waxing poetic right back at him. The man had rubbed off on you in more ways than one. You normally didn’t speak to one another so frankly—at least, you didn’t, given the nature of what it meant to care out here and how you’d already unofficially established that you two were something more—but tonight you couldn’t fucking help it.

Ezra leaned into your touch, pawing at it with his hand, grabbing onto your fingers and kissing into your palm. A dull smile poked at his mouth and he let it engulf him. “Quite the charmer you are, siren.”

You didn’t respond, only half-smiled and wriggled—reluctantly—from his grasp to grab a few clean cloths and fill a bucket with water. After squirting the sanitizing solution in the water, you simmered the lights down to the lowest setting, to where your eyes had to adjust for a moment before you could make your way across the tent. His gaze bore into you—no, both Ezra and Cee watched every move you made; one in lazy admiration and the other in curiosity.

“Do you need me to put a drape over the post? I’m strippin’ him,” you asked Cee as you slung Ezra’s clean shirt from off the drying line onto your shoulder—you smiled at the floor, thanking yourself from hours ago for deciding not to burn it. You grabbed the bucket and tottered over to him, nodding at him to scoot. He obliged, giving you room to sit by his hip so you could ease his clothes off.

Cee shook her head when you looked to her for a response, opting to sit on your cot facing away from you with her nose in her book, so you shrugged and tugged the fabric off of Ezra in slow, deliberate motions, wincing every time he grunted.

As you took the time to clean off the grime and dirt and sweat of the Green, he told you about running into Cee and her father Damon; how he tried to take his entire harvest from the few cycles he’d spent with Two; about Two’s untimely, irrational outburst that cost them their life. About the Queen’s Lair and the mercs, and the plan to ravage and plunder and take it all for themselves. You thought the Queen’s Lair was a rumor. Not even a rumor—a myth, a legend, something fabricated by desperate fools with hazy minds of dust and their eyes set on fortune. But Ezra told you he’d seen part of it marked on Cee’s map, that her father was contracted to help extract the deposit. Cee even pulled her map out to point to the marked areas, albeit with clinical movements and short words.

So you made a plan to head out at first light, with the trip taking most of the daylight, and they’d be cutting it close but there was no way you’d let Ezra hike so many klicks in his state—not without a few hours’ rest first.

After you’d managed to clean his legs, his hips, his feet and get him into something more comfortable than compression pants, you moved to his torso and traced over each scar marring his skin, each jagged edge where something hadn’t healed right or wasn’t stitched properly. He’d lost some weight under the harsh conditions of the Green—you both had. But he still held onto muscle from the toil that came with survival on such harsh terrain; and he was naturally broad, he always would be, which made him sturdy.

Your fingers ghosted over a few microtattoos he’d gotten; one beneath his ribcage, one on his hipbone, and the one you’d given him yourself on his lower sternum. That one, as you brushed over it with a wet cloth, never failed to make you smile. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

A tiny, unfilled heart, a mere outline, barely a centimeter in size. It was messy, simple, done in minutes. But it meant something, meant exactly what you’d never quite been able to voice.

My heart is yours. Take it.

You’d done it one night when the two of you had gone on a two spin bender, which happened more towards the end of your glory days, when the drugs came easy and heavy and the illusion of time slipped by like sand on the wind.

Any time someone hired your services as cleaners, it took a toll. They didn’t do it often because of that, but the payout was worth the work. No matter how many times you swore you would never do it again, you went back. Because it was hard to ignore the way it felt to flood a deserving someone’s mouth with the taste of their own blood, or to slip a knife in between their ribs and let it slide like butter and watch the light die. It was hard to ignore that you liked it, especially when it was so violent—one of the worst sins to commit, and you enjoyed it.

The act of killing had become cathartic for you. It made you feel more alive, reminded you that you had a beating, bloody heart, and a brain, and veins that pumped blood, and muscles that tore apart and rebuilt themselves stronger. Killing came easy when you didn’t know the target. It felt like a game.

Ezra didn’t enjoy it as much as you did—not to say he didn’t enjoy it at all, for he most certainly did. But he didn’t process it the same way you did. He saw killing as a means to survive and a means to get where he needed to go. He enjoyed turning it into a game, making fun out of whatever circumstance presented itself.

But that one—the last one—it had gone wrong. Messy, slow, noisy, choppy. There was only supposed to be one person in the house: typical target, a man who owed the wrong people a whole lot of money and refused to pay up.

One man.

One man was all you’d expected.

One man was all you’d been instructed would be in the condo.

He went down easy enough, quiet enough—Ezra snuffed him and stuffed him and you’d made to transfer his points into the right pockets.

And that was that.

They had tossed the bodybag over the high-rise balcony and into the pits of the bottomless highway next to the building, with a blinker-bomb inside just in case.

That was that.

Except it wasn’t, it was so fucking far from it.

Ezra, being himself, had wanted so bad to sneak in a quickie before heading back—an unholy, immoral ritual you two had initiated, to fuck where you killed—and who were you to protest? Who were you to say no to pretty words and soft eyes glittering with an untamed wild? To say no to the hands that already ripped at gear and pushed beneath underwear just to get a taste—you couldn’t, it was impossible.

Fresh off a high of adrenaline, pulsing with nervous energy—he was always so good, he always got you right where you needed and then that much further.

And Ezra—being himself—could not keep his fucking mouth shut. The stereotype about men holding in their moans, about them never whimpering or whining or groaning or grunting—yeah, that was a load of Bearkie-shit.

Maybe it held true for some men, but.

Not your Ezra. Not even a little bit.

He talked like heaven’s mouthpiece—or maybe the devil, given all the sinful things he’d whisper to you in the crux of any given night. He let loose whatever noise he deemed necessary to make.

They’d only just made it to the dried, bloody stain on the carpet (a bed on which to copulate), knocking over a floating hilolamp and pulling a chuckle from your paramour, when a shout rang through the apartment and shattered your moment into a thousand pieces.

It was only supposed to be one. One man.

Instead, you were met with another man who you’d later learn to be his brother, the target’s mother, and his pregnant wife.

The man held onto some type of curved sports bat, keeping it up threateningly as if warning you of something imposing. Ezra didn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head, not even bothering to get up from where he’d pressed his hips between your legs. But then you’d had to go and check the other rooms, effectively killing any mood the two of you had shared.

Because fuck, where the men had no fight in them, the women wouldn’t go down without a struggle. Or maybe it was that you pitied them, and it distracted you. They’d already peeked their heads out from behind the door of the master bedroom, worried and doe-eyed and determined.

Maybe if they hadn’t seen your faces—if they’d still been asleep while you swept for warm bodies after the first assailant—maybe they’d have gotten out with their lives. But who were you kidding? You killed without thought. You’d likely have put a pillow over their heads before aiming your thrower and firing twice for good measure, had you been sharp and not distracted by a tongue in your mouth.

Instead, Ezra had the audacity to try to bargain with them. Something about having a soft spot for mothers—his own having been a beacon in his life until she left him orphaned as a young boy. He made it a point not to kill women and children. It was one thing in which he remained unwavering. (He’d kill a grown woman if she gave him reason to, like he had on Exon-5, but that was another story for another time, and a different circumstance which called for such measures, namely that of protecting you.) But he should have known better, he should have known not to try something like that. He should’ve known that he’d have to let go of the final shred of morality he held onto.

So Ezra took down the old woman in a way you still have yet to ask about and don’t care to know; and you’d ended with the pregnant woman choking on her own blood when you twisted your knife into the dip of her throat—and you felt awful about it after watching her crumble beneath you, but she’d hit you upside the head with a thick textbook of outdated skimmer-craft modules and it made you see red among pinpricks of stars.

And that night, after all was said and done they’d spent a fortune on getting high—just to forget, just to be okay.

That night they’d locked themselves in a self-imposed prison of satin sheets and destructive tendencies. Two days buzzing with no food, little water, just him and you and needles and spoons and eyedroppers and blades and pills. Like you couldn’t breathe if he didn’t fill you with all of him, you wouldn’t be able to stand upright if he took his hands off you and stopped letting you flood your veins with a chemical glow. Heavy eyelids, messy sex, raw arms and red eyes.

It felt fucking awful, coping that way, but it felt too fucking good and it made you forget about the lives you’d taken in (somewhat) cold blood.

So after sprawling beside him on the gigantic plush bed with his hand ghosting over your spine, you’d found a part of yourself snagged at the corner of this wild-eyed man’s tar-black soul, and you had thought about what could have happened in an alternate universe.

A moment when he was the target, you were (somehow) the pregnant wife, and you watched him die before succumbing to the dark of your own soul escaping you. And it made you desperate to cling to him as he was in the moment, desperate to know that he was yours and you were his. It was then that you’d asked him if you could mark him. Claim him, to know that he wouldn’t leave you like that, and if he did, he’d have a piece of you everywhere. He’d go down with a piece of you.

Ezra had been delighted, of course, as he was always one for symbolism and deeper meaning even if he didn’t quite understand the rhetoric. And it wasn’t the first time you’d marked each other, just a different time with a different meaning. So he let you dip a sterile needle in ink and plunge it into the tender skin of his chest.

You had one too, a heart on your sternum. Nestled between your breasts, just close enough to your heart to feel like it mattered, like it meant that he felt the same. But you didn’t even let yourself go that far—you two were doped up and delirious and he enjoyed marking you in any way he could, so an opportunity to stick and poke his way further into your skin than he already had was an opportunity he could not pass up. At least, that was how you saw it. Nevertheless, it made you happy to see it there on his chest, and to have one that matched.

Ezra’s soft voice snapped you from the memory.

“What’s crossed your mind to make you so delicate in your touch, so solemn in your stare?”

You realized you had stopped your ministrations and had planted your palm on his chest, staring just over his shoulder and onto the canvas beside him. With a careful hand, you resumed gentle motion over his pecs, up his clavicle, his throat.

“Thinking about Beta-Mobilia,” you whispered, unable to meet his eye, “And after.”

“Mm,” he grunted in recognition, the vibration tickling your fingertips, “Regrettable night. Unavoidable, necessary. But I dwell in shame identical to yours.”

“I don’t deserve to be here after that. I didn’t deserve to live after the Exons, The Grime. Why am I still alive?”

“We’ve discussed this in great length by now, siren. Don’t doubt your existence. It’s beyond sense, beyond comprehension.”

You nodded, still unable to look at him. But then he latched onto your wrist, brushing his calloused thumb over the delicate skin there, and this time you couldn’t keep your gaze away from the soft smile that begged to form on his lips.

“And I appreciate your tender care, wildfire,” he hummed, eyes glittering up at you like two dark pools of amber, “Where would I be without it? Mmm…mhm. Dead, likely. Or bitter. Wicked with taciturn rage. No meaning could come from that.”

“You, bitter and unspeaking? Unthinkable, I’d sooner pronounce you dead,” you drawled, thankful for his kindness to grant distraction, and he granted you an eye-roll. But his expression softened when you sat him upright and maneuvered behind him, wiping down his back in gentle strokes. You folded the cloth over once the side turned brown with grime, and moved up to his neck, scrubbing over his shoulders and giving short strokes down his nape and behind his ears.

“So you planned to go ravage the Queen without me, huh?” you asked quietly, irked that he hadn’t even come to find you before setting out on that venture, “Planned to leave me to rot on the Green, take the money for yourself and steal away with the girl.”

Ezra sighed, and you could see from behind his shoulder how he worked his jaw, formulating what to say.

“Understand that I do nothing without you willingly. Birdie over there’s about as fleeting as a real one. But trust that I planned to come get you—I’d never leave you stranded. I just couldn’t introduce another person into the threadbare alliance I had forged until the time was right.”

“She likes me,” you countered, smiling over at Cee, who now laid with her back facing you as her ribs contracted with the first breaths of sleep. A sign of trust. You didn’t know when exactly you’d earned it, but you’d accept it nonetheless. She had also taken both of your throwers (something you protested and Ezra waved off), so maybe that helped.

“No doubt—there’s plenty to like about you.”

Ever the flatterer, even when delirious with pain.

With a coy smile, you scrubbed over his head and then his face, careful to avoid his snapping mouth that reached out ever so often to nip at your hand—there was that playfulness, the natural effervescence of his presence. When you decided your work was done, you eased him back down on the cot and he allowed it with no protest.

You fluffed his pillow and moved the book you’d stashed beside it. He turned his head and pressed his nose to the pillow, grunting in mild appreciation.

“Smells like you down here,” he remarked with a half-smile, eyes drooping, “You sleep on my cot while I was away?”

“I missed you,” you whispered, nodding, just now aware of how much his presence affected you. To think that you had resolved to try to move on without him—it seemed ridiculous now.

“I missed you,” he returned, “You haven’t the slightest idea how much I wanted you beside me. Number Two was a fond ally but not a companion. Nothing like the banter we exchange, nor the secrets we share.”

“They never talked. I imagine your time away was just as lonely as mine.”

“Absolutely. I regret agreeing to leave with Two. But you know we couldn’t have trusted them to stay at camp while we went off—not absolutely. Not when they’d never spoken a word,” he chuckled and then coughed, a quiet rumble you felt against your leg as it zigzagged through his chest.

Thank Kevva you had a plan to leave now. The spent filter had taken a toll on Ezra—and it wasn’t even his to begin with. He insisted on giving you his when the one your new suit came with was almost completely used up.

Fuck the man for caring about you; he’d gone soft during your time on the Green, and you hated how much you loved it. Hated it because he needed to focus on himself, needed to stop putting you before him. Hated it because every day it made you feel like somehow, he loved you back. That somehow, he thought of you as more than just a constant in his life, more than a body to fuck and a brain to pick.

You’d grown used to each other. But his unpredictability oozed into every aspect of himself, every nook and cranny of his life, and you were too worried about fucking up a good thing over a simple conversation. All it took was one sensitive topic breached and you’d surely find yourself shit out of luck. He was all you had left of the scraps of a fucked up life. Without him, you’d make do but not without a struggle and not without reluctance. Some part of you knew he’d be the same even if he initiated a split.

The thought had you hurrying to tug his shirt on before gathering the cloths and scurrying to place the bucket near the front of the tent.

And you shouldn’t have been so scared to be honest with him—the two of you rarely kept things to yourselves. But to love someone so fully within your heart, to never want to be away from them, to never grow tired of their presence no matter how tedious they may be or frustrating they could get, it scared you.

“A kiss for the wounded?” Ezra asked, brown eyes wide and mouth pouty enough to break you from your racing mind. You softened then, padding back over to him on tiptoe and settling back at his side for a brief moment.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to grant him a kiss to his lips—the first one you’d shared with him in fuck knows how long. Too long, that was for sure, because when your lips notched with his chapped ones you melted, every worry and every qualm simply washed away in a swirl of pink pleasure.

You couldn’t help yourself—an indulgent, quiet moan pooled in your chest and slipped from your throat before you could stop it, and he hummed right back when his tongue pushed between your lips and you let him devour you. Always the ravager, ever a greedy bastard when it came to his pleasure, he licked up into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours. It took very little for you to melt right into his chest, pressing your own against him and whimpering when he sneaked his hand up the hem of your shirt to rub circles over the skin of your back. You remained sloppy and almost lazy but intentional as you held either side of his nape and toyed with the strands of his still-damp hair, pouring yourself into this kiss like you’d never kiss him again.

Fuck. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. You missed this man with every vibrating inch of you. You missed his body, you missed his voice calling to you from the very depths of himself, you missed everything about him, and you needed him as close as possible. Closer than close, you needed him.

But fuck. You couldn’t. When you pulled back for air, it didn’t surprise you when he pressed his palm flat on your back to keep you from moving too far.

“Mm, baby—you’re divine. I ache for you,” he all but whimpered into your mouth, breath brutally hot and heavy as he fed you his soul, “Come sit down on me—come take what’s yours. I want to feel you strangle me, show me just how much you—”

“No, Ez,” you cut him off in a biting whisper, lips kiss-swollen, hating how, if there had been literally any other person in the tent beside you, you might’ve taken him up on the offer, “I want to, I promise you that. But she’s a kid and I have limits—one of those limits is fucking in the same room as one.” You glared at him with half a heart, then leaned down to run the tip of your nose along the curve of his ear, smiling when he shivered, “I swear, once we get out of here I’ll make it up to you so many times you’ll forget your own name. You get first choice—however you want me, I’m yours to take.”

“Fuck—alright, I apologize for my eagerness,” he smiled, tilting his head to kiss your forehead.

“But,” you whispered, your heart racing as you glanced over to be sure Cee had fallen asleep before inching up to look back into his eyes. Fuck it, he deserved it. “If you stay quiet, I’ll take care of you right now.”

His eyebrows raised in deft interest at your offer.

“Will you let me take care of you, Sailor?”

Ezra would never admit it, and you’d never tease him about it because it made you feel some kind of way—but he fucking adored when you used his callsign. You were his siren, after all. Only made sense for him to draw to you like a dying man at sea when you called for him. You used it rarely aside from in the field, opting for your preferred chatterbox—because he was more that than anything else—so it came as a treat when you decided to pull it from your bag of tricks.

“I can hardly refuse such a tempting offer.”

“Quiet, though,” you reminded him, tiptoeing your fingers across his chest and tugging the waistband of his pants and his underwear down. Just enough to spring his cock free, which was already hard and leaking for you.

Fuck, he was such a gorgeous sight, and you couldn’t help the urge to cup his balls and nudge them free too, to admire every glorious inch of him.

Spreading your fingers out over his groin through the coarse curls gone wild with mistreatment, you paid extra attention to the white patch of hair ghosting over the base of his cock and spreading out near his abdomen before stopping abruptly on the left and diverging back down into dark brown. You remember when you’d first noticed it and had all but squealed in delight.

Every bit of him was a pleasant surprise, just as you’d found yourself more than eager to let him ruin you for anybody else with the sheer size of him.

Nobody fucked you like they were dying and you were salvation; nobody but him. And shit, did he tear you open. As if he’d carved a space inside of you just for him, each time he’d leave you with a hollow ache that only he could sate.

“Baby,” you purred in a whisper, kissing his hipbone and then leaning up to wrap your hand around the girth of him, rubbing your thumb over the weeping red of the head, “You’re so pretty for me like this.” Forever a glutton for compliments, he whimpered his soft appreciation and you hushed him accordingly. He was so thick, so big that you struggled to touch the tip of your middle finger to your thumb, so long that if you had planned to swallow him down tonight, you would’ve been needing your hand to help. But tonight you could not risk the absolutely filthy noise of you gagging on him; he’d likely cum faster and in less time to worry about waking up a certain tentmate, but you wanted to watch every muscle in his face twitch, wanted to see him take his pleasure unobstructed by your tears. This way was quieter.

So with that thought in mind, you shifted to straddle one of his thighs so you could watch him without tiring your hand in an awkward position. Then you let a string of spit drool down and over him and you gave him a twist and then more, sharp and sudden and fast in your movements as opposed to the slow, appreciative way you’d unsheathed him.

Ezra hissed out a curse, bucking up into your hand, “Shit, darlin’—“

Arching an eyebrow, you halted your work on him immediately. His pulse beat through the throbbing vein jutting out

“What did I tell you?” you snapped. With your free hand you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his neck, feeling the column of his throat contracting as he swallowed. Wide brown eyes looked up at you, a tinge of amusement in their stare.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” you asked in a low rasp, tightening your grip on his neck and giving him a little shake before going slack again, “I don’t wanna hear a single word come outta that pretty-boy mouth. If I do, I’m blue-balling you. Fair?”

Ezra nodded, his gorgeous fat mouth blessedly shut for once.

“Good boy,” you cooed, kissing him before forcing his jaw open and spitting in his mouth. It would’ve been cruel but you meant it so affectionately, and his gentle moan told you he was more than willing to accept it.

You felt his cock twitch beneath your fingers and you simpered, giving a little shimmy of your shoulders in appreciation.

Controlling this stubborn man, resorting him to silence made you feel powerful. It made you feel respected, worshipped; if the man who never shut up and always called the shots would gladly take the backseat and grant you the power to take charge, that meant more than you could wish for.

So you resumed pumping his cock, working him with both hands and then switching to hold onto his throat again before going back to two hands. The act still made quite some noise—filthy and wet and sloppy—but at this point you were less concerned about it than you had been prior. When you decided, despite his tip dripping precum, to spit down onto him again for the fun of it and twist him with a gentle tug, he couldn’t stop the whine that left him even with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It had you darting to clamp over his mouth, shooting daggers down at him as he stared up with a silent apology in his eyes, one you might have taken as genuine if not for the way the brown of his irises had disappeared into black, blown out with lust and glassy with pleasure.

“If you’re gonna cum, let me know so you can do it in my mouth. I just cleaned you up and I’m not doing it again.”

The last bit came out harsher than you meant but he took it all the same, biting back a grunt in the form of a sharp exhale as he twitched violently in your hand. Yeah, he didn’t really need to let you know when he was about to blow; you knew him too well. At that, you took it upon yourself to remove your hand from his mouth in favor of scooting to lean down and put your mouth over his angry, swollen tip, flinching at the way the frame creaked but ignoring it and opting to swirl your tongue over him instead.

“There it is,” you whispered with an arguably evil smile—quickly, before pulling him back into the heat of your mouth, resuming your work and grunting when he bucked up into your mouth, chasing the high you were drawing out of him.

Ezra came with a muffled, broken sob, his face buried in his arm as he bit down on his bicep, flexing and squeezing his fingers. A thick stream of his cum hit the roof of your mouth and you indulged him, taking him in further so you could swallow everything he gave you. Ropes and ropes and ropes of cum, like he hadn’t let himself get off in so long, like he’d been saving all of it for you. The thought made you whine around him, and you pulled off when he finished, flashing him your dripping tongue with his spend still on it and drawing it back in before any of it could spill.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he sighed, letting out a quiet, breathy laugh as he tugged on the front of your shirt to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue.

This time when you pulled back and smiled, you granted him a toothy grin, goofy and knowing. It took you a minute not to giggle like a little kid as you carded your fingers through his hair. He grinned right back, still catching his breath. To you, he was gorgeous, inside and out, flaws and all. You wanted to fuck him right then. You wanted to make love to him, to let him fill you entirely and to sob into his mouth, showing him everything you couldn’t tell him.

“Get some sleep,” you settled on instead, slipping off the cot with little grace after replacing the waistband of his pants, “We head out early tomorrow.”

“Hey now, what about you?” Ezra asked, brows drawn together in concern that you wouldn’t find the same enjoyment he did.

“You’ll just owe me.” You winked then, and gave him one last kiss, which he hummed into with a great appreciative rumble.

Then you pressed your forehead into his, “Mine—you’re mine. Never leave me again or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself. You’re everything.”

Because he was.

“Nothing without you.”

That was his response, always always always. To hear it again pricked tears in your eyes, so much so you squeezed them shut.

And once again, you caught yourself wanting to say it. This time it had ghosted in your throat, almost making it into the curve of your mouth for you to hold its shape and give voice to a thought. But you stopped it before it could get far. Those three words, the same ones that now haunted you since you’d decided to indulge in every reminiscence involving them. Somehow he had come back to you, a feat which could not be commended enough, but now you ached for him—yearned for him even stronger than if he had well and truly died.

As you settled down onto the floor beside him, those three torturous words surfaced into a memory. The one that, among other fears, made you ever so hesitant to admit just how much you loved him.

————————————

“—In that vein, I don’t find myself in particular need of a great, star-shattering love story. If love is all-encompassing, I can do without the obstacle. Romanticizing my life and its quarrels is satisfaction enough.”

You didn’t know why you were still listening. You just knew that if Ezra kept it up, you’d find a way out of this cell just to break into his and strangle him. Anything to get him to shut the hell up. Banging your head methodically against the wall that separated the two of you, you didn’t even try to hold back your groan of displeasure as he rambled on.

“Now, don’t doubt my skill in worship. I have plenty of practice in the art of copulation”—you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face—“To say I haven’t affixed my interests on one soul or another at some point in time would ordain me a liar. I simply prefer to remain lovers in action…and not in name nor feeling. Companionship…yes, it’s something we all yearn for. It can’t be helped. A warm body, a brain to pick. All wonderful facets to enjoy for the sake of one’s own baser desiderata. But—“

“Shut up,” you bit out through gritted teeth, tugging at the roots of your hair when he kept going and you had to repeat yourself, “Shut up, you goddamned chatterbox. I don’t give a fuck about your love life. Why are you even talking about this?”

A brief silence occupied the space, as if he was thoroughly perplexed by your outburst. Then he let out a huffed laugh, amused.

“You inquired about the specifics of my occupation, little thorn.”

Every time he used that nickname for you—the thorn in my side—it made you bristle. Especially when he used it almost affectionately, soothingly, full of calm and charm that had you balling your fists and pricking the skin of your palms with your fingernails. You despised him, and he treated your existence as a joke, or as a little pet he would grab from its cage and admire before tossing it back and neglecting it until he deemed its presence acceptable again. Everything was funny. Everything could be laughed at. Sometimes you didn’t mind when the guards came to beat him bloody; it made him shut up, whether from pain or because he had passed out.

“Prospecting has nothing to do with love,” you snapped, shoulders tense despite the ache in your body. If these fuckers holding you captive didn’t kill you, the stress of surviving next to this fucker surely would.

“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, suddenly serious, “Love for others, at least. Love for the dig, love for the hunt and the adventure—that’s a different narrative altogether. Which is why I deemed it appropriate to explain such measures. The lifestyle I settled for is no small undertaking. It comes with sacrifice.”

His condescension was unintentional but still stabbed and poked at you like keepers at a circus.

————————————

It comes with sacrifice. That it did.

That long-ago night haunted you to this day.

But Ezra had his mind focused on softer dreams as he broke you from your self-destruction once more.

“Nights like these make me keen to hear you sing for me again,” he lilted out through the dark, a reminiscent simper pulling at his mouth and crinkling his eyes as he shifted to look down at you, “The melody of your voice haunts the halls of my midnight reveries. But it is such a sweet possession—as though I willed a ghost to enchant me with her gift. A siren indeed. Lure me into the sea of your deception, try to pull me under like the rest of them. But not me. No…not me—I float like driftwood in the breeze…follow the tides of your affection. Somehow I remain unscathed, and you lap at me in gentle waves.”

“Such powerful words from a man who should be asleep,” you chuckled quietly, pressing your lips to the back of his hand where you held onto it now, fingers laced.

“I am but a vendor of poetry. And you, a weaver of melody. Sing for me, siren,” he murmured, his voice thick with the drowsy pull of lassitude. He hadn’t asked that of you in so long you had almost forgotten what it felt like to hear it. Almost. And you would have agreed to it, but—

“No, the girl, she—“

“I don’t mind,” Cee interrupted, quiet and soft. It surprised you; you thought she had fallen asleep—you didn’t want to wake her with your singing. And then you were—

Shit. You sincerely hoped she had just woken up due to Ezra’s long-winded soliloquy about your singing, and hadn’t heard anything else beyond that. Mm, no. You think she would’ve said something about how fucking gross it was. Or pulled a thrower on you.

“As well you shouldn’t,” Ezra chuckled, turning his head to grin at the girl where she had turned to face him on the opposite cot, “She sings like Kevva strung her throat with gold. Or the very strings of a harp.”

You blushed and ducked your head into your shoulder, embarrassed by his flattery. Looked to him and found his honey-dark eyes drinking you in from above, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he flattened his palm over your chest and rubbed it affectionately. “What would you like to hear?” you asked, running a hand over your hair and shifting on the floor to calm your nerves.

It was just Ez.

…and a girl who harbored a teen angst bigger than ten moons; fuck if you wanted her to judge you.

“Whatever tickles your fancy,” he replied, his grin wider now that you’d agreed, “You know I’m not particular to any one hymn—I find myself enraptured by it all.”

“Okay.” You pondered for a moment before settling on one of your favorites.

Then you sang.

Quietly, nervously at first in an unpracticed rasp, then growing more steady and mellow and soft.

Some swirling folk melody from your childhood in your native tongue, one you’d never forget even if someday you lost your memory. A lullaby for village children; a lilting work song for the women to hum when laundering clothes at the stream, soothing the babies strapped to their backs or their chests or both.

It told the story of a curious young girl who loved the stillness of the ocean, found peace in its silky depths. She liked the silence so much that she would spend hours beneath the water, training to hold her breath and exploring the creatures of the reef and listening to the wavering silence.

Until one humming summer night she swam so deep the water turned black. She was scared she wouldn’t be able find her way back home but she reveled in the quiet—the quiet that not even the nighttime forest could provide, nor the village when the hunters and scavengers left for work. It was then that she saw a light shining from the deep, and decided to chase it.

Down, down, down.

And down. Until the light became so bright it surrounded her, seeped into her until she did not know where she began and it ended. No pain, no fear surrounded her. Just a sense of calm, and peace.

And she became the moon, the biggest one in the sky. The silence up there was incomparable.

The song was meant as a warning to the village children not to wander too far from the town and somehow find themselves in the cove breaching the outer mountain range. A warning to stay away, else you’d become one of the many moons in the sky, never to return to your family and the life you loved.

But you’d always found it more compelling than that, more meaningful, because the story originated from a similar legend of the moon goddess your village worshipped, the deity of the biggest satellite in your skies. The minor difference came in the detail that she chose to become the Great Moon after divine conversation instead of chasing a light down into the deep on a whim. And there was a ceremony held to initiate her transition into a celestial body.

When you’d wrapped up the lullaby you found yourself more at peace than you’d felt in a long time. You didn’t like to think about your planet, nor your village, nor the tragedies that occurred there. But this memory was a happy one, filled with sleepy eyes and chubby fingers grabbing onto mothers’ cloaks, and getting tucked into warm soft blankets by a fireplace.

“Sweet siren,” Ezra whispered in a drowsy slur, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he turned to rest on his back, “Never fail to soothe me even when ’m in utmost anguish.”

And with that, he left you in silence, and you knew he wasn’t far from sleep.

By the time his breath evened out, you felt your eyes drooping.

Fuck, you were exhausted.

This spin had been arguably more eventful than any you’d had in a long while, and it didn’t occur to you that you could be tired when you’d hardly done much until the action rolled in.

The floor was actually not half bad, given that you laid on the tarp that absorbed heat but quickly cooled when you moved. The nights here got cold, surprisingly. But Ezra’s hand hanging down and resting across your chest felt so good. The weight of him, the heat of him, it grounded you. You circled patterns into his upturned palm until you became too sleepy for that, settling on threading your fingers with his and feeling his pulse beneath your fingertips.

How dare he think you’d care for him less with only one arm? If anything, it showed his perseverance, his will to move forward and make hard decisions. Only something a man with determination could do.

He felt so warm and sure—steady. He was safe now that he had come back. You felt the inky black of sleep begin to wash over you as organized thought became jumbled feeling.

You didn’t have to worry anymore, not about his whereabouts. Everything was alright. It was as good as it had been in quite a while.

Everything would be alright, you could just…

Just…

“I wish my parents had loved each other like that,” Cee murmured in the quiet dark of the tent, rendering you wide awake with a jolt, as if someone had plunged a shot of adrenaline into your chest.

“They separate?” you managed, knowing it came out strange but not wanting to confirm or deny anything about you and Ezra. The silence that greeted you implied that she had had no intention of you hearing it. But she spoke regardless.

“No,” she scoffed, then went quiet for a moment, “My mom died when I was little. And I can’t remember what they were like together. We were always working so there wasn’t a lot of time for love between them.”

Oh. An orphan. It softened you a little more for her, made you more sympathetic to the fact that Ezra had killed her last living parent. You were an orphan too. So was he.

“We’re all missing parts of our family in some way or another. People with worldly attachments don’t usually sign up for this level of intensity. Not the strays, anyhow.”

“But you have each other,” she insisted.

“By chance alone. We didn’t start off liking each other. And we’re not…married, or anything.”

The last bit came out strangled—you’d never…said something like that aloud.

You and Ezra, married? It was odd, to say the least. You never thought of yourself as one to desire marriage in any respect—ceremonial, legal, the like. It just didn’t sit well with you. Too many complications, a lot of governing body involvement that you didn’t care for.

And Ezra…he wasn’t too fond of it either. But not because he didn’t want it, that much he’d admitted to you one night after admitting the complications of his feelings on his love life, ones that somewhat contradicted the first time he told you about it all; he couldn’t have it, he’d never let himself believe even a fraction of him deserved it. The life of a floater—and sure, just as Cee’s parents had prospected and been married (you assumed) and had a kid, many others did the same. But then you supposed it ended with kids like Cee, and she was lucky to not lay dead next to her idiot father, or trapped and sold as a body in the Dark-Spawn Trades. Lucky Ezra wasn’t filthy and depraved, lucky you were once young and scared like her and so took it upon yourself to keep her in your sights for now.

“How’d you meet?”

A chuckle bubbled out of you as you sat up and ran your fingers through Ezra’s hair, watching his chest rise and fall in even strokes, thinking back on that night so long ago.

“Stealing supplies from the same drop company. Two feral dogs fighting over who deserved it more. We bickered and threatened so much we lost track of time and made a mess and a ruckus and got caught.” A smile threatened to break your features and you let it, for just a moment. It faded as you recalled your awful encounter, “Captured, tortured for information because they thought we worked for a rival mining company. They wanted the locations of dig-sites we didn’t have, mining techniques we didn’t know. When he brought up the Wastes earlier…that’s what he meant. Surprised we didn’t die, but they really thought we were valuable or something.”

You gave yourself a minute before continuing. In a panic, you rubbed circles over the tattoo on the web of Ezra’s hand between his thumb and forefinger, trying to ground yourself as wicked, blood-specked memories flooded your head.

Deep breath. You’re safe, he’s here. This will be good to get off your chest. You’ve never spelled it out to anyone before. Nobody’s ever asked. Maybe this girl is a gift from the universe, maybe she was sent here to give you space to heal. Deep breath. You’re safe. He’s here.

You eventually pressed the back of his limp hand to your cheek, and found your voice once more. You didn’t need to worry about waking him; once he conked out into REM sleep it took a freight train to wake him up. At least, when he was with you he always slept deeper. He’d told you one night; how it helped to have you there, like you dragged all the bad memories and nightmares away, pulling them so far out of reach he only found thoughtless, worry-free sleep.

“Hearing someone’s screams from the other side of a cell wall makes you more susceptible to care about them. A bonding experience, so to speak. He’d talk to me for hours on the nights they made us sit and anticipate another session. Recited poetry, recalled stories from his time as a prospector as an escape from our reality. I would sing for him, when we knew the guards had left. It was how we got to know each other. It’s—that’s why he calls me his siren. The reason I call him a chatterbox, among other obvious explanation.”

“How’d you get out?” Cee asked, resting her cheek on her hands as she laid on her side, watching you with keen interest.

“Killed them,” you rasped, not wanting to go into the gory details, “Every single one.”

For nights you had laid awake, haunted by memories of blood staining your only pair of clothes, blood splattering into your mouth, chunks of brain matter on Ezra’s gloves as he dragged you through a maze of tents and established buildings, viscera on your recovered suit, the way you’d had to swallow bile back down your esophagus at the sight of all the lives you’d taken. But you had to do it; it’s what you told yourself when the images would replay every time you closed your eyes.

Vengeance, necessity, paired with Ezra’s seemingly insatiable bloodlust—and your own. Your own shameful desire to incite violence, one you bred in the early years of your youth and had stuffed away until needed.

But you hadn’t been able to deny that, when Ezra shot a man who’d pinned you to the ground and then finished him off with a knife spurting blood out his neck, it stirred your blood something wild. Hearing him panting through the transmitter, grunts and curses as he tore through humans and humanoids and alien creatures alike right beside you. Hearing him call out targets, watching your six, taking single-word direction from you when you did the same.

They worked like a well-oiled machine, like you two had never not known the other. And he was sloppy in his technique, grounded more in brute force than strategy—but you made up for that in quick, evasive maneuvers and stealth. Both of you had near-perfect aim and could work around the clunky gear of your suits.

Messy—pools of blood, the sickening crunch of bone and cartilage crushed beneath your hands and your feet and your knife and whatever other weapon you scavenged along the way.

It felt like a ritual. A baptism of carnage that ensured neither one of you could live without the other.

So of course, when it all was over and the last vertebra snapped—

—there had been filthy, unhinged, surely unsanitary, bio-hazardous fucking in a tent surrounded by carnage.

Fucking in way you could only describe as feral.

Unrestrained.

Hot, Kevva’s saints was it brutally hot and so needy—but also so, so tender.

Full of soft emotion. Unspoken, even for Ezra’s standards. Almost loving.

Your aching bodies, exhausted and weak and battered, dragged lazily against one another once both of you had ceased the initial writhing pace of passion and the adrenaline ebbed. It tasted tinny like blood and musky like spit and salty with sweat and tears, and if nothing more, it was real. Whispering about how fuck, they’d made it and god, they were on the same level, we made it, baby—can’t live without you, I need you I need you I need you—

That day was quite possibly your favorite memory as well as one of your darkest. The day that you knew, in the charred, most twisted part of you, that you’d follow this man to the ends of every planet, to the far reaches of the universe—and he’d very well do the same.

Of course, you shared none of that with Cee.

“We took down the main base of the entire company. They were small but well-endowed. Got to transfer points into our accounts and sort through the mining equipment and the food,” you offered instead after a long bout of silence, “And the spoils of their labor. We were rich, could have retired early.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You debated whether to lie or tell her the truth, deciding on the latter. This girl wasn’t a threat, she genuinely wanted to know. “Ezra and I have—had a certain…interest in finding thrill wherever we can.”

Cee quirked an eyebrow, and you elaborated, “It’s not something to romanticize, we certainly weren’t smart about our spending. Gambling, drugs, slingshot scooter racing, smuggled creature ring-fights. The risk makes winning worth it. It was addicting. We earned a lot. Uncountable amounts of money. But we spent it all and then spent more. Pulled stunts that not even the most daring would try. Heists, intel-theft for enemies of certain people. We got caught up in it. Eventually drowned in a swamp of debt and unrequited favors. Got put on watchlists by the head crime syndicate and peace officers alike in the Core Worlds because we got cocky. Sloppy. So many people want our heads on a stake that we’d be better off dying out here. It’d be ironic, given the executions we deserve.”

You shuddered at the thought of Karolclan and their unusual procedures for punishment. They wanted you the most—you owed them the most. Them and Omni-Five. But Karolclan was decidedly worse.

“Why are you still mining? Wouldn’t it be easier to hide somewhere less dangerous?”

“We have debts to pay, bird,” you sighed, fond of the nickname Ezra gave her as it fit her well, “It’s the only honest work we can get without a biotracker recognizing our scans or someone realizing that the burner names and scouting codes we give them are bullshit. We work alone—no drop company, no mining corps. Until we can get our names cleared and our bio-scans off the watchlist, we can’t do shit else.”

If nothing more, Karolclan did allow debt payoff. But only if you could evade their capture, and only if you had the means to satisfy compounded interest. They were brutal, ruthless.

“He said you had a crew…and a ship…before you ended up stranded.”

“We did. A group of people like us. But you can imagine that a group of outlaws don’t always see eye to eye—buncha hotheaded criminals. Fought over aurelac, argued over fair shares, resources, everything.”

That wasn’t the whole story.

It started as a dispute over aurelac, but had quickly turned into a spat against Ezra, why he had so many successful harvests and surely he was stealing or cheating, how it wasn’t fair that you two were attached at the hip and didn’t section off when you split into groups to cover more land. In the heat of argument and the desperation of man, that had morphed into threats against you—Why don’t you fucking share her, Ezra? We all have needs and she’s barely good at the dig-sites. Put her to use somewhere else or we’ll find a use for her, and that devolved into Might take her right from under you if you don’t watch yourself, don’t be surprised if you hear her struggle tonight.

You had gotten used to the crude commentary, the snickers and wolf-whistles when you bent over, and if they had tried to somehow steal you away in the night, they’d have been reminded that you slept fully armed and showed no mercy to anyone who touched you unless they knew just where to start—and only one person did.

But that…that had not gone over well with him. It ended before you even knew what he did, and pretty soon you had a dead crewmate spilling blood over your boots while the familiar sound of throwers charging up rang in your ears, all of them pointed at the man panting beside you. The only one from the group to live and remain on the Green had been Two, and honestly you were never fond of them but weren’t surprised when they helped you and Ezra take the heat off your backs—they always teamed up with you two and they were good at what they did. It was a shame they were gone—despite their silence and threatening demeanor and sometimes uncalculated moves in a plan, they never made a move to harm either of you; they just wanted to harvest and get out like you did. Better them than Ezra, though. You’d have genuinely lost your mind if they had shown up in his stead.

“Did you kill the crew too?”

“Only a few,” you said honestly, “The others left us stranded when they realized we’d kill them next. Number Two was our only ally. Now they’re dead.”

You laid back down and put Ezra’s hand across your chest again, “Get some rest now. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. And if you choose to kill him while we sleep—kill both of us.”

You didn’t know why you’d felt compelled to say that, but revealing such a dark part of yourself to her convinced you that she’d plant a bolt in you or Ezra’s head and run. Ezra was the more likely target, given his history with the girl. It was irrational, for the most part; if she truly wanted him dead she would have let his wound kill him. Or she would have shot him sooner. But you couldn’t be too sure.

And you’d sooner die than wake up to him cold next to you.

#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #anya writes #ohhhh boy! a second installment #pedrostories #ezra smut #cacoethes

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thotsforvillainrights · 3 years

Note

Can we please get a Shigaraki smut where his girl rides and overstims him? ;3

[I sound like a broken record with this so y’all forgive me, but I hope you don’t mind I’m not making the reader specifically a girl so everyone can insert themselves into it. Also happy late B-Day Shiggs, and I’m sorry anon this ask was trapped in the void so long!!!]

~Satiation~

-Tomura Shigaraki smut-

Satiation- to satisfy (a need, a desire, etc.) fully or to excess

You glared at the back of his head for at least 20 minutes now as you tried not to grind your teeth in annoyance. If looks could kill then he would be six feet under right about now. The blue haired boy clicked furiously away at his mouse and keyboard as the graphics of the game flashed pretty colors in front of him. Usually you didn’t mind him playing games at all. In fact, you sometimes enjoyed watching him play and even playing yourself too! However, you did have boundaries from time to time. One of those boundaries included him not binge playing the way he used to when you two first started to date. It wasn’t because you needed the attention desperately, no! It was because he rarely ate, slept, or even drank anything when he fell into these spirals. He would only get up in short bursts to use the bathroom and that was rare as well. His diet consisted of cheap chips and carbonated drinks. Worst of all, there was this weird smell that would develop if he didn’t go bathe after a while. You were angry because you were worried about him taking care of himself. There was no way in hell you’d let him fall back down this pit again.

You sighed and carefully walked up behind him. Out of decency you let him finish a match BEFORE you reached down and snatched his headphones from his head. “Y/N what the Hell?! Give those back you fucking nuisance! Hurry up, it’s prime time right now and I fucking need this rank up reward!” You shifted them behind your back and rushed to the bed. He followed behind you and a wrestling match ensued. He got his headphones back and you got just what you wanted...a great position on top of him, straddling his hips and gripping his wrist above his head. He let go of the headphones and deadpanned at you. Of course he could easily get out of your grasp but the way you pressed yourself onto him had distracted him from the matter at hand. “Tomura can’t you take a break or something? I feel like things are getting bad again yknow? I just don’t want to see you get back to the way you were before. Especially not with you having done so well for so long.” He sighed and rolled his eyes at you. “Relax dumbass, I’m not going back to that if it’s what you were thinking. I’m only grinding so hard because there’s a huge tournament online right now and I need the rewards from ranking up, that’s all. I mean I could just buy them but that’s for lazy pussies who don’t work hard at the game, and people that are impatient with the outcome.” Despite him insulting you with his words, he still moved his arms from your hold and moved to gently stroke the side of your face. Red eyes sparkled with such adoration for you and it honestly made you smile. “You promise me then?”

“Yeah, now please get the fuck off of me. It’s annoying yknow.” He lied completely. You know exactly how he felt right now by the way his cock was threatening to rise within those sweatpants of his. You took the opportunity to run your hands smoothly underneath his shirts and tweak his nipples. He sucked in air from between his teeth and began squirming beneath you a bit. “Why don’t you take a break from the game huh?” You stood up and began rustling around the contents of the bedside table bottom drawer, in search of a condom. “Pshhh-” He spoke up in false annoyance. “I’ll take your little break if you do all the work.” It was his way of asking you to take control without having to ask for it completely. “Oh I’ll take control alright...” The way you smirked at him devilishly as you slipped the condom on was really just icing on top of the cake. And when you slipped him all the way in without a single pause in between??? Oh it was getting harder and harder to keep up that fake ‘I don’t care’ attitude he was exhibiting. “fuck...” You smiled and gripped his chest as you bounced on him ever so sweetly. “You can say it louder if you want.” You teased him and he groaned. A bit faster, a bit harder...”Fuck...FUCK I...!!!” He came with small shivers running down his spine and his hands gripping the sheets and nearly decaying them had he not focused on finger placement. You admired the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and the way his chest rose and fell as he tried to gather his breath. “Fuck~” After gathering himself he figured it was time to get up and partake in a little aftercare. His plan was to treat you with a nice bath or maybe just a trip to your local late night fast food spot for a bunch of chicken nuggets and a large drink to share between you two.

He could be romantic when he tried lol.

But his ideas/brainstorming were cut short when you started to bounce again. “Y/N? Y/N fuck?! I already came I...I ugh?!” He was definitely confused but who would care about that when you were literally milking his cock right now? It was a strange feeling for him. Euphotic of course, but a little painful. Lucky for him, pain was a staple in your bedroom sessions so this was nothing to him. If anything, he was on the horizon of cumming again. His head was left swirling, and by now he had lost all his confident behavior in place of desperation. His toes were curling and he was whining as he gripped away at the sheets. “OH GOD Y/N!” Again he was weak for you but you were nowhere near finished with him by now. You were a saint for waiting for him to gather himself, but you were a demon for beginning to fuck him yet again. “Y/N!?” It was about the last time he uttered your name in complete pleasure and shock. Now he couldn’t even form words. He was a babbling mess, drool running from the side of his mouth and his knuckles turning white from gripping the blankets below him His little desperate whines from the beginning were now full on strings of moaning and slight begging when he managed to form a few words under the impact of your touch. He was intoxicated on you, overstimulated, and weak at the knees. You really could’ve gone a fourth time but now you needed to chase your own finish. By the time he came again, you caught up to him and let yourself fall into his chest/the crook of his neck.

You were both nasty, sweaty messes tangled up in each other. A shower would be needed soon but for now you were focused on catching your breath and slowing the heartbeat out of your chests. He held onto you for dear life and his cock stayed out inside of you until he could regain his though process. “You’re a fucking menace you know that?” He mumbled as he stroked the side of your face gently. “Yeah, but so are you.” He smirked and pulled you into a closer hug. It wouldn’t hurt to stay for a little while. Time always seemed to stop with you anyhow.

»—————————–———————————————————–✄

Instagram: @pastelbattydraws & @pastelbattystore

YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCRNMJH7vHL7APNobUykhK4w?view_as=subscriber

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #shigiraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki tomura #lov #league of villains #smut

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hoebii · 3 years

Text

Snowballs vs Windows

Pairing : Kim Taehyung x Jeon Jungkook [MxM]

Genre : Fluff, College/University!Au

Wc : 1076

Rating : PG13

Warnings : Use of the word ‘fuck’ once I think… wrkhsgf

A/N : Thank you @taegularities for being my beta~ Also no, this is def not me feeling weak for TaeKook and writing a fic on them. Absolutely not, don’t believe anyone who says that... ahem anyways! Hope you enjoy this one~ As usual, if you have any req/promt/idea you might have for me, send them in and I’ll try my best to do it :DD

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Taehyung flopped down on his bed as soon as he got close enough to it. His day had been exhausting. To begin with, he’d been late for his classes, then the cafe where he worked at had fired someone and he had to work unpaid overtime to cover for staff shortage and to top it off, Jeon Jungkook, his boyfriend of three years had forgotten their anniversary and didn’t show up for their date. It was safe to say that Taehyung was not happy in the slightest.

Feeling sleepy, he snuggled closer to his pillow, too lazy to get up and change into his pajama. “I’m gonna have to go out in the morning anyway, it’s fine,” he grumbled to himself, trying to justify his lethargy.

At the brink of finally falling asleep, Taehyung felt his phone buzzing in his pocket. Growling in annoyance, he ignored the incessant buzzing, not having enough energy to check the device. He’d check it when he woke up later, it’s not like anyone was dying… or so he hoped before drifting off into dreamland.

--------------------

Jungkook groaned in frustration when Taehyung didn’t pick up again. Guilt was eating him up from inside for forgetting their date. He had to submit his portfolio for his graphic design course and the anniversary completely left his mind in midst of all the rushing and working.

“Why won’t he pick up? He can’t be too mad… can he? Ugh, of course he would be! You forgot your anniversary, you dumbass!” Jungkook muttered to himself as he paced in front of Taehyung’s house. He could see Taehyung’s window from down there and the light was on. Jungkook frowned; he’d really messed up this time if his boyfriend was giving him the silent treatment.

Pacing around some more, he tried to come up with a plan to get Taehyung to forgive him, “Buy him a Gucci shirt? Nah he has ten of those already… Take him on a date to that new restaurant? No, we went there already... “

Jungkook’s eyes lit up as he finally thought of something, “I could take him to the museum! He’s been asking to go there for a while now, it’d be perfect!”

He texted Taehyung about the plan, hoping he would finally reply. When Jungkook got none after a while, he pouted and put his phone back into his pocket. He stood there, trying to come up with a plan to get Taehyung’s attention, biting his lip and his brows furrowed in concentration.

Looking up at the window again, his mind whirred before it finally spit out an idea, hoping this time he would succeed in getting his boyfriend’s attention. He crouched down and gathered some snow from the ground, forming it into a ball.

“Here goes nothing,” he sighed as he aimed at the window before flinging the snowball.

Jungkook expected it to hit the window and slide down, making a noise loud enough at the collision to get Taehyung’s attention. What he didn’t expect was the snowball to not hit anything and fly in through the window. His eyes widened as he realised it had been open the whole time and he had just thrown a snowball inside.

His panic increased even more when he remembered that Taehyung’s bed was right beside the window. “Please don’t be in bed. Please don’t be in bed. Please don’t-”

A shout could be heard from inside, followed by a wet Taehyung angrily sticking his head out of the opening to look for whoever threw a damn snowball inside his room.

“Hi,” Jungkook called out sheepishly when Taehyung met his eyes.

“What are you doing here? Are you the one who threw a fucking snowball inside?” Taehyung asked, his voice raising by end in incredulity.

“Whaaat? No… must’ve been the wind.”

Taehyung stared at Jungkook in disbelief, “The wind?”

“Yeah.”

“The wind threw a snowball into my room?”

“Uh huh,” Jungkook answered, shuffling the snow with his foot innocently.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No…”

The two stared at each other in silence, one in bafflement while the other fidgeted in his spot looking more awkward as time passed.

Taehyung sighed, rubbing his forehead as he spoke up, “Look, I’ve had a long day and I’m tired. Please just go home and let me sleep.”

“I could come up and we can cuddle?”

“Absolutely not. You are not allowed in this house after ditching me tonight.”

“I’m sorry! I swear I didn’t do it on purpose, it slipped out of my mind while working on my portfolio,” Jungkook explained himself, eyes pleading for forgiveness.

Taehyung clicked his tongue in annoyance - he couldn’t hold a grudge against Jungkook, even if he tried, he loved that man too much. Besides, he did have a point, Taehyung knew how important the portfolio was and the deadline for submitting happened to be today.

Even after that, not being able to put his pettiness aside, Taehyung rolled his eyes, “Whatever, I still had an exhausting day and I would really like to sleep.”

“Well, I could come up and cuddle with you like I proposed earlier! Plus, I brought your favourite ice cream and we can watch whatever you want while we cuddle,” Jungkook started, but seeing Taehyung’s unconvinced expression, he continued, “then I’ll take you to that museum you wanted to go to for so long! I cleared the whole day tomorrow to spend with you. Please baby, just let me in.” He tried to beg, almost on the verge of getting down on his knees if it meant he would be forgiven that way.

Taehyung tried not to smile, having forgiven the boy long ago, but a part of him enjoyed watching his boyfriend begging too much to stop his rants. Rolling his eyes, he fought a smile as he said, “Fine, you can come up.”

Jungkook smiled brightly before frowning in confusion when Taehyung didn’t move from his spot to go down and unlock the door, “Won’t you open the door?”

“It’s already unlocked, I forgot to lock it when I came home.”

“As careless as it is and I should be scolding you for that, I’ll refrain this one time and go grab the ice cream from my car. Get ready for cuddles!” Jungkook exclaimed, smiling widely and happily running to his car.

Taehyung chuckled as he watched from his spot at the window, heart swelling in affection for the man in his front yard.

“Dork.”

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writtenfan · 4 years

Text

Never Again Will We Have A Double Date Night.

I mean it Lucifer!

SPNLucifer x Reader Imagine

Yeah...Date night didn’t go well. Next day...well. Towards the end of it, he’s had enough and reeealy just wants some quality time with you. Guess how that ends?

Warning: Some, angst, yelling, cuteness, some suggestive themes/imagery and swearing. <3

“Take a bubble bath with me.”

He tenses up his shoulders and lets them drop, swinging his head back in your direction with a pout.

You glance over to him; he has a serious dirty blond bed head. His hair sticks all over the place like static, he wore a rumpled up white shirt and black boxers and short dirty white socks. His eyes having dark circle along with the already present bags under his eyes. He had worn this all day.

After having a complete lazy-stay at home day sparked after the previous incident you two had with his brother Gabriel and Rowena at Red Lobster. Which made you extremely mad and unable...no unwilling, to talk to him.

After staring at you, without hearing a response, he childishly hits his thighs with closed fists while moving his head around like a spoiled child and stamping his feet on the carpeted floor.

“Take a bubble bath wiiiiiith meeeee!” He shouts

He turns back to you with a pouty lip and big eyes.

You say his name sternly, looking straight in front of you, trying not to give him the reaction he so desperately wanted and knew he could manipulate you into getting.

You had just taken a shower. He knows this.

“(Y/N)~.” He calls out to you in a sad high-pitched voice.

You hear him scooting himself rather clumsily across the couch until he bumps his hip into yours.

You don’t look away from the TV but the corner of your mouth twitches. He saw that and you could tell by his giddy chuckle. Damn it.

He bumps into you again, and again, and again until suddenly you're engulfed by his arms and his weight as he leans on you without mercy.

You start annoyed laughing as your smooshed onto your side and he starts making this low pitch wining sound into your arm.

The vibration tickles.

“Stop you big baby! I just took a shower!” You shout as you push against him only for him to act limp and slump onto you even harder. He takes his mouth off your arm and rubs the side of his oily forehead against your skin.

“I don’t caaaaare. I'm grungy, I’m lonely and I want bubble bath with my baaaaby!...”

You slap your hand against his cheek and hold it there, feeling his growing stubble poke you as your smooshing his face in.

You feel him making a kissy faces and after a few of those, he snaps his head to your palm and starts licking it.

“EWWW!” You try and pull back, but he grabs your wrist and starts licking, even more, travelling up to your elbow.

You press his head against the back of the couch with your other hand after prying it from under you and he starts laughing.

“Now you must take a bath and good thing because I was just headed that way. Wanna join? I got enough lavender bubbles soap for two~”

This child.

You try rolling yourself off the couch, but he catches you by the waist and just lets you dangle halfway onto the floor.

The blood rushes to your head as your hands brush against the carpet in defeat.

“Now.” He squeezes your waist. “I’ll let you go if you agree...” he rests his chin on your tailbone. “...To take a bath with me.”

He waits patiently as he squeezes you to the rhythm of a song playing in his head.

You say nothing and angrily dangle.

“Fine,” he grunts with a playful whine.

.....

....

.....

You keep dangling for a few minutes, the sound of the tv playing in the background and the blood making you feel like your head was going to pop.

He starts squeezing you again, and it gets faster and faster until he lets out a loud sigh.

“Thats it.” He slaps your rear and you jolt, letting out an angry “Hey-” but you get cut off.

“I tried being patient...”He chuckles with an annoyed tone.

“... not my strong suit. I’m done! No more being angry at me time!!”

He slides himself off the couch still holding onto you, a bit tighter now, and...Oh, damn it.

You instinctively hook your legs around his neck as he wraps his arms around your lower waist and dangles you upside down in midair.

Your face. Well, your face...all your seeing is black boxers, and you are greeted by the manly...the manly scent that reeeealy needed that bubble bath but....kinda didn’t.

A win hate smell.

“AUgH OH G-YOUR FATHER.... Seriously Lucifer?!” You scrunch up your face and push yourself back by placing your hands on his thighs as you try to crane your head to look straight down at his shuffling white socks, instead of being repeatedly jabbed in the face by-

“-Augh Lucciiifer I’m sorry I haven't talked to you all day, besides asking if we still had frosted flakes in the cabinet this morning! And I’m sorry that I acted so mean to you when we came home last night because Rowena decided to be a bitch to you and instead of being on your side, I got angry with you too and let Gabriel eat my fries as I got ganged up on!”

He mocks back, then proceeds to pretend to bite your calf, letting his teeth graze your skin making gnawing sounds as he continues to walk towards the bathroom.

“You didn’t tell me you KILLED AND TORTURED HER MULTIPLE TIMES LUCIFER! Why didn’t you warn me beforehand?!” You shouted back, angrily staring at his hairy legs and repeatedly slapping your hands against them.

“The whole dinner she was trying to act calm, be the bigger person for Gabriel and I, but NOooooooo all you did was try and get under her skin! The constant torture puns, the nitpicking into their relationship! The loud and graphic detail of how you felt like decapitating that poor woman's head off sitting 3 tables away from us for looking at us funny and making her call the manager and guess what it worked, you got under her skin and that’s why you got yelled at Lucifer!” You shouted back patting his legs with your hands.

“ALRIGHT, DETOUR!!” he shouts.

As he takes a sharp left in front of the bathroom and back to the bed that you two usually shared, but where Lucifer was absent last night. As he slept on the couch.

He takes his hands and grabs your ankles, prying you off his neck and then throws you onto the bed. The wind is knocked out of you for a second. So, you just stare at the ceiling and cross your arms.

He stands over you, looking down at your face.

“I’m sorry alright?! I've said that...two or three times?” he starts counting on his fingers looking surprised at each finger he raised, then shakes his fingers at you.

“Yeah THREE WHOLE TIMES! Hey, sorry I still have a grudge from a witch who's backstabbed me more times than I can count!”

You scrunch your eyes and look up him. He stares back. A few minutes pass and he sighs.

“FINE.” He storms out the door. You continue laying on your back and you hear him storm back in. He starts fumbling with his shirt.

“Look, if I show you the girls will you forgive me?! Come onnnn look at me. Just look at alll this~”

He pops his shirt open and does a little dance and you slam your hand over your mouth as you almost crack a smile.

But you continue staring at his chest and your eyes begin to wander downward. His eyebrows wiggle as he stops moving and stands over you.

“You like right? Feel the anger just...” he motions a wave rolling with his hands. “Waaaashing awaaaay...all that frustration just...WOoooosh.

“Just behold the stunningly gorgeous vessel of Lucifer!!” He starts laughing.

You slam your hands on your eyes and groan.

“Hey! Hey...hey...I’m not done yet. Look, lookie here...what's this?....oohh, whats this??!”

You hear the sound of fabric and then something hitting the floor.

“Ah, Christ.”

#spn fanfiction #spn x reader #spn lucifer #spn lucifer x reader #supernatural lucifer x reader #supernatural lucifer

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worldwidemochiguy · 4 years

Text

Tag, You’re It ~ Part I of the Play Date Trilogy

The Play Date Trilogy Masterlist

Warnings: Kidnapping, slight violence, slight gore (it’s barely graphic I’m just tagging to be safe)

Word Count: 1.5K

Masterlist for all of my fics

Requested by @just-another-fangurl21

‘Tag, you’re it by Melanie M and y! Taehyung or y!Jungkook pleaseeee ❤️❤️❤️’

Thank you for requesting and I’m so sorry I took so long to do it pls forgive me 🥺🥺🥺🥺

“Fuck.” you muttered, letting the hand holding your now-dead phone fall listlessly, brushing your side. Your boss had somehow, yet again, wrangled you into working much later than you intended. So late that the bus you had planned to take home had come and gone, and you couldn’t even call an uber because your phone had decided to be absolutely useless and run out of charge. Perfect.

You had just started to shiver when you saw the headlights of a car illuminate the road from behind you. For a second, you thought about walking back to the car and asking if they could give you a lift because you were pretty sure the temperature was in the negative numbers and you couldn’t feel your toes anymore. You quickly quashed the thought, You can’t just get in a strangers car, what if they kidnap you? You chided yourself.

After ten seconds, the car still hadn’t overtaken you and you glanced over your shoulder in curiosity. The car — a black jeep with tinted windows, you registered distantly — was cruising along at a sedate pace. Almost as if it was stalking its prey. With a mounting sense of fear, you cast your eyes around your surroundings, hoping to see a person, or literally anything to give you some sense of security. It was difficult to see in the darkness, the only source of light being the car headlights, ironic given they were the thing you were trying to evade but as far as you could tell, you were completely alone. The only thing accompanying you was the noise of the engine, growling like a wild animal.

Fear quickened your steps into a slight jog. You noticed the car wasn’t speeding up with you and thanked every God you had ever heard of, appreciating the distance that grew between you and the jeep with every passing step. The driver probably realised I was scared and stopped, you mused, What a nice, considerate person.

Then the car started again.

It was driving fast, and you exhaled in relief thinking that the car would overtake you. It didn’t. In fact, it reached the exact point where you were and stopped. You carried on walking, faster this time, and watched as you left them behind. Again, they waited until you were fairly ahead of them before they sped up to get to you directly. They were playing with you, like a game of tag, and it was only a matter of time before you heard the words “Tag, you’re it”.

You heard the cars engine rev again, a telltale sign they were about to close the distance between you, and you acted. Launching into a sprint, hindered by your stupid heels that you hadn’t thought to take off, you frantically tried to find somewhere to hide. To the side of the road you saw a parking lot with its barrier down. If the driver wanted to get to you, they would have to get out of the car, meaning they would lose their unfair advantage. You had a chance to escape. The lights shining behind you grew brighter and brighter, and you knew by now the car must be almost on top of you.

You finally reached the barrier and ducked under it, running through the parking lot. Behind you, the driver — a man judging by the voice uttering those low curses — had gotten out of the car. He was chasing you.

He was chasing you and he wouldn’t stop.

This harrowing thought caused your focus to slip slightly, just for a second, and you fell. You had maybe twisted your ankle, and it sent shooting pains up your leg as you tried to get up, and failed, and fell back down. You heard a low laugh behind you, and reinvigorated your efforts into crawling away. It was useless, though. He caught you.

Your arm was extended, trying fruitlessly to drag the rest of your body across the unforgiving asphalt and away from the even more unforgiving man, who was approaching you with lazy steps. Without warning, though perhaps you should have anticipated it, he grabbed your hand and pushed you down, flattening your body against the ground. Before the scream building in your throat escaped, he took it right out of your mouth, replacing it with a hand covering both your airways. You tried to struggle, but the black spots in your vision multiplied as your strength deserted you, and you fell limp in his arms, his cruel, triumphant laughter lulling you to sleep.

When you woke up, you almost wanted to go back to sleep. To let a dream whisk you away from the nightmare that had become your reality. It seemed like you were in a basement of some sort, the room empty of any windows to let in natural light, and just generally empty. Of course, you screamed. You screamed until your throat was raw and bleeding, and after that you tugged on your restrained wrists and ankles as hard as you could, the sound of your pained whimpers the only thing in the room. Like you were talking to yourself.

You couldn’t say how long it was before he came. Light spilled in from the top of the staircase at the leftmost corner of the room and you winced, letting out a small sound of pain as your eyes adjusted to the light after being in complete darkness. The noise would have been louder, but your vocal cords were probably too exhausted after all the screaming. The man, the same one who had driven after you like a cat playing with a mouse, appeared in front of you. You had no choice but to look at him, so you did.

He was handsome, and tall, and muscled, and the look in his eye was the most terrifying thing you had ever seen. On the surface of those wide doe-eyes there was joy, affection, and perhaps even worry over your raw wrists and ankles, but beneath that… nothing. He truly was a psychopath.

“Oh no, baby, what have you done?” He questioned in a sweet voice, kneeling down to run his fingers over the bloodstained restraints he had tied. You whimpered slightly, and his eyes widened. You could swear he pressed his finger harder for a second before he withdrew, looking at you with a sympathetic expression.

“I know it’s hard, little one, but don’t pull at your restraints, ok? They’re just there to keep you safe.” You could do nothing but emit a low groan, and he obviously took this as consent to check your other wounds. He cleaned them all — you hadn’t realised he had a first aid kit with him — including a cut on your forehead that you must have sustained when he shoved you to the floor.

It was like he was two different people. That night, he had been terrifying, hunting you down like a monster. But when he took care of your wounds, he was sweet, and gentle. Talking to you in a hushed voice filled with love.

“I’m Jeongguk. Don’t worry, you don’t have to introduce yourself to me, I already know.” A short giggle. “I can’t believe I’m finally speaking to you like this, I’ve waited for so long, but I’m glad you didn’t make me wait much longer. Thank you for leaving late at night like that so that I could take you home. You’re such a good little girl.”

Jeongguk never apologised for kidnapping you. When he apologised it was because he hadn’t factored in your shortcomings.

Oh, I shouldn’t have tied these so tight, I should’ve known you would be a silly girl and tug on them too hard. You are too rebellious for your own good, huh baby? You won’t make this mistake again though, right?

He seemed to take your silence as an agreement, growing more and more excited each time he put words in your mouth and you didn’t spit them out. At the end of your little doctor’s visit, Jeongguk rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, sighing deeply.

“I love it when I hear you breathing.” He said, exhaling softly just as you inhaled so you shared a breath. Obviously this was his intent as his eyes opened and he surveyed you almost reverentially.

“You’ll never leave me, right?” You couldn’t speak, so you just gazed at him blankly, head lolling to the side. His expression sharpened, and he reached for your damaged wrist.

He tightened his hand around the wound, fingers digging into the fresh cuts and getting stained with blood.

“You’ll never leave me, right?” He repeated, but it wasn’t a question, it was a command. “You love me, and you’ll never leave me, right?”

“No,” you croaked out, your throat on fire. “I’ll never leave you J-Jeongguk.” He tilted his head, waiting. “I love you.”

At that, his face lit up into a grin exposing bunny-teeth. An innocent face covering a sadistic monster.

“Thank you so much baby! I promise I’ll never waste the gift of your love. Don’t worry, you won’t have to stay here long. Just until I know for sure I can trust you.”

You didn’t hear any of his words, too lost in your own thoughts. He had chased you. He had caught you. The refrain repeated over and over in your head like a nursery rhyme — the prelude to this nightmare.

Tag, you’re it.

Tag, tag, you’re it.

#yandere #yandere jungkook #yandere fic #yandere bangtan #yandere bts #jeon jungkook #jungkook fic #BTS jungkook #yandere jungkook x reader #jungkook #jungkook x reader #bangtan boys #yandere kpop #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook reader insert

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sinkix · 4 years

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《What your fav Haikyuu!! Character says about you│Nekoma Edition》

Yo-hoo! Here’s another part to this potential(?) series! I hope you enjoy the possible call-outs in some of these lmao. Writers block been kicking my ass recently but I had a lot of fun writing these. Enjoy <3

You can find the Karasuno ver. here

✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧ ✧✧✧✧✧

Kuroo:

Have a hand fetish and will not say no to choking.

Daddy kink™

Will not accept anything below 6 inches.

More of a dog person but would love to own a black cat.

You drool over tattoos.

Your grades are mostly B’s but you know in your heart you deserve that A, and tbh you probably do. Chase ur goals bby.

Halloween is likely your favourite holiday.

You have to resist not to carve a dick into the pumpkin EvEry GodDAmN YeAr.

You either study for 6 hours consecutively or cannot study at all and you get very frustrated at this.

Have the potential to be a good leader and command the room but probably don’t put it to use as much as you should.

Your playlist parkours from sad 3am crying into your pillow songs to aggressive punk music you could rob a store to.

You like bad boys who hang around bars and look like they would put out a cigarette on your forearm and call you a slut. Just stating facts sweaty xoxo.

Either dress very feminine and girly with a ‘smol girl uwu’ aesthetic or a hardass punk who would kick your ass for a can of beer no in between and tbh both are equally hot.

You’re a big softie at heart either way and just want to be held and told everything will be okay.

Ur a hoe for when people stroke your hair or caress your chin it’s your ultimate weakness.

Watched Rick & Morty.

Twice.

Sleeves rolled up veiny forearms and donning a silver watch are your muse and something you fantasise about frequently.

Most of your memes are shitty top text bottom texts that are somehow funny and I don’t understand why lmao.

You call someone ‘bro’ even if it’s someone you’re immensely attracted to.

Did someone say ties? No it’s just ur dirty ass thoughts thinking about that hot business dudes attire from across the street and how you wish they were tied around ur wrists.

Probably had a crush on Jeff the Killer as a tween and are relentlessly haunted by your old Wattpad library.

Tbh any dark-haired dude with bedhead that screams rugged and probably not good for you is something that draws you like a moth to a flame.

You often question why every person you’ve fallen for has been a Scorpio and curse that tendency of yours.

Dw man they’re hot so I feel u.

Kenma:

Went through a ‘I’m not like other __’ phase and it’s something that you think about a lot and wish you didn’t.

Watched dan & phil as a kid.

Any mention of Pokemon has you turning into a rabid beast you get way too excited.

It’s cute though dw bby.

Pretty antisocial but interesting to talk to.

Your family often question how you’re able to sleep in till 3pm and judge you heavily for it.

Nocturnal night owl gang rise up.

Frequently have bags under your eyes but somehow manage to pull it off.

Listen to ASMR on the down-low and will never admit it to a single soul.

Frequently go on BL binges and have many related book marks.

You pray that someone will never find your laptop bc holy fuck the amount of smut on that.

You wear scarves & beanies even when it isn’t that cold outside.

100% went through a scene hair phase/attempted to.

You dye your hair a lot or REALLY want to.

You have a voice kink low-key so anyone with a pleasant/soothing sounding voice just gets u goin’.

Cats are your favourite animal and you either do or want to own several.

Would name them after video game/anime characters u fuckin nerd lol.

Speaking of cats ,you fantasise heavily about cat-boys and have a folder dedicated to them.

Oversized hoodies are your vibe and always ball the sleeve hems in your fist as a comfort mechanism.

Shopping centres are your worst nightmare and trigger your claustrophobia or social anxiety and honestly I feel that spiritually.

Have a cute sticky note collection.

You like a lot of music consisting of guitar and slow/soothing beats.

You also fw EDM/ techno on occasions.

Honestly wouldn’t wanna anger you since you have a seething temper when pushed far enough.

It’s the kinda temper that’s eerily quiet but no less terrifying, like the other person can tell you are graphically plotting their demise.

You love sleeping to the sound of rainfall and often play those nature ambience videos while you sleep.

Never tidy your sheets and it’s just a big scrunched up heap of fabric in the centre of your mattress most of the time.

Make your fucking bed.

Lev:

Your ships are chaotic and shamelessly controversial.

Would do something just for the sake of creating mayhem lmao.

You were the fucker who stuck their chewing gum under the desk, I see you.

Your brain never stops whirring it’s a constant hurricane of crackhead energy and you have no idea how to turn it off.

Would eat a stick of pencil lead for $2

You don’t help your situation with the amount of coffee/energy drinks you consume.

The class clown who cries themselves to sleep.

Such a wholesome dumbass but somehow kinda intimidating???

Even if you’re not confident you can do something you’ll try anyway and honestly I respect that about you.

You !! use!!! a lot??!! of!! random punctuation!!! so you always??!?!? seem!!111!! excited!!!!!11!?

Every time you’ve ever tried to make a sandcastle it has failed.

You tried to eat the sand once but we don’t talk bout that.

You would also pick up slugs and snails and chase your friends around with them.

Can never tell whether people are laughing with you or at you and while you don’t let it show it high-key bothers you when you’re laying alone in your room at night.

Not one to hold grudges, you carry a ‘shit happens’ mentality which is v good but it sometimes leads to people taking advantage of it or walking all over you.

Your meme collection is both questionable and horrifying.

Like how many cursed images and heavily distorted pictures does one person need.

Never organise the files on your PC/laptop so it looks like a complete dumpster fire.

The one at sleepovers who persistently woke everyone else up with their snickering and refusal to sleep till dawn.

For the love of Asahi charge your damn phone.

I see that red bar and ‘12%’

Charge it now.

Bought a plant one time, gave it a name and talked to it frequently.

It died not long after bc u forgot to fucking water it.

No one better ever make you responsible for a pet.

Type of person that when someone asks you to tag along on an endeavour no matter how stupid it is you will agree.

2am skydiving in france? hell yeah.

Midnight shopping spree and spending over half your pay check? count you in.

Exploring an abandoned hospital and performing an Ouija board to summon the demons of hell? you’re damn right you’ll be there.

I hope you have a mum friend by your side bc if not how are you still alive.

You sometimes put the milk in before the cereal and it’s something I’ll never forgive you for.

Yaku:

Very responsible and usually make the right decisions.

You do have moments where you act like a complete dumbass though.

Like u go from 50 year old to 5 year old in the blink of an eye.

A hopeless romantic but it’s a side you don’t often reveal.

Prefer strawberry milk over any other flavour.

You’re the type of person to shower twice a day w/o fail.

Where that stank smell coming from? Not you clearly bc your skin is basically 90% The Body Shop’s rose scented soap at this point.

You get stomach aches a lot and you can’t figure out why.

Probably an allergy to everyone’s bs.

Really good at dirty talk even though you don’t seem the type so people are always taken aback.

You have to be really in the mood though otherwise it falls flatter than Oikawa’s ass, use your skill wisely.

You often call people clowns when you know you’re secretly the biggest one going.

Honk honk, hoe.

You send messages in one paragraph rather than multiple texts unless you are REALLY excited.

People underestimate you at times then are shocked when they realise you are capable of being a fire-breathing dragon from the flaming pits of hell.

You like spicy chicken wings.

Such a petty little shit at times lmao.

Enjoy the view from the top of mountains so you either hike a lot or really want to.

Way more of a cat person since it’s just much more convenient for you.

Usually pretty cheerful or calm and people are drawn to your stable/friendly aura.

Went through a phase of drinking mountain dew and your body still feels the awful effects

Fav element is probably air.

You’re 5′6″ or shorter.

Box dyed your hair brunette several times and can never get the pigment out to this day.

Yamamoto:

Whenever you smell something weird in the room you always internally freak out and think it’s you.

Head-butting walls is your hobby.

You fell off your bike as a kid and still have the scar on your knee.

Probably have tons of ear piercings.

Would tame a pigeon and call it Larry.

You get frequent nosebleeds and can never tell if it’s a medical issue or your extreme simping for fictional men/women.

Hopefully the latter.

You constantly chew your pen/pencil in class so you never lend them to anyone out of embarrassment.

I really hope no one ever lends you stationery bc 30 minutes later it’ll look like it was mauled by a rabid rottweiler.

You really want to own a dog and would call it something intimidating like Banshee or Diablo.

You bleached your hair that one time and it almost fell out so now you’re forced to stay at least 10 metres away from all at-home hair dye products.

You tried your best though bby so A for effort, even if it did look like dehydrated ramen afterwards.

Your grades are mostly C’s and you’re barely passing bc you just don’t care about your classes lol.

Still though you’re actually pretty smart so put it to good use you lazy oaf, channel that crackhead energy into something good.

Your phone screen has several cracks in it from when you dropped it on the bathroom floor while shitting and you’ll always be angry at yourself for that.

You have some really weird quirks but you make it work.

Actually a v chill person but you just kinda attract chaos/trouble wherever you go.

Carry a lighter with you even when you don’t need one.

Shy texter but once people see you irl you are the complete opposite, you just dk how to text without coming across as awkward.

One of those people that’s unintentionally funny and always get confused when you make someone laugh but it makes you feel good regardless.

Have a cool necklace collection and own at least one dog-tag/army style pendant.

Should really consider buying a rabbit you would look so cute w/ one.

You have really nice legs and people should compliment them more.

Either severely dehydrated or overly hydrated to the point you are peeing pure tap water so for the love of god please learn moderation, your kidneys and bladder will thank you for it.

Inuoka:

Your favourite character would be Hinata but you like people taller than you so your love for Inuoka spawned.

You really enjoy using the double spiderman meme.

Cannot correctly verbalise your feelings without creating a minimum of 10 misunderstandings but once people are used to it it’s kinda endearing.

You usually wake up in a good mood and people can never fathom how or why.

You either stay up till 5am or you wake up at that time no in between.

A morning person bc you love the sunrise.

Change your lock-screen very regularly bc you get bored.

Your humour consists solely of poop jokes.

When you don’t understand a joke you laugh anyway and hope they don’t ask you if you actually get it.

Happened once and you’re still traumatised from the cricket silence that fell upon the room.

Really like the taste of lemonade and drink it more often than you should.

Often think about what you would look like with a shaved head.

More of an extrovert but def have occasional introvert tendencies where you wanna be left tf alone.

Never allowed to pick up anything in stores bc the last time you did you sniffed a scented candle and it shattered to the floor.

Constantly have spontaneous ideas of what to change about your appearance.

You use a lot of hand gestures like thumbs up and peace signs.

‘Dude’ and ‘lmao’ is 90% of your vernacular.

Your nails are a disaster, some are down to the nub while others are pretty grown out bc you only bite a select few please sort it out.

Look really good in red.

Your laptop has way too many tabs open from random google searches of words you didn’t know the meaning to.

You read a lot of books but for like 10 minutes at a time bc you have the attention span of a walnut.

You are the type of person to nuke your AO3 tags with things that aren’t even relevant purely bc you found them funny.

Your Tumblr drafts are a nightmare, you have like 100+ in the works yet keep starting new projects why do you do this.

Happy sunshine but you have a LOT of mood swings like that shit comes out of nowhere.

Cry pretty often but no one ever sees and it’s usually because of said mood swings.

You always smile and pick yourself up again though which I commend you for.

TYPES IN CAPITALS IN SITUATIONS THAT DO NOT REQUIRE SAID PUNCTUATION SO YOU SEEM LIKE YOU’RE YELLING ALL THE TIME.

#hq #haikyuu #nekoma #yaku morisuke #lev haiba #yamamoto taketora #kuroo testuro #kenma kozume #inuoka sou

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naturepointstheway · 3 years

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Frozen - Domestic Assassin (Crack AU) Masterpost

This is a Masterpost of all the fanfiction I’d written (all on Tumblr) based in @ultranos’ Domestic Assassin crack AU which was hilarious for a fairly good-sized group of us! And from what I”ve seen in my notifications, people are still enjoying and finding fics of mine in this AU even to this day, which is great!

I’ve basically dug into my previous fanfiction pages and pulled them out year by year, so because it’ll be way too much work to try and arrange everything by title, I just went by year. At least Tumblr keeps the links when I copy and paste.

Since there are so many, you’ll find them under the cut. Enjoy!

Pre-2016

Air Mattress Prompt

An exhausted Anna returns home from a hot night with Kristoff only to accidentally make her sister fly off the air mattress when she flops down on it for a sleep.

“Am I supposed to be alarmed by the moon tonight?” prompt

Elsa is so exhausted she gets confused between the sun and moon apparently.

“Can we please stop fighting and talk about the koala in your room?”

Elsa adopted a koala, much to Anna’s exasperation.

“Can you pull this fake cobweb across the door?” Halloween prompt

Anna wants to play a prank on Elsa...

Cell Block Sniper (M - violence and strong language)

Yes. Yes. It’s a crossover. A crossover between “Cell Block Tango” song from Chicago and this AU.

“Do you realise what this means?” “That you’re a really bad shot?”

Elsa is NOT having the best of time trying to instruct a new trainee.

Domestic Assassin AU prompt: Hans’ POV (pre-reveal)

Hans has a visit from Elsa when he dumps Anna.

“Don’t touch that!” (Healthcare writing prompt, Snow Sisters)

Elsa was bound to fall out of a tree at some point and end up in hospital. Anna takes care of her.

Elsa and Weselton prompt

Elsa refuses to let Weselton in the door.

Eyes That Glisten

Anna knows how to persuade Elsa to do whatever she wants.

“God you’re such a grumpy bags in the morning aren’t you?”

Elsa is not a happy camper after a long night where everything just goes wrong. “Holy shit. Most realistic Dementor costume ever.” Halloween prompt

Turns out, Elsa just looks like that most of the time.

“I can’t help being a geek about my vital signs!” prompt (Elsarik)

A crossover between another AU (Shardsverse)

“I don’t think I should tell you what we’re dressed as.” (Halloween Prompt)

Somebody think of the children!

“I dropped my cookie :’(”

Elsa cries when she drops her cookie.

“I feel like a T-Rex”

Anna is too lazy to just grab the goddamn stepladder and get the jam herself.

“I wish I could drive you out of my life with a sword!” (Hans and Anna, prompt)

Anna is NOT a fan of Hans...

“Maybe you should go as an assassin. Oh wait, you already are one.” (Halloween prompt)

Anna is a sarcastic little sister to Elsa.

“No one unfollows like Gaston!”

Anna overhears Gaston boasting about how he unfollowed someone because of a disability. She is not happy.

Ruined Dinner Party

After an hour of waiting for her sister to come to the party, Anna finally spots her with “ketchup” all over her top.

Part 2 of “Ruined Dinner Party”

Of course it wasn’t ketchup. Duh. Anna is NOT HAPPY.

Sleepyhead (drabble, Snow Sisters)

Elsa, going to the kitchen for midnight munchies, spots Anna sprawled on a couch, textbooks all around her.

“So. Many. Triangles. Help me here!”

Anna, not being a maths-y person, gets frustrated with geometry, and Elsa offers to help.

“So you’re going as yourself for Halloween.” Halloween prompt

Elsa is not keen on dressing up as Halloween.

“Tell our parents my Tumblr URL and I swear I will make your death look like an accident” prompt.

Elsa practically threatens Anna when the latter demands to explain her Tumblr URL (of course she quickly forgives her little sis.)

“That mask is all kinds of creepy. I like it.” Halloween prompt

Elsa practically shits herself when Anna scares her while wearing a terrifying mask.

Things you said at 4am prompt

Anna gets a call at 4am on her phone from Elsa, who accidentally sniped the wrong guy..

Those Poor Birds

Elsa mistakes a pair of birds’ mating antics as fighting, much to Anna’s amusement.

“Wait, you’re yelling at a movie?” (Snow Sisters, writing prompt)

Elsa is very confused to find that Anna’s yelling from the lounge is at a movie. Not at an invader.

“Was it really necessary to shoot my pumpkin carving?” (Halloween prompt)

Anna is NOT happy when Elsa decides to use her pumpkin carving for shooting practice.

“What do you mean it’s a sunset…?” prompt

Elsa wakes up only to find that it’s already after sunset, not sunrise.

“What the hell? You gave out alcoholic chocolate to trick-or-treating kids?!” (Halloween prompt)

Anna discovers that her German chocolates had been opened by Elsa, who’d handed them out to kids.

“Where did you leave the spare copy of that book?” (Elsarik DA!verse, prompt)

Crossing over with another writer’s AU with her OC, Alarik. Elsa can’t find that one specific book she needs, and she’s sure Alarik has it.

“You once asked me what I’d do if I had only one day left.” prompt

Anna will most definitely NOT be spending that final day of her life with Hans.

“You did what?!” prompt (Elsa and Kristoff)

Elsa does not appreciate Kristoff’s concern over her having WAY too many cats for one house.

“You mean a line segment.” prompt

Elsa is a huge geometry nerd, even waiting in line for takeaways.

“You should go as an assassin. Oh wait. You already are one.” prompt

Another one where Anna suggests Elsa goes as an assassin for Halloween, only to be all “oh wait, you are one.”

2016

Accidental shooting

Elsa accidentally shoots someone she did not mean to shoot in a library’s basement.

Amuse Me

Elsa’s having one of those blah days and Anna’s there with bad puns all ready to go.

“Bittersweet and Strange” (not based on a prompt)

Elsa explains exactly how she likes her coffee to Anna. Turns out Elsa is also a huge fan of marmite.

“Can’t I at least take this baby koala home?”

Anna, no, you cannot take a koala home from Australia, no matter how cute it is.

Cat Gallery (not based on a prompt)

Kristoff discovers Elsa’s huge photo album of her cats.

“Did you lose your main point…”

Anna hears something about money and bills and wait what now.

“Do nurses ever fall asleep on the night shift?”

Anna visits Elsa in hospital and inevitably someone has to wonder this. Elsa’s adorbs when she’s pouty and Anna can’t help but annoy her on this count.

Fight Me

One sister challenges another to a fun boxing game.

“How did you get these bruises?”

A crossover with another writer’s canon OC, Alarik (”Elsarik”) where he asks how she got some bruises while on the job.

“How many cats are in bed with you?”

Anna marvels that there are nine cats in bed with Elsa.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to have the whole packet at once.”

Do not eat a whole bag of coffee. Do not.

I Have Found My People (not based on a prompt)

Elsa has discovered that certain Scandinavian countries drink the most coffee in the world and wants to migrate there right now.

“I know you don’t want this but it’s for your own good…”

Kristoff is rightly concerned when he finds that Elsa had thirty cups of coffee in 48 hours. Do not do this at home.

“I, uh, kinda dropped it in the water.”

Elsa calls Anna to tell her there’s an emergency: she dropped her wallet in the sea and all the fish now have her personal information.

“I want a Venusian day…”

Elsa tries to explain to Anna why she would not want to live on Venus. Anna doesn’t give a fuck. More hours in the day what’s not to love about that?

Of Cat’s Paws and Adopting Stellar Systems (not based on a prompt)

Elsa is enthralled by a photo of the Cat’s Paw Nebula she has found on the laptop.

Of Monkeying Around and Going Ape (not based on a prompt)

Anna comes home to discover that Elsa has adopted a monkey that had been neglected by its owner. Even Anna is almost (I said, ALMOST) tempted to keep the monkey but her common sense reigns.

“Oh so you were in my bed this whole time?” (nsfw)

Dontcha hate when you’re in the middle of coitus and your goddamn cat has to interrupt you? (Elsarik, with another Frozen writer’s (@patricia-von-arandel) OC for Elsa)

“Once we start tickling, we can’t stop!” (nsfw)

Another steamy one with an old abandoned OC of mine (Jannike), where they find themselves having a quickie while the boss is away.

Rubbish Day (not based on a prompt)

Anna is horrified to find a rubbish bag gone and trails of what suspiciously looks like blood leading outside. Turns out some meat thrown in there leaked inside.

“The best way to get rid of your ex…”

Anna didn’t think that Hans Westerguard would ever end up on Elsa’s targets to “take care of”. Until he does.

The One Time Elsa Caught Anna “Studying” (not based on a prompt)

Anna uses the mirror in the bathroom to practice distinguishing teeth for a medical exam. Elsa suggests alternatives.

“What is this owl doing in our bathroom?”

Of course Elsa would adopt an owl and want to keep it in the bathroom. Of course.

“Who dances in the rain anyway?”

Elsa comes home to discover Anna dancing in the rain.

“Why is there an otter in our kitchen?”

Anna comes home to find that Elsa has “adopted” an otter from a “client”. As you do.

“Why would you wish to be at a backpackers?”

Elsa and Alarik (Shards AU, Elsarik) decide to stay at a backpackers together for some private time.

“Yes, yes the cold doesn’t bother you…”

Anna is not impressed with Elsa standing in the snow when she has a major cold.

2017

The Blood of White Men (not based on a prompt)

As Elsa’s favourite song goes, he had it comin’ all along.

Is the Earth Broken? (not based on a prompt)

Elsa is confused about why the day she thought it was today...actually isn’t. She convinces herself the Earth has somehow broked.

“It won’t be high tide you said…”

Elsa needs to learn that reading yesterday’s newspaper’s high tide times is not helpful.

Kittens on Saturn (not based on a prompt)

Elsa hopes there’s actual giant kittens on Saturn after seeing a graphic manipulation on an astronomy news site.

Of Singing Humpback Whales and Rock Trolls

Kristoff visits Elsa in hospital while Anna’s busy with other things. It...does not go as expected. Poor Kristoff.

“Proboscis Monkeys look ridiculous…”

Anna’s exasperation at Elsa rescuing a Proboscis monkey is still not so great that she can’t help but wonder what would happen if you honked their nose. Anna NO.

“She’s going to kill you.”

Kristoff knows his days are numbered when he spills carrot juice all over Elsa’s brand new rifle. Uh oh.

“There’s a perfectly good reason for all these kittens.”

Turns out Elsa decided to adopt some kittens left on the side of the road when they’re already over-run with cats.

“This is extreme, even for you.”

Elsa is so addicted to her coffee she’s begun pouring them into wine bottles, as you do.

2018

Elsa brings home a parrot

Anna discovers that Elsa has “rescued” a very large, very loud parrot from one of her, ahem, “clients”.

Elsa’s Back Up Cat, Mushu

Anna discovers one of the cats apparently reading a book, and much to her consternation, Elsa explains he’s for back up.

“Oh what a circus!” photo prompt

Anna takes her still-bewildered-after-five-coffees sister to the circus. This may or may not turn out to be a great idea.

#Frozen #Domestic Assassin AU #DA!verse #Frozen DA!verse

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drunklander · 4 years

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Drunj!Der Yells About Outlander

Thoughts on Ep. 512

Looking for a way to spend Mother’s Day? Well, we here at Outlander have the perfect idea! Celebrate with the women you love by watching us gang rape grannie!

This episode is like the perfect storm of everything that is wrong with Outlander. The cast and crew saying it’s their strongest episode yet when it’s basically artsy gang rape. The CYA trigger warnings when the story would have worked perfectly well without including yet another rape. The kool aid-drinking fans yelling at and acting holier than thou at the fans who rightfully call out the massive problem this show has with rape and assault. The fans yelling at other fans because It’S iN tHe BoOk so it has to be included. The fans yelling at other fans for wanting to follow the books but not wanting rape every 0.5 seconds. The fans yelling at other fans to fuck off if they don’t like the show. The women in the cast throwing out trigger warnings while the men are radio silent or wanting the gladiators to face the plague and fight for their own amusement. It literally has everything.

And I am tired.

I’ve been in this fandom for six years and have had quite a journey. From first discovering the show and immediately devouring the books. The honeymoon period where I could headcanon out all the problematic bits. The getting deep into the fandom nonsense. The getting out of the fandom nonsense. The judging the fandom nonsense because it’s funny and they’re all idiots. The getting sick of the fandom nonsense because it’s not even fun to judge the dummies anymore. The becoming more and more aware that it’s impossible to whistle past the problems in the books and the show. The sticking around, holding out hope things might turn around and the initial magic could be recaptured. And finally, the giving up.

The books are trash. The show is trash. There are a handful of good scenes in each which can be enjoyed on their own, but as a whole, holy shit this stuff is not good. (Seriously, I tried to do a Fiery Cross reread before the season started. I started like a year ago and am still only at Jocasta’s wedding because I just don’t care enough to actually get through it.)

Which brings us here. I am tired. I have already ranted and raged and yelled and swore and wrote far too many words about the gratuitous overuse of rape in the Outlanderverse. It fucking has its own tag for fuck’s sake.

So here’s a recap. And then I think I’m done looking at this show in detail. Not because the idiot fans insist on coming to my notes to tell me to fuck off if I don’t like the show. Not because the crew are condescending douchecanoes. Not because the author is a misogynist garbage heap. But because spending an hour of my time for a few weeks out of the year to write these things isn’t worth it. I did it for as long as I did because it took so little time. So why not? But yeah, it’s not even worth that tiny commitment anymore.

And to the people who I know will @ me about how no one was forcing me to stick around and I could have quit any time, yeah, no shit captain obvious, I know that. Fuck off already. I stuck around because I really liked the little corner of the fandom that I’d found. I made some awesome friends. Most of those friends have since quit the fandom. I’m really glad to have them in my life outside of this little corner of the internet. And it was a fun writing exercise. I don’t really like the show anymore, but I enjoyed building an argument about why I don’t like it and think it’s bad that has valid points behind it. Especially considering how blindly overly adoring a bunch of the fandom is about it. But now I think I’d rather consume Outlander content as pretty people in pretty period costumes in gifsets. Or like, on in the background but not really paying close attention. Why not quit altogether? Because to quote the great Ron Swanson (I’m halfway through a Parks rewatch and I just love that show a lot ok.), I can do what I want. And besides, there’s like a fucking library’s worth of fics that I haven’t read and have been meaning to. And I like the characters enough to want to keep reading about them in stories that are better than the canon. (Bless you fic writers, blesssss.)

So. Was this whole ramble self-indulgent and overly serious for a fucking TV show? Absofuckinglutely. But please see the aforementioned Swansonism.

Alright, fuckos. Let’s do this.

This is a Roberts brainchild, isn’t it. *checks credits* Yup. Knew it. This feels very much like a Roberts special. In that he is probs quite pleased with himself but like, it’s crap.

Yes, we ARE doing ANOTHER rape story! But look! It’s a disassociation montage! It’s the ‘60s, get it?! There are callbacks! An orange from the king in season 2! A vase from season 1! A rabbit from season 3! An amber-looking dragonfly! Jamie with the young hair spouting off book lines! ApPrEcIaTe MuH aRt! We are so good at finding new and creative ways to rape our characters! Fuck off, twatwaffle. You are the worst.

Like, does Roger feel left out at this point? He’s only been hanged. Literally everyone else has either been raped, been sexually assaulted, or been threatened with rape and/or sexual assault.

“But it’s not gratuitous! Look! They’re all so different! Jamie’s was overly graphic and he got a half a season to brood about! We manged to not show much of Fergus’ (but still showed a thrust) because he’s a child and it was just a plot device for Jamie and not actually about him! Mary’s was about Fred! Claire’s with the king was about Jamie! Jamie’s with Geneva was shot like p0rn! Marsali being threatened by the sailors was to motivate Fergus! Bree’s was about the other people in the room and Roger! Claire’s really has no purpose because she’s already been kidnapped and beaten, and that is super traumatic, and we’re gonna wrap it up with a bow by the end of the episode!”

This fucking show, guys. This fucking show.

Bonus points* for the Black character spouting off the superstitious stuff.

*By bonus points I mean this show, and the books are absolute shit on matters of race. The books especially.

The cast and crew have 100% heard everyone’s thoughts on the overuse of rape in the Outlanderverse. And their response has been to include more and more of it. We had a whole season of one character’s arc being about her rape and literally as soon as that was resolved, they gang rape another character. It really does tell you as much as you need to know about them. Lazy. Fucking. Cowards.

Kidnapping not enough trauma? Let’s add some gang rape! Gang rape not enough trauma? Let’s add visualizing that your daughter and grandchild are dead! Just like Fred died! This show really brings trauma p0rn to a whole new level.

Called the Bree and Roger shit.

This scene with the men rallying to go save Claire is like another layer of fuck you. Bree, you stay home, men, give your hero lines and let’s have a getting ready montage. Because your hero moment is what this is really all about. And your manpain about killing someone. *screams into a pillow*

The petty side of me is happy that it was Fergus and Young Ian who are with Claire when they find her and not Roger. Her two sons...

Why yes, I am judging all of the fans who like get their panties all wet over Jamie being like “It is I who kills for her.” Like “yeah go ahead and rape and beat Claire within an inch of her life if it means the big strong man gets to come in and save her and say something intense.” Fuck off and go take a hard look at yourself and what that says about you.

“Was there an Indian there?” “Nope, he wouldn’t help you because LiOnEl but somehow was able to peace out when it was in his interest. Because he is as bad as the ones who actually raped you.”

The Bree and Claire hug makes me both sad and angry. I want to hug them both and take them out of this fucking place and tell them that they’ve been done dirty and deserved fucking better from the writers.

Glad Marsali gets in on the hug. Claire’s two remaining daughters.

Claire’s “I have fucking survived” speech is like the one time she she actually talks about herself not in relation to a man. It’s about her. Claire. HOWEVER! It is epically fucked up that a woman needs to check off all the trauma she’s endured to show she’s a strong character.

So. Fucked. Up.

The fact that we’re spending time on Roger’s manpain about killing someone also really tells us a lot about the show’s feelings toward women. Yeah, killing someone is a big deal. It’s normal and expected to have feelings about it. But the juxtaposition of Claire’s speech about all of her traumas with Roger being like yeah, I killed a guy who had kidnapped, beaten and raped your mom is like, read the room, bro/writers.

The fact that the men put Claire’s rapist in her surgery, her space, her place of healing, where she is able to be most herself, makes me want to punch each and every one of them in the throat. Like seriously. Fuck each and every one of them.

Also Lionel is like cartoonishly terrible. Not that nuance has ever been this show’s strong suit. But like come the fuck on.

Marsali killing Lionel is the one thing about this episode that I didn’t hate. The men are all like “We kill for Claire! Let’s all rally in this montage and go do the manly thing of defending the woman!” Marsali is just like, yeah, that’s my Ma you fucked with. She shows some agency. She doesn’t do it in a performative way for the other men or for Claire like the guys do. She just knows this fuck needs to die, knows it’s gonna be hard for her and might damn her soul (don’t worry Marsali, all that religion crap is bullshit), and does it anyway.

Marsali’s arc has been my favorite of this whole fucking series. The one bright spot I was hanging on to all of this season especially.

Her quick scene with Jamie doesn’t bother me like Roger’s does. Because Roger is like oh no, I killed a guy! Can you forgive me? For killing a rapist? Like fuck off, bro. And Marsali is like yeah, I killed a guy. I hope I’m not damned for it, but the guy needed to die so I did it.

Also like, Richard had potential to not be cartoonishly bad. But like nope. “He reaped what he sowed, but cLeArLy I’m gonna need to escalate this further. Because manly men can’t let shit go.”

Fuck all men, tbh.

*googles how to emigrate to Themyscira*

Jamie’s speech that’s like supposed to parallel Claire’s can fuck all the way off. Giving him the last voice over just underscores how this was all about men. Not Claire. But the men. Fuuuuck everything.

Look! Everything’s fine again! Back to normal! Peaceful for a bit! With a cheesy af on the nose storm coming! So you know something bad’s coming! In case you forgot!

And Jamie got a book line. So it’s all good now.

And don’t worry about Claire, y’all. She feels safe now. Her and Jamie fucked it out.

It’s amazing, in retrospect, that I ever let this story suck me in so much.

Happy Mother’s Day! See you on the other side of the hiatus.

#*#outlander starz #outlander 5x12 #drunj!der yells about outlander #rape in outlander

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livingintheworldofstories · 4 years

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The Sound of Music

Genre: Angst with a happy ending Word Count: 5169 Summary: After Crowley and Aziraphale failed to stop Armageddon, the War broke out and the universe got destroyed. After the angels finally win the War, Crowley becomes a captive of Heaven. Who better to decide over his fate than his old adversary Aziraphale? Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence (a little) Ao3: The Sound of Music

After the last second of time had run out, after the last star had burned out, after Beelzebub had died and all the walls of Hell had crumbled, the angel Aziraphale sat in a room without books. The angels, thankfully, had had just enough imagination to think them up – after all, rooms weren’t overly complicated, entirely made out of rectangles, which are entirely made out of straight lines. Had there been a curve or a wiggly line involved, the angels might not have managed it.

Aziraphale had only a moment to register the knock and feel a surge of dread before the door sprang open. Gabriel stepped in, as usual radiating confidence, but slower and with his shoulders down. His mouth was drawn in a serious line. The War had changed him, too. In time, he would go back to being his usual cocky, insufferable self – he had after the Fall. But for a while, the images of blood and death would haunt him the same way they did everyone else. It filled Aziraphale with a deep, petty satisfaction. Then Gabriel stepped aside, revealing who was coming in behind him – and Aziraphale’s heart stopped.

“Crowley.”

The word fled out of his mouth out of its own volition. Aziraphale had no say in it.

Crowley was – alive. A captive of Heaven, despondent and worse for wear, but alive. It took Aziraphale a second to recognize the clothes. They were the same clothes Crowley had worn an eternity ago, when they had tried to stop Armageddon and failed. Now his jacket was torn at the seams, his shirt darkened with what might be dirt or blood. His hands were bound behind his back. Two angels marched in after him, maybe to keep him in line. And then Crowley looked up, straight into Aziraphale’s eyes and Aziraphale had known what he’d done was unimaginably cruel and above all unforgiveable but suddenly he was confronted with the reality of how much. Crowley looked at him with eyes that would never forgive and Aziraphale absolutely deserved it. What have they done to you, he wanted to ask. What happened to you?

Someone had extinguished the spark in Crowley’s eyes, someone had wiped the fond smile off his face and Aziraphale couldn’t bear the thought that it had been him, but it had been, it must have been. It could have been.

Crowley was broken and it was all Aziraphale’s fault, only his.

“Have you forgotten…” Crowley started darkly and for one terrifying moment Aziraphale knew that he had. He had forgotten. Drinking fine wine in the book shop, feeding ducks in St. James park, black and red scales, we’re on out own side and I love - “…that there are other colors besides white? Seriously. White everywhere. You guys need to hire a better interior designer. White’s not even a color.” “Quiet,” Gabriel snapped. Crowley closed his jaw and Aziraphale could see him grinding his teeth. “Now, Aziraphale. Since you have proven yourself loyal to Heaven in the war, we provide you with a gift. Your adversary! From earth. Remember? Since Heaven gained victory over hell, as well knew it would, because good always prevails, we are now dealing with the traitors. Like this maggot right here.” Gabriel kicked Crowley’s legs and his knees buckled out underneath him. He struggled to regain his balance but didn’t get up again.

“I shouldn’t say maggot, should I? What was it? Snake? Both writhe and crawl on the floor, so it doesn’t really matter.” Crowley didn’t even look at him, didn’t lift his gaze from Aziraphale even once. Crowley had looked at Aziraphale without sunglasses before but never with such an intensity. Aziraphale couldn’t really read it. Was it an accusatory glare? It seemed to scream I will never forgive you.

“Anyway,” Gabriel continued. “The demon Crowley, the beginning of sin. Now it’s time to end it. I’m sure you’ve been looking forward to this opportunity for a long time.” “A – a long time, yes,” Aziraphale quickly said.

“So, would you please punish the traitor, so that we can all get on with our day?”

“Certainly, yes, yes.”

There was a horrible pause, where Aziraphale’s mind reeled for something to say. Maybe Crowley could sense how uncomfortable he was, just like he always had, because he started to speak, as if to save Aziraphale.

“Ever heard of a color called Pansy Lavender?” A lazy grin spread across Crowley’s face. “I’m sure you’d love it. I did name quite a few paint colors back when earth was still a thing, did you know that?” Gabriel started scowling. “Pea Soup. Flesh. Candy Apple, classic.” Crowley winked.

“If you think you can talk your way out of this,” Gabriel said impatiently, “just remember that you’re in Heaven now. Everything is Heaven now. There is literally nowhere for you to run.”

“You know what I call a place full of demons?” Crowley snarled, his head whipping around to Gabriel. “Hell.”

“Those demons won’t be here for much longer.”

Gabriel’s mouth stretched into his Grin of Superiority. Aziraphale found himself frozen, desperately trying to think of a way to get them out of this. It hurt to see Crowley on his knees. It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. But Aziraphale needed to grit his teeth and pretend it was right.

*** Crowley looked back at Aziraphale. He could barely take his eyes off him. It had been so long since he last saw him, so long since… Aziraphale raised his sword at him. Since Aziraphale had made clear once and for all that when push comes to shove, he would never choose Crowley. And push had come to shove. Hard. And he hadn’t chosen Crowley. (And Crowley shouldn’t have expected him to. It was the insufferable hope that festered in his chest. It was quite unbecoming for a demon.)

“I’m just saying,” Crowley said and made his voice sound unaffected, casual and light and everything the feeling ins his chest was not. He had to keep talking, if only to spare Aziraphale from making excuses. If only to prolong what would be the inevitable culmination of a myriad of painful experiences. So, “I’m just saying,” Crowley just said, motioning to the white walls, “a little more love could have gone into -” In an instant, his mouth was burning, his tongue was on fire and Crowley opened his mouth as if to cough out a flame. It hurt to scream and Crowley screamed anyway. The flames went out but the pain didn’t go away, it stayed comfortably behind his teeth. His mouth felt raw and it would have been agonizing to move his tongue, if he had been able to produce a sound with its charred remains in the first place. Crowley only registered the blood when he felt it run down his chin. It must have been in his mouth, but he couldn’t feel it, he couldn’t feel anything but the pain. Out of instinct, he pulled, intending to wipe the blood from his lips, but his hand wouldn’t come up. Of course it wouldn’t it, was shackled behind his back.

“That’s enough of that,” Gabriel said, who, with mild effort, had performed the miracle to burn Crowley’s tongue. “You’re a demon. You don’t know anything of love.”

The pain was liquid in his mouth. It seemed to come from somewhere deeper than that, his throat was alight with the memories and pleas he had hurled at God long ago. The War that had taken stage on the universe. The dying demons on the battlefield. He had Fallen with them. He had felt pain with them before. Until then, he hadn’t been able to imagine anything worse than the Fall. Now he knew better. There was no such thing as the worst. It was the kind of thing that added up. And added up. Aziraphale clutched his hands in front of him, so uncertain, so out of his element. He didn’t belong in a world full of nothing. Heaps of nothing. Nothing upon nothing upon more of nothing. There had been other paint colors Crowley had named. One had reminded him of Aziraphale and he’d called it ‘Love Letter’. (He had always been a bit of a fool.)

Gabriel had taken away Crowley’s only weapon now, since the bindings on his wrist also prevented him from performing miracles, and all that was left to do was look at Aziraphale. Feast on it, just for a little bit, before it was all taken away. His angel-white hair. His permanently old-fashioned clothes. He didn’t look happy, though, not one bit, which was quite the tragedy.

Just smile. Just let me see you smile.

Crowley could feel the tears burning in the corners of his eyes. He tried to transport himself back to years and years ago into a bookshop that was long gone and had felt more like home than any of Crowley’s flats. He tried to picture Aziraphale’s face, his soft smile and the exact arch of his eyebrows when he found something funny. He tried to banish the picture of Aziraphale with his sword raised from his mind. “Well then,” Gabriel said, “get on with it.” Crowley looked at Aziraphale and tried to beg him. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t say anything too cruel. Don’t bring your sword down after years and years. “This is between me and him,” Aziraphale said. “I want to… handle this in private.” Gabriel gave a long-suffering sigh. “Alright. See that the matter is taken care of. Someone will come to check on you in… an undetermined amount of time.” As Gabriel left, Crowley faintly wondered if Aziraphale was going to be gentle about it. Grant me a bit of mercy, just a little bit.

He wanted to say something, but it wasn’t just his burned mouth stopping him. He wished desperately he could just swallow the pain down.

This couldn’t be easy on Aziraphale either. He wasn’t a friend, no, Aziraphale had always vehemently denied it and proved in the end that those weren’t just empty words. But they’d known each other for a long time. He was Aziraphale’s somewhat begrudgingly accepted acquaintance. And even if it could never be affection or, Satan forbid, love, Aziraphale’s kindness and all around goodness would make this hard for him.

Aziraphale, gasping for words, stepped closer and even now, Crowley didn’t flinch away. He clung to the same hope he’d hung onto for millennia.

Just have mercy on me.

Stripped of his sunglasses and of his tongue, Crowley felt a breeze of wind could blow him over. A word could knock him unconscious. A tentative touch could break his neck. And Aziraphale – Aziraphale looked at him. And then his hand came up (came up like it had back then, with that blasted sword in his hand -) and Crowley’s breath caught in his throat, caught between the ridges of a throat raw from pleading and bleeding and bleeding. As he anticipated the blow, Crowley was struck with the thought that Aziraphale’s eyes were the same color as they had been so many years ago, but now they were much older. Years had passed, but an eternity seemed to live and upend itself in his irises again and again.

Crowley was waiting for judgment to be passed once again. Hadn’t he suffered enough? (Maybe he had. Maybe this would put an end to it.) And what would Aziraphale’s verdict be? Not good enough for an angel, that was obvious. Not bad enough for a demon. Too supernatural for a human. You are a nowhere-being, why don’t you go back there?

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and then the pain was – gone. He could feel his tongue mend itself. (But the taste of pain lingered.) Aziraphale had given him back the ability to speak. Why? What did he want to hear?

He tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound downright pathetic.

“Angel,” he rasped out. It was as much a plea as an insult as a broken promise and Aziraphale’s face unraveled. Both of his eyes came loose and his jaw fell open. “Long time no see.”

Maybe Aziraphale was eager to fulfill the command he had been given, to have this done and over with, at Heaven’s beck and call like he always had been, but maybe Crowley could tempt him to wait. Crowley’s last temptation. He would pull out all the stops.

“Lovely little room you’ve got here. Why, I would love to stay, thanks for asking. Just like old times.” “Don’t,” Aziraphale said quietly. Well. If he was so adamant on Crowley’s last minutes being unpleasant, so be it.

And what could he even say? Aziraphale didn’t want to hear his begging or his apologies and certainly not his love confessions. All he could think of was the sword that hadn’t even been flaming at the time. Everything had gone to pieces within seconds and Crowley had lost track of Aziraphale in the crowd of angels descending from Heaven and demons rising from Hell. The knowledge of how Aziraphale really felt about him was like a rope around his neck, pulling tight. Preventing any word from escaping. A trapdoor beneath his feet and Aziraphale at the lever. (Why did it have to be Aziraphale? Out of all the angels in Heaven, why him? The upside: he could see him one last time. The downside: it would hurt so much more. So much.)

Crowley didn’t really regret having to die. Not really. He’d already lost the eternity he wanted. He had lost the most stubborn car that had ever existed, he had lost the rare but kind touches of Aziraphale, he had lost the stars, every single one of them. All that he had ever created and all he had ever dreamed of having was gone.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I’m so sorry.” Of course. Of bloody course he was sorry. He was going to do it, he had to, but he would be very fucking sorry while he did it. Small mercies for that. (Maybe he had been sorry back then, with the sword.)

And he could be angry if he wanted to, he could spit poison in Aziraphale’s face, he could accuse and shame and tear apart with words if he wanted to, but he didn’t. Not now. Not when he – they – only had so little time left. So instead, he said: “Don’t be.” It was so hard to summon the words. “I was the one who misjudged. Very badly misjudged.” God – Satan – Somebody, he’d thought it was real. He’d thought they really had something. Six thousand years of something. Aziraphale seemed frozen, in all his bloody sorriness and Crowley couldn’t even be mad. “You were a dream, Aziraphale,” Crowley admitted quietly. “I dreamed you up. An angel who could love a demon. Ha! They did always say I had too much… imagination.” He held Aziraphale’s gaze, even though he had long lost his sunglasses. “This is reality,” he tried to say it full of bitterness, but it came out soft.

“It’s horrible, is what it is. Horrible! What Gabriel just did -” Aziraphale seemed close to tears. “I would rip out Gabriel’s heart if I weren’t quite so sure he doesn’t have one.”

“That’s not very angelic of you to say.” Crowley raised an eyebrow. “I don’t care for the bloody ‘being an angel’ business very much at the moment.” Ah. The War had changed Aziraphale, too, then, at least a little. He wouldn’t have been caught discorporated saying something like that years ago.

“You should be careful to say that kind of thing,” Crowley reminded him halfheartedly. “You know what could happen.” “What, you mean I might Fall? Where to? There’s only heaven now.”

“Hng. S’pose you’re right.”

Aziraphale leaned forward, then. “Here, let me get that for you,” he said and miracled the restraints around Crowley’s wrists away. Astonished, Crowley moved his hands in front of himself, suddenly unsure what to do with them. Why had Aziraphale done that? With the restraints removed, he could perform miracles again, at least those he still had the energy for. He could flee, if he wanted to. Well. Aziraphale probably knew that he didn’t.

“Do get up, my dear, please,” Aziraphale said and touched Crowley’s elbow. My dear. Crowley didn’t know if he was still able to cope with being called that. Gingerly, he got to his feet.

“Please listen. I’m sorry about… the last time we saw each other. I should never – I mean, of course, I never really intended to – it was just such a mess and I didn’t know what to do -” “It’s alright, angel,” Crowley said, an almost automatic response to seeing Aziraphale in distress at this point. “It’s not like you ever made me any false promises. You were always pretty clear about how we stood to each other. It was just me who was too -” hopeful, too optimistic, too in love “- well, foolish to believe you.”

“No. No, you really weren’t. Stop saying these things. Stop talking like -” “Like we were just acquaintances? That it never really meant anything? Believe me, I’ve had enough time to realize you never really liked me all that much. Threatening me with your sword was hint enough for me.” There had, of course, been many hints before that, very many, but Crowley had not exactly been quick on the uptake in that respect.

“I was there,” Crowley continued, even though it hurt more than anything, “that was all. I was the only one who would stick around longer than a few decades. That’s why we were -” not friends, never friends “- acquaintances.” Aziraphale looked at him like Crowley had told him God was a vicious bastard. (A gaze Crowley was obviously familiar with.)

“Really, I’m under no delusions there.” Not anymore, at least. “So don’t feel bad about it.”

“I should never have denied you were my friend,” Aziraphale said, sounding suspiciously close to sniveling.

“It’s who we are, didn’t you always say that?” Crowley said. Then, like an old inside-joke: “You should have smote – smitten – smited? - me the second you saw me.” “Don’t say that.” “Would’ve spared you a lot of trouble, I’m sure,” Crowley said wryly.

Aziraphale gave him a long look and shook his head.

“It would have been horribly boring.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?” They shared a small, quiet smile. It was the kind of smile that could probably not bring governments or oppressive power structures down, but that could bring something like our side back into existence.

Suddenly, Crowely could feel the phantom touches of the last few years – the shoves, the scrapes, the pushing, the angels from earlier with their commanding fingers, forceful and rough and I hate you almost as much as I hate myself. He thought of angels with burning wings. He thought of drowning demons. He thought that falling is just like jumping without a goal in mind. And he wanted to reach out to Aziraphale as badly as he had ever wanted anything, with every cell of this body and with every scale of his snake form, with every bit of his true essence. He coveted with the whole of his being and a little beyond.

Then he saw the fond way Aziraphale looked at him, just the way he used to. Crowley’s hand moved on its own but stopped just short of Aziraphale’s face. Then he realized that he had almost nothing left to lose, only minutes. This was his last chance – so he touched Aziraphale’s jaw with trembeling fingers.

Aziraphale looked very scared.

“Shame there’s no beds in Heaven,” Aziraphale said, sounding the way he always did when he was trying to sound casual. “I could really use a lie-down.”

“You could always miracle one.” “It won’t be the same,” Aziraphale said and then miracled one anyway. Crowley had his moments of idiotic confidence and this was one of them, so he took Aziraphale’s hand and led him to the bed.

Just once, he thought, just this once. And committed his worst offence. Like a thief, he leaned forward quickly, desperately, and pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale gasped in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. This couldn’t have come as a surprise to him, for millenia Crowley had been painfully obvious. For millenia, he had been rejected at every turn. But this one time – this last time – Aziraphale decided to indulge him, to humour him, and kissed him back. Crowley had decided to take and Aziraphale seemed to have decided to give.

It was a last wish fulfilled.

It was everything Crowley had ever wanted, nothing like he had wanted it.

It was Crowley’s sweetest regret.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said after he pulled away and Crowley had no idea how to interpret it. He swallowed heavily.

“We can’t miracle our way out of this one,” he said softly. No matter how much he wanted to pretend they had forever on this bed, in this small room, reality looked different. “I don’t have enough energy to teleport. If you do anything, they’ll know. It’ll show up in the paper work. The thing with the shackles will arleady be hard to explain.”

“Then what do you expect me to do?” Aziraphale said, his voice out of control.

“They expect you to kill me, angel,” Crowley said as neutrally as possible.

“So?” “So… just make it quick.”

Crowley hoped Aziraphale knew how serious he was. There was no way out of this. (He wasn’t sure he wanted a way out of this.)

“No,” Aziraphale said. “No. No. Out of the question.”

Right. It would be hard to make a murderer out of someone like Aziraphale. So this would be his last temptation.

“Listen,” he started in his softest temptation voice. “We both know you never really wanted to get all mixed up with - with the likes of me. You’re not going to give up on being an outstanding angel with a gold star now, are you?” (It would be a little late for that.) “Gabriel and his little band of angels is standing outside that door just waiting for you to do it. They’ll come in and expect to find my remains.” He had tempted Aziraphale to kill before, back when they had still tried to stop the Antichrist. Surely he could do it again? “I would never -” Aziraphale said and was too overwhelmed to speak.

Of course Aziraphale would never, he was bloody Aziraphale. Why did he change his mind about the Antichrist? Right, because he was the Antichrist and about to destroy the whole world. So upping the ante it is.

“I’ve changed, you know,” Crowley said, drenching his voice in bitter sadness that was only partly faked. “The War changed all of us. I’ve… killed.” He tried very hard to sound the way he would if he had committed atrocities in the War. “I’ve ripped angels’ wings from their backs. I set traps of Hellfire for them. I would have done anything to survive.” “No. Stop – stop this immediately. You wanted to run. You told me you did.” “Yeah, but it was a little late for that, wasn’t it? I was caught in the crossfire.” Aziraphale didn’t believe a word he was saying. Crowley started to panic, which is never a good state to lie in.

“At first, I did it just to survive, but then… my demonic instinct kicked in. I started to like it. I wanted to burn every single one of them. For what they did to me. For ruining everything. I wanted to burn all of Heaven. And I did – I burned so many and I didn’t even care.” “You’ve lied better before,” Aziraphale said almost angrily. “Do you really think I would believe that?”

The fight drained out of Crowley, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet.

“It would be easier if you did.” “Stop being so bloody…” Aziraphale seemed to search for a word. “…kind.” “I’m about to die, there’s no need to insult me.” Crowley drew his lips into a wonky smirk. “It wouldn’t even matter, you know,” Aziraphale said, “if you were telling the truth. I would understand.”

Fuck. Fuck. Was there nothing he could say… It was Aziraphale’s life on the line here. If he didn’t comply with Heaven’s orders, they’d kill him too. And Crowley couldn’t let that happen. He just couldn’t.

“Really,” he drawled. “Sparing me an eternity of white robes and Sandalphone playing the harp off-key, that would be a kindness.” “You silly demon. There is nothing you can say that would make me even consider this.”

Crowley sighed, feeling deeply reliefed and anxious at the same time. He cupped Aziaphale’s face with both his hands and started drawing small circles on his cheeks with his thumbs. He wanted to keep this so badly. He wanted to see another sunrise, just one. But he knew Aziraphale had made his choice, years ago, he had made it. And it was the right choice. The only choice. And Crowley was just tired. So, so tired.

“Just put me to sleep, angel,” he said softly and moved his hands further into Aziraphale’s hair. “You know how much I like sleeping. It won’t be so different.”

Aziraphale let out a quiet sob and started to frantically shake his head.

“Just let me sleep,” Crowley said in a last-ditch effort to convince Aziraphale, though at this point he knew that nothing would.

“I can’t.”

Crowley felt like he was trapped in a room with no doors, like he was spinning around searching for one but there were only walls and walls and walls. “You’ve never chosen me before,” he said, like a statement.

“I should have. I would have. On that day-”

Crowley drew his hands back. “You raised your sword at me-” “I was panicking, I don’t know why I did that, but I know I never would have – if you’d just stayed, I -” It sounded unbelievable. He’d thought about that moment so many times over the years, to hear it was different now was – dizzying. He closed his eyes, as though that could somehow keep his head from spinning.

“Can’t we just – run away together?” Aziraphale asked and Crowley’s eyes snapped open.

“It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?” All of it was, all of it was so late. But Crowley would, of course he would. He would raise a new wold out of the ashes of the old one for Aziraphale if he could. “There’s nowhere to run to anymore.”

“I was looking for you, did you know that?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley was stunned into silence.

“...what?” “All over Earth, I was looking for you. I thought something must have happened to you. I couldn’t find you anywhere, not there, not in Heaven, not in Hell. Not on Alpha Centauri. Until the fighting stopped, I kept looking. Waiting.” A strange sort of joy that felt a little like pain rose up in Crowley’s chest.

“I was on Earth,” he said. “I didn’t try to save the world. But… I tried to save someone. Anyone. I’ve managed it before. Smuggled a few more people on Noah’s arch. But this time I couldn’t. It’s all gone.”

He’d dredged through fallen trees, through the blood, through the dead bodies. He’d kept his eyes open for a survivor. He’d found a little girl in an upside-down car, but he’d lost her. He’d lost everyone. “You didn’t run?”

Crowley was taken aback by the question. “Why would I run without you?”

The tears glistened in Aziraphale’s eyes. He looked like this was news to him. There was nothing new about this. It had been very clear for a very long time.

“You really don’t understand, do you?” Crowley said. “When they cast me out of Heaven, I thought I would never be home again.” “And now you’re back in Heaven?”

Crowley closed his eyes and wished he could be less honest about this. He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale even wanted to hear this, but now that he had started telling the truth he could hardly stop. “And now I’m back with you,” he said very softly.

“Then let’s go away,” Aziraphale said astonished. “There must be some corner of this hellish Heaven where we can have our peace.”

“What about the angels?” “Pardon my French, but… fuck the angels.” “Aziraphale,” delight gleamed in Crowley’s eyes, “that’s blasphemy.”

“Yes, well.” Aziraphale, who had sounded very confident before, faltered. “I don’t care.”

“Who are you and what did you do to Aziraphale?” “I’m just. Braver. Than I was before.” Crowley’s shaking fingers reached for Aziraphale’s head again. He licked his lips.

“About that kiss…” Aziraphale blushed. “What about it?” Crowley leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Was that… pity, or some sort of deathbed thing-” “It’s not your deathbed,” Aziraphale said firmly. “And… well, I thought… I thought it was…” Aziraphale’s voice got much smaller. “...well. A love… thing.” “A love thing,” Crowley repeated and laughed, a little incredulous of the whole thing. He wanted time, just a little more time, so he gathered the last of his energy and took it. He stopped everything around them, kept them safe in a bubble outside of time. He rushed forward with his head recklessly, almost knocking Aziraphale over. He kissed Aziraphale – and he became a confession against his skin. He pressed a row of small kisses against Aziraphale’s jaw and wach of them was an admission. I missed you. I need you. Look at me through a veil of tears. Let me kiss your eyelashes, let me drink your pain. He let his lips wander all over Aziraphale’s face. Let me kiss the ache from your heart.

Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s chest and pushed him down onto the bed. This space between Aziraphale’s navel and his collarbones was the only holy ground that wouldn’t burn him. The thrumming of Aziraphale’s heart underneath his fingers kept him steady. He settled down half on top of Aziraphale and dropped his head on his chest. He listened to it beating.

Let me rest here. Please let me rest. Let me fall asleep hearing you’re alive and as real as anyone. Let me drift from a nightmare into a dream. Aziraphale carded his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

(Just hold my hand. Just hold it.) It was nearly too much to bear. Ah. So this was Aziraphale killing him. And he was as gentle as anything. Crowley would stop time for longer, just a little longer. Then they could flee. It was okay. As long as Aziraphale was with him, it was all okay. His mind stopped churning. The memories fled elsewhere. Crowley reached out and entangled Aziraphale’s hand with his. He held it in his own with reverence, with the softest grip - and then he knew. This was how to hold a moonbeam in your hand.

#good omens fanfiction #good omens #good omens fic #good omens fanfic #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale

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