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physalian · 3 months

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Writing Tone in Fiction (Or, Pacing your Story, Part 2)

See this post all about pacing and as the two go hand-in-hand. If you read that, I may repeat myself a little here. Tone, and how abruptly you change it, how radically you change it, and how you break it whether on purpose or on accident says a lot about your experience as a writer, and how well you planned out your plot.

**Trigger warning for mentions of mature themes**

What is Tone?

“Tone” is the maturity of the work, signaling whether or not your characters have to censor themselves for young readers. It’s also restricted by the genre, whether this is a comedy and what kind – slapstick or gross-out humor – or a scary movie about ghosts, but not graphic body horror. It sets expectations about the amount and degree of romance readers can expect, if the scene will fade to black before anything happens or if you’re in for a raunchy sex scene, or somewhere in the middle. It also helps audiences gauge whether or not characters can die in this universe, and how graphically if they do beyond Disney’s tried and true “villain falling ambiguously from a tall height” deaths.

OSP recently did a piece on Tone Armor, a device similar to but less obvious than Plot Armor where the established tone means that, no matter how dire the circumstances, your hero won’t actually die, the world won’t actually end, and a happily ever after is on the horizon. Red also discussed what happens when you break your established tone with the shocking death or mistreatment of a character, but more on that later.

How to Decide Your Tone

Depending on your genre and intended audience, content for younger readers demand quite a bit of censorship (though can get away with many, many things worse than death). In the US at least, movies go through the MPAA rating system to determine what’s permitted by the rating given – how many swear words, whether you can show blood, topless women, graphic assault, graphic violence, if and how characters can be killed or how gummy and resistant to damage their bodies are.

If you’re writing for children, you both have less freedom to write violent carnage, and more freedom to get really creative within the limits of your tone box. I can expect the kid protagonists of my fantasy adventure to murder countless monsters that dissolve into gold dust, not bloody carcasses. I can expect the villain to perhaps die from a stab wound, but probably not get decapitated, disemboweled, or drawn and quartered, at least, not ‘on screen’.

If you’re writing for adults, adults do still expect a warning for how graphic anything can be, whether that’s sex scenes, fight scenes, murders, assaults, bloody battles, garish injuries, dead pets, dead children, etc.

Unless you’re already planning to break your tone, you need to know fairly early on whereabouts you want to set those expectations. If none of the characters even allude to sex and you write in a graphic assault, your audience is going to be pissed, and horrified. If none of your characters even allude to sex, and you hint that one was assaulted off-screen, you will still upset your audience if you don’t give them time to prepare for the possibility.

You can soften the violence and graphic content you’ve previously established and few might complain about it not being gritty enough, but going the other direction puts you in a very precarious position. Choosing more mature themes will inevitably alienate younger readers, those with triggers, and those that just want to have a lighthearted good time. The trade off? You’ll invite readers with a work that’s exactly what they’re looking for.

Establishing a Tone

I’m writing this post today because I finally sat down to watch Game of Thrones. One can’t avoid spoilers for a series as massive as that, so I was prepared for the graphic violence, all the gratuitous sex, the infamous Red Wedding, murdered kids, horribly bloody battles, and the like. GoT, the TV adaptation at least as I can’t speak to the books, establishes exactly what to expect in the very first scene: Three people happen upon the site of a graphic mass murder, limbs and body parts strewn everywhere, kids among them, who come back to life as ice zombies to kill them.

That episode continues with a beheading, incest, more incest, attempted child murder via defenestration, a brother selling his little sister into marriage, rampant nudity, and… I’m sure I missed something.

**Spoiler Alert for Season 4**

What I was not at all prepared for was the graphic death of Oberyn Martell (Pedro Pascal). It’s quick, it’s violent, it’s graphic and gruesome and incredibly well-acted… it was also far more horrifying than the Red Wedding, at least to me. Murder is murder but the way this character went out almost had me quit watching right then and there. Google at your leisure.

It wasn’t necessarily outside the realm of possibility, but most everyone else died via stabbing, arrows, beheading, burning, falling, eaten by wolves, crushed, etc. This was deeply unsettling, particularly because it’s live action, not a cartoon like Invincible.

It did its job, and it’s the only moment to feature in nightmares and make me lose my appetite, so… well done? In the following Previouslies (correct me on the actual word) they don’t even show it, cutting around the actual moment because it’s just that horrible.

This was four seasons into an eight season show and nothing like it had happened before. In a tone already as dark and explicit as TV can get, poor Oberyn pushed it over the edge entirely. It broke the established tone.

Amazon’s The Boys treads the same very thin line, only these people have superpowers for a whole new level of deeply disturbed body horror.

So, when you’re establishing a tone in the realm of “less graphic than Game of Thrones but still terrible,” you can go one of two ways: Horrify your audience straight out of the gate, or slowly creep up to it with allusions and hints until they’re fully prepared for it when it hits.

If your characters have free reign of every swear in the dictionary, start with the “f*cks” and “sh*ts” as quickly as you can as part of their vocabulary, whether you intend to use the words sparingly or after every other word in their dialogue.

If you’re writing a multi-series work that intends to ramp up the rating as it goes, you don’t have to cold open with a murder, but establishing that characters do at least die in this world is a start. Establish that assault happens in the background, that killing happens, or animal cruelty. Your readers with triggers will thank you for it and read something else.

Unless you intend to shatter the tone and shock your audience with it later.

Breaking Tone via Killing Characters

The most effective tonal breakage I can think of that wasn’t even graphic, just dark and incredibly well done: Disney’s animated Mulan. The movie had been your standard Disney musical complete with grand animation for its sing-along song. Soldiers singing, dancing, laughing as they march off to war, all for a girl worth fighting—

The singing stops. The score stops. Their smiles drop. Cut to the scene before them that has murdered this Disney musical in cold blood and it’s a decimated battlefield, the snow-covered and burned bodies of their far better trained and more competent fellow soldiers, and the love interest’s father.

Mulan only briefly reprises one track in the climax, but otherwise, this happy-go-lucky sing-along has rudely and horrifyingly become a war movie. It’s still Disney, so it doesn’t get violent or graphic, but they shattered the tone in glorious fashion.

Breaking tone happens all the time, for minor events and major character deaths. It doesn’t become an issue of “you just alienated your audience” unless the tonal breakage is the aforementioned sudden graphic assault or other sensitive triggers.

Major character deaths are a whole separate monster to tackle and I’d like to, but for today’s purposes I’m talking about killing major characters when the possibility of any of our heroes dying was never established.

For anyone who never read Lord of the Rings and didn’t know the curse of anyone played by Sean Bean, losing Gandalf to another ambiguous high fall was one thing, but Boromir straight up dies in battle. Sure the story is surrounded by death and darkness but you expect heroes in a world like this to have some pretty hefty plot armor – and Boromir had so much room left to grow. In the grand scheme of the story, though, Boromir’s death was as far from shock value fodder as possible.

Sirius Black is another heartbreaking loss, but not entirely outside the realm of possibility – killing off Ron or Hermione would have been. Any mentor figure is automatically doomed with rare exception, especially ones in fatherly roles.

Bianca di Angelo is a different matter. She’s not the first death mentioned in Percy Jackson but she’s a brand new character and despite all the dangers the heroes have already been through and the warnings from the prophecy, actually killing her off for good broke the tone. Suddenly this war was real and there were lasting consequences.

Game of Thrones’ “Red Wedding” didn’t just shock audiences because a bunch of people died, it was which people that died. Robb Stark, eldest son and heir to Sean Bean (so of course he’s dead) and one of the siblings of the “hero” family had been leading a war effort to rescue and then avenge his father. He gets betrayed and murdered, along with his mother and a fair chunk of his army, caught by surprise at a wedding, because he broke an oath and married for love instead.

I knew of the scene and knew that Catelyn Stark was there just from the one time I’d seen the clip years ago, and as it got closer I worried it was Robb’s wedding, but I still wasn’t prepared for the death of the hero of the show. Jon’s off in the north doing his own thing and so is Danaerys. This was the bright-eyed usurper, the avenger, the never-lost-a-battle upstart. No author would ever kill that hero.

They’d established that anyone can die, similar to the Walking Dead in some ways, but this was a whole new level of boldness, killing off Robb. At the time of this post, I haven’t seen past season 4, but I know more deaths are coming.

Deciding to murder your hero, in any other story, would not go over well with your audience. Killing any major character is a decision that should be made with a deep understanding of the consequences or else you end up like Walking Dead after they killed Carl for shock value and never recovered their audience viewership.

—

It’s not just dead protagonists, it can be worldly tragedies, the heroes actually losing a battle, or the war, a uniquely horrifying monster or cryptid or villainous act. Or it can be a character beginning to contemplate self-harm and possibly attempting to end their own lives. It can be the reveal of an abusive relative, or an incestuous relationship. It can be mental health problems, sudden and un-curable disease and disability.

It can be less-dire things too, but I’m not much for writing comedy.

Tone, like pacing, doesn’t have to remain consistent throughout the entire story. If it’s a lighthearted comedy, let it stay a lighthearted comedy if you want to. You can change tone progressively, with hints and near-misses, or drop a bomb on your audience with a big reveal. What you do and how you implement it is entirely dependant on the story you’re writing.

Most audiences expect a book that isn’t written for elementary schoolers to mature over time and most genres come with set understandings. But hey, I hear Animorphs can get incredibly dark with a bunch of mature themes.

In general, killing a character just for shock value is rarely worth it in the long run. In general, writing in triggering subjects without warning to an audience that wasn’t prepared for it also isn’t worth it in the long run — save it for a different book.

If fanfiction authors leave author’s notes everywhere warning about the subject matter ahead, published authors can do the same, in my opinion. Content warnings should be a thing and it doesn’t have to spoil the surprise. Include it as a forward to your book, letting potential readers know that such and such work they’re considering spending real money on contains mentions of, or explicit depictions of, any and all mature and sensitive themes. You never know who’s out there picking up your book expecting a good time. Do right by them and give a little heads up and you might gain a fan you wouldn’t have otherwise.

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools

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starpirateee · 25 days

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For drabbles, may i request an alternate universe where Curt fell instead of Owen in SAF?

Oh anon this one's MEAN, straight up. I'm more than happy to oblige, though!

tw for blood, injury and death (your canon typical act 1 part 1 nonsense 😔)

"Hands up, both of you!"

Owen subtly slipped his pistol into the inner pocket of his jacket as he and Curt backed off so far they ended up backing into each other, and raised his hands as a point of surrender. They had been on a rather impressive chase through the halls of the facility, to the point where there had been a second where Owen had thought they were going to get away.

But, typical to their luck, that wasn't the case. Someone was pissed about the plans that Curt was about to steal, and perhaps the fact that Owen had offloaded into a guy's kneecaps didn't exactly help their case…

Feeling Curt pressed against him brought a little bit of calm to the storm, he supposed. The two of them were in this together, after all, and it was a comfort to know that included going down together when something went wrong.

The Russian agents began to advance, forcing Curt and Owen that little bit closer to one another. Owen counted six on his end, all holding various firearms. They weren't messing around, one of them would likely shoot if they so much as moved in a way they didn't like. He felt Curt take a heavy breath against his back, his shoulder blades rising and falling like he was trying to pull himself together. He dared to try and shoot him a glance over his shoulder, and then the entire building shook beneath their feet.

"Curt?" Owen's eyes widened, watching the agents fall to the ground one by one. He and Curt had built such a sturdy support system by accident that they managed to remain the only ones upright.

Curt looked around frantically, eventually meeting Owen's gaze. "I lied! I set the timers for three minutes!"

Owen decided he would think about that at a later time, when there was less chance thay were going to be actively killed. "Oh god… Curt, you're gonna be the death of me, I swear to-"

"We don't have time! Kill me later, we gotta go!"

The pair of them started running again, Owen only a few steps ahead of Curt. he gripped the railing as tight as he could manage, pushing himself up and trying to work out their next move before it happened. They needed to stay ahead of the game, and it helped that he already knew the layout of this place a little.

Curt was trailing his path. His footsteps clattered against the metal staircase, keeping good pace-

Until they came to an abrupt stop.

"What're you doing, old boy?" He asked, slowing his pace a little.

No response.

Panicked, Owen glanced back, at the exact moment he heard a piercing scream rip through the air. When he turned around, he just about managed to catch Curt slip through the gap in the railing, caught on the tail end of…

Of the banana peel that he'd left on the ground not a quarter of an hour before.

Owen gasped, rushing forwards and reaching out for his hand. "Curt! Hold on!"

Their fingertips brushed together. Owen made an effort to lean forwards as much as he could, but he couldn't get there fast enough. Curt fell through his grasp, through the balcony…

Owen's body carried him away from the balcony until his back slammed against the wall. He breathed, his eyes wide, and then scrambled away from the scene. He didn't have the time.

He raced out of the facility, hearing the vague sound of pursuit behind him. There was one thing on his mind, and that was escape. Escape before the two of them succumbed to the same fate. Escape, so he still had the chance to go back and look for Curt after-

There was another violent rumble that shook the ground and forced Owen to sturdy himself against the nearest wall. God only knows he was powering himself on pure adrenaline alone, and he was well aware of the mere seconds he had left before the whole building caved in on itself.

This rush of adrenaline carried him out, and in the moment, he'd almost completely forgotten that he was running alone, that he was no longer clearing a path for another man.

As the blasts became more frequent, he turned, instinctively checking for Curt. But, there was nobody following him, neither Russian or American… What the hell did Curt think he was playing at? Where was he?

Oh.

Of course.

Curt had fallen from a sizeable height off the balcony, and he wasn't coming back. All logic dictated that he was already dead, though Owen's better instincts begged him to believe that wasn't the case. While there was nobody to blame for Curt's fall but Curt himself, it still hurt to think about how he was almost not the first one up the stairs, or that Owen had not bothered to protest when Curt refused to lock in the saftey barricades. He had set his timers for three minutes. He'd blatantly lied… Now look where he was.

Owen didn't have the time to curse him out, because just as he turned and went to carry on running, the building started to come down just beside him, and he was thrown back into the air. A sharp fracture of broken brick hit him square in the face, tearing the skin of his cheek, and he was unconscious before he hit the ground. He didn't know how long it was before he regained himself, but it was darker than he remembered when he finally opened his eyes again.

Immediately, he was hit with a wave of something that was in equal measures pain and nausea, and winced, bringing a hand up to his face. His forefinger brushed against his cheek and he winced, drawing back slightly. When he tried again, forcing himself through the pain, his fingertips came back bloody. Brilliant. One more thing to deal with… And he knew for a fine fact that he didn't bring the usual amount of supplies with him, because this was supposed to be an in-and-out job.

His gaze landed on the wreckage of the facility that he'd just escaped from. Part of him seemed to have some instinct to look for survivors, but he knew that, unless they'd escaped like him, there wasn't a chance they'd survive under that much debris. He hauled himself to his feet and started to run a survey to the best of his ability, while trying to ignore the pounding in his head and the way his face muscles were twitching in an attempt to alleviate the tension caused by the wound.

"No…"

A building in shambles, barely identifiable beyond the rubble. Owen could do nothing but stare at it, as he forced himself not to cave. His knees were shaking, his eyes stinging from the anger, the guilt and the grief that racked him all at once.

He was alone.

He was the only one to have made it out on time.

Upon the realisation of that fact, he screamed into the echoing mess of the old facility. His nerves won over, and he collapsed to his knees, gripping the sleeves of his jacket like his life depended on it. Nobody else survived. Nobody could see him right now, taking his pain out on a pile of broken bricks.

"NO! CURT!"

But still, there was no response to his cry. The world breathed in Owen's stead, for he was struggling to keep his in check. This wasn't like him at all. He was supposed to know how to keep himself together. He was supposed to stay composed; god forbid that's how everyone saw him anyway.

Owen Carvour, who never lost his cool under pressure. Owen Carvour, who had a comment for everything and a cool head to combat trouble. Owen Carvour, who didn't know how to break.

"Fuck-" A sob left him, desperate and torn. His eyes met the rubble, the facility that had blown from the ground up, the place where Curt was lying dead. "FUCK! Mega, you're such a FUCKING IDIOT!"

He felt the heat in his throat. He'd ran himself hoarse in complete futility, screaming at the air, over something that he still hadn't begun to process.

For god's sake, he had to pull himself together. Where could he go from here? How did he declare to the Americans that their mission was a total failure, not only because they lost the blueprints they were supposed to acquire, but because their best agent just died in the field? This wasn't his mission, thank god. He was here as backup, it wasn't even fully under MI6 jurisdiction. All that meant was that he was lucky it wasn't him in that rubble… He'd have to pray that the fall would've killed him, or he knew for a fact that his agency would.

Hadn't Curt's scientist associate said she wasn't far away? A few miles… What did that give him?

There was a port a few miles away…

Without trying to think about any other alternative there might be, he let himself start running. He ran down the street, knowing only the vague direction that the port was in. The only reason he'd known about it's existence at all was because he'd caught a glimpse of it as he came into town.

Eventually, the paved road gave way to something less level, and he paused, looking past the high walls and straight into the marina. That had taken… Longer than he'd expected, but he had never had the reason to fault his sense of direction before, and he'd been right in trusting at least that part of himself this time too.

Thing was, he only knew this woman by her surname. Apparently, he was driven enough that he didnt care, and he walked the length of the marina trying to call after her.

"… Agent Carvour?"

A voice drew him out of his search, and completely startled him in the process. He turned around, wide eyed, and laid eyes on a short, blonde woman standing a couple of feet away from him. But her voice sounded familiar enough that he was able to recognise her without ever having seen her face.

"Oh my-" He breathed, beyond the point of pretending that he wasn't afraid, or heartbroken in equal measure.

"You were asking after me?"

"Doctor Larvernor…"

Her brow furrowed. "What happened to you? You sound… Rough. And… where's Curt?"

"I sound what-" He blinked. Just saying those words out loud had made him realise exactly what she was talking about. "Shit. I didn't even realise…" But it was true. Through his hoarse voice and the absolute multitude of stress that had piled on his shoulders in the last minutes, he had barely noticed that he had slipped back into the accent he'd upheld until he was a teenager. He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. It's fine… I'm fine- I'm still bleeding…"

"At least stay for long enough to let me look at that for you?"

"Oh- uh, you don't have to, doctor…"

"Call me Barb, Agent… Everyone else does," She smiled a little, maybe offering a slight of comfort along the way.

"Barb…" He nodded. Then he met her gaze, and in return, offered, "call me Owen. Please."

"Come with me, Owen."

She led him to where she'd been staying for the duration of Curt's mission. He had to duck to get through the door, but it was considerably roomier on the inside. She motioned for him to make himself comfortable, and he took a rather awkward seat on the first chair that he saw. Immediately, she busied herself with getting some supplies, and he brushed his hair back from his face so that she could have as much access as possible to the gash on his cheek.

"What happened there?"

"Debris, I think. Somethin' hit me in the face. I am fine, you- you needn't worry…"

She waved a hand dismissively. "You get used to patching up agents when you do it as a side job… It's nothing."

"You- uh- you asked about Curt… That's why I came looking for you, actually."

Barb stopped mid way through picking up her supplies from the table where she'd laid them, and frowned briefly. Her silence was a good indicator for him to continue, and he chose to do so as an ample distraction for the gravel he could feel delved into his skin.

"First of all, the blueprints are gone. They were- god" He winced involuntarily, and Barb's hand drew back.

"Sorry, sorry…"

He screwed his eyes shut. If he had a reaction after that, it wouldn't be so severe. "They were destroyed when the facility went up…"

Barb frowned. She knew that it had been a risky move to let Curt off with blowing up the facility, that man was too reckless for his own good sometimes…

"… Along with him."

The world went silent. Barb felt her chest ache, and realised she'd been holding her breath. "What?" She prayed he didn't mean what she thought he meant.

Owen hadn't come to terms with it yet, and at the rate things were going, he wasn't sure if he ever would. But, he had to admit it one way or another. It wouldn't be awfully fair if he was the only one who knew of Curt's fate, and then he went off the grid too… He heaved a sigh, trying not to let his reactions break the mask that hid his true feelings. He couldn't handle the weight of the world if they knew about them.

"Curt, he's… He's dead, Barb. He fell. I didn't- I couldn't- save him in time."

#spies are forever #saf #owen carvour #agent curt mega #tw blood #tw injury #tw death #void offering #star mail #nova's tags →#yep... i knew this one was coming...#eventually someone was gonna ask for some angsty spies shit #hey. who am i if not someone who provides serviceable angst to the people #catch owen screaming himself hoarse then losing the will to keep up his accent #oh yeah. hi btw i am one of those people who headcanons hard that owen grew up in working class london

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jungk0oksthighs · 2 years

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Ride Or Die | The Past

mafia!jungkook, druglord!jungkook, angst, unhealthy co-dependant relationship, smut

Word Count - 3.5k

Jungkook has a rough day trying to piece together the puzzle of your near-death experience. Warnings: swearing, drinking, drug use, relapse, violence, threats, guns. toxic relationship. mentions of alcoholism & past ab0rti0n. Important note: I do not condone nor enable this kind of behaviour or relationship. This is fiction

MINISERIES COLLECTION

“Good to see you’re finally in a good mood.” Jimin chuckles, mindlessly running silver decorated fingers through his thick blonde hair.

Jungkook smirks, memories of the last few days replaying in his mind. He is in a good mood. You’re back home, living under his roof. Sucking his cock, bending over every surface and letting him fuck you senseless. Waking up next to him every morning, whining when he has to leave. Which is exactly what happened this afternoon when Jimin called him into head quarters stating he had some information about Mono. You tried to get him to stay, using everything in your power to get him from leaving the apartment. Twice. And he almost caved, right before he remembered that one of those assholes tried to kill you last week.

Mono need to pay for that.

“Y/N’s back, obviously I’m in a good mood.” Jungkook sighs with a knowing grin, sitting across from his right hand man and best friend.

Headquarters looks as anybody would imagine it to look. Secret bookshelves containing guns and other weaponry hidden in the depths of a vintage gentleman’s study. A huge manor house far back in a gated community, not that the gates do much for their privacy. Everybody in the area knows who they are of course.

And what they do.

Kook's gang BTS have been active for around ten years now, he hasn’t always been their leader though. That was a decision made four years ago, when it was discovered that their old leader Namjoon had been selling vital information to their biggest rival gang in all of Seoul. Mono. Turned out Namjoon had a number of shady businesses on the side, but he deleted any trace of information that could give the other insight to what they were.

It wasn’t long before Namjoon fled and rumour has it he’s actually the leader of Mono now, though Jungkook doesn’t know how true that is. Namjoon is an expert at hiding, in fact nobody has seen him since he left BTS and Kook was forced to take the reins. Given that he has the most experience in certain gory domains.

Directly below Jungkook is Jimin, arguably the best drug dealer and underground fighter in the whole country. Should anything happen to the current leader he would trust Jimin to take over, since he’s the most loyal member. Even his violent outbursts come in handy sometimes, their enemies never dare to pick a fight if he’s around.

After Jimin there are other members who fall in line, all equipped with their own unique set of skills. Hoseok, or as Jungkook likes to call him – the perfect disposal man. Not one of his victims have been found by law enforcement to date. Nobody knows how he does it, or what he does with the bodies, but they disappear into thin air with a cliché runaway note so nobody bats an eyelid.

Taehyung, Jungkook’s eyes and ears. Taehyung is in charge of all surveillance and security systems. He studied IT abroad and boy has that proven useful to the gang, there’s not a security system or video feed the man can’t hack into.

Yoongi is the man who lays low throughout their illegal activities, watching, observing. And yet he’s the man responsible for kidnapping and questioning their enemies when necessary. His torture methods have proved very… effective to say the least.

And finally on the team of men Jungkook would describe as slightly below him there’s Seokjin, a man so handsome that he’s ideal for undercover investigations. Nobody ever suspects him, not even you did the night you and Jungkook first met.

“Mmm.” Jimin deadpans, plump lips pursed in a thin line disapprovingly, “How did you find her after all this time? What did you do?”

“If I tell you I’d have to kill you.” Kook smirks, spreading his thighs wide when he gets comfy on the black leather arm chair, knees knocking into the dark wooden desk, “So what do you know?”

Thankfully Jimin seems to know his place and drops the subject completely, engaging in small talk about things Jungkook was already aware of.

Truthfully Jungkook knew exactly where you were every second you were away from him, thanks to your sentimental ass never throwing away the Rolex he gifted you for your first anniversary. It contains a small tracking device, sending coordinates to Jungkook’s phone every time you move from area to area. Some people would call that scary and controlling behaviour, but he likes to think of it as the only thing that saved your life last week.

“—And Namjoon was spotted near the hotel Y/N was staying at, looks like he did the clean up after your little display of affection, or whatever that was.” Jimin’s voice is quiet when he grabs surveillance screenshots that Taehyung printed off from his desk drawer, sliding them over to his boss.

“You mean saving my girl’s life? Hmm.” Jungkook frowns, inked fingers separating the pages to get a closer look. That’s definitely Namjoon alright, standing outside the same hotel room you were almost killed in.

How does Joon even know who you are? You’d met Jungkook a whole year after his sudden departure from BTS. Has Namjoon secretly being keeping tabs on his old gang? Why? Jungkook’s blood boils. Was Namjoon responsible for the guy who came after you? His thick brows remain pinched together with equal parts rage and confusion.

“I don’t need to tell you that’s the first anyone’s seen of him since he left us. Either he got sloppy or—”

“Or he wants us to know that he’s watching us.” Jungkook interrupts Jimin, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Why would he wait four months before going after Y/N? How does he even know who she is to me?”

At this Jimin pauses, sinking back into his seat with a small head shake, “No idea. Was hoping you’d be able to shed some light onto the situation. Has Y/N ever met him? Maybe before you guys got together? Did they ever… I mean was she his—”

“Don't be fucking ridiculous.” Jungkook scoffs, cockily rolling his eyes, “I was her first boyfriend.”

“Yeah but her background is a little shady—”

“Don’t.” Your boyfriend bites between clenched teeth as a warning. He’s fully aware of who you were before he saved you from that life. What you did for a living, how you paid the bills. He doesn’t need his friend to remind him of that time, a time when you’d flaunt your body and dance round tall metal poles for money.

Jimin swallows uncomfortably before readjusting his posture a fraction, “I’m just saying… Maybe he was one of her clients before. It is possible.”

Jungkook can’t help but scoff humourlessly, bored looking when he unhooks the black handgun from his belt. He slams his favourite murder weapon down to the desk in a huff, being sure to lock his dark eyes with the other man when he speaks.

“I did every check on her under the sun when we met, she doesn’t know him.”

“He seems to know her,” Jimin shrugs, curious gaze flickering between his boss and the gun sitting atop his paperwork, “Or at the very least he knew the guy who tried to kill her.”

That’s true. Begrudgingly Jungkook nods after rolling his eyes into the back of his skull. Namjoon is involved in this somehow, which makes him one thing and one thing only to him and his gang.

A dead man.

Just when you thought Jungkook was capable of change, he has to prove you wrong and dip back into his old ways. It’s almost 5AM when he comes home the next morning. Nose blocked, knuckles bloody and bruised. You can smell the whiskey staining his clothes before you even open your eyes, his weight on the bed stirring your slumber.

“Kook…?” You mumble, rolling over to face him.

“Mmm.” He’s staring at the ceiling, lost in a dangerous train of thought. There’s no physical evidence of drug use but you’ve known him long enough to know that he’s under the influence right now, doe-eyes round and wide fixated on the light above him. When he breathes he sounds congested, another tell-tale sign.

You sigh in frustration, which seems to get his attention because he snaps his head to face you. Like a deer caught in Class A headlights.

“How much did you do this time?” Your voice is laced with venom, you yourself feel wide awake now too. The honeymoon phase lasted all of what… One week this time? That’s got to be a new record, even for him.

His tongue cockily glides over his teeth before he speaks, “Dunno what you’re talking about.” He shrugs, slipping out of his dress shirt and jeans next to you.

“Your nose is blocked.”

“I have a cold.”

“You didn’t have a cold this afternoon. Or should I say yesterday afternoon since it’s almost five.” You argue with him, sitting up in bed before covering your naked body with the thin burgundy sheets.

At this Jungkook smirks, gaze hungrily exploring the shape of your curves hidden beneath the fabric. “Must be hay fever then.”

“Jungkook.” You exhale, infuriated that he has the audacity to lay here and lie to you when what he’s done is as clear as the daylight outside. “You said you stopped—”

“Does the name Kim Namjoon ring a bell to you?” He deflects, because of course he does. Propping himself up with one tattooed elbow in a huff. He looks visibly angry, which only puts you on edge giving he has quite the temper at the best of times, never mind after a heavy night of doing god knows what.

You’re shaking your head, one hand covering your chest the other soothingly massaging your tense neck. “No. Should it?”

“Sure he wasn’t one of your… yknow, back in the day.”

Your eyes widen, brows hiked so far up your forehead in surprise that you’re sure you must look hilarious right now. “Excuse me?”

“You do know what I mean, right?” Jungkook scoffs, sitting up on the bed beside you. He’s wearing grey boxer shorts and a look of disgust when he edges closer, knees grazing yours when he crosses his legs. “I’m talking about when you were a stripper.”

At this you tongue your cheek, exhaling slowly to calm yourself down. “No. The name Kim Namjoon doesn’t ring a bell to me. If he did come to the club he must’ve used a different name.”

Your boyfriend sits directly in front of you, hooded eyes boring into your soul as if to see if you’re telling the truth. Of course you’re telling the truth, you’ve no reason to lie to him, you have no clue who Kim Namjoon is or why he’s relevant right now. Jungkook’s hair is messy, damp and shiny. Your eyes drop to his nose where you can make out the faintest sprinkling of white dust decorating his septum. His knuckles are heavily bruised and sore, his breathing thick and somewhat erratic considering he’s sitting still.

Frankly you’ve heard enough of what he has to say.

“Get some sleep, I’ll speak to you later.” You spit, heart plummeting into the depths of your stomach. He hasn’t changed. He’ll never fucking change. That’s what leads you to throw the covers off your frame and head for the closet, you’d rather nap on the sofa than be in the same room as him right now.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” He laughs when he stands, making his way over to where you’re stood throwing one of his t shirts over your bare body.

“We’re not doing this right now. Go to sleep.” You try to push past him to get to the door but he’s stronger than you, keeping you in place with big hands on your shoulders and a wicked grin.

“So I do a little bit of coke and you’re gonna run off again is that it?” His thick brows are raised expectantly, grip on you tightening when you don’t respond straight away.

You shake your head in disbelief, features nothing but serious and angry, “I thought you had a cold?”

“You’re many things but you’re not stupid Y/N.”

“Why try to lie in the first place then?”

"Didn't want to argue with you."

You scoff, folding your arms over your chest, "How's that working out for you?"

At this Jungkook pauses for a beat, the Adam’s apple in his throat bobbing when he clears his palette to speak. All while staring you down with eyes you’ve seen one to many times before. Pupils blown wide out, barely blinking, the recognisable glimmer of panic. “Look I’m sorry, I’ve had a rough day and I caved, okay? I won’t do it again.”

“Let me go.” You whisper, just wanting to be away from him.

“Come on let’s cuddle in bed, yeah? You know I’m the best cuddler. I’ll even take you out tomorrow to make up for not coming—”

“I said let me go,” You inhale, using all your strength to shove him back until falls to the ground with a thud, “You don’t get to come back at 5AM coked up and ask for cuddles! Are you fucking serious?!” You’re raging, blood boiling, adrenaline coursing your veins, “I’m going to sleep on the sofa. We’ll talk about this when you wake up.”

Jungkook’s sat on the wooden floor of your shared bedroom, large body bouncing with silent laughter before he peels the gun from his discarded jeans on the ground. The expression he wears is terrifying when he messily aims it at you, drunkenly swaying the arm he tries to keep in place. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Put the gun down.” Your voice is soft and calm, familiar and kind. But on the inside you’re screaming for help, heart racing in your chest, the sound of it crystal clear in your ears. “Baby… Put the gun down please.” You have no idea if it’s loaded, but knowing Jungkook and what he does for a living you’re not willing to take any chances.

“Baby…” He repeats quietly with a small genuine smile, but the murder weapon still points at you in his grip. “Not until you tell me how you know Kim Namjoon.”

Your mouth opens to speak but no words come out, especially when in one swift movement your boyfriend stands in front of you and presses the barrel of his gun to your chin, pushing your face back. You thought you’d seen him at his worst, at his most violent, but the times before this don’t even come close to how afraid you are right now. His teeth grind together, jaw swinging and tensing but he doesn’t look away from you. Not even once.

“Kook… I’m serious I don’t know who—”

“Well he knows you. He was seen at your hotel the night I brought you home. How does he know you?! Hm?! Answer me!!!”

You can’t focus on his words, all that’s registering in your brain is the gun pressed to your face. You’re panicking, breathing shakily and unsure of what to do next. You’re unsure of what he’s going to do next. You’re petrified.

And it’s obvious when your voice comes out even smaller than you feel, “I swear... I don’t know who that is.”

“Maybe a picture will help refresh your memory, hm?!”

With that he finally drops the gun to the floor to reach for his phone, and you kick the murder weapon under the bed on instinct alone. It’s a moment later when Jungkook is shoving his phone screen in your face, displaying a picture of a man standing outside the same room you were almost killed in last week. It looks like security camera footage, and you’d recognise those dimples anywhere.

“That’s…” Your eyes narrow when you get a closer look. No, it can’t be.

Jungkook’s frowning now, watching you carefully as though you’re one of the people he has to interrogate for information on a daily basis. His voice is dry and threatening when it drags from his throat, “Do you know him?”

“I… Yeah.” You swallow, just when you thought your life couldn’t get any more complicated. You do know the man in the picture, except when you knew him he didn’t go by Kim Namjoon – you only ever knew him as RM. He was your old boss back when you were dancing, the guy who saved your life more times than you can count. The only person in the world who knows your deepest, darkest secret.

“He’s my old boss, he owned the club I worked at… He went by RM.”

At this Kook nods, slowly taking in the new information, “Is there any reason he’d want you dead? Or a reason he'd want to see you?”

“No.” You’re quick to shake your head, but nausea and guilt erodes the lining of your stomach faster than the speed of a bullet.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah... I'm-, I'm gonna go sleep on the sofa." You brush past him in a hurry, and thankfully this time he doesn't stop you.

You can think of one reason why he’d want to see you, maybe even kill you, which just so happens to be the one thing Jungkook doesn’t know about your past – nor do you ever want him to find out.

The year before you met your boyfriend you fell pregnant while working as a dancer, due to a contraceptive failure. You went to the clinic and did what you knew was best, you weren’t ready to be a mother in any sense of the word and so you made the painfully hard decision to terminate the pregnancy.

Your boss RM didn’t take too kindly to the news for a number of reasons. You took time off work, you fell of the radar for a while; and when you eventually came back on the scene you were drinking yourself into oblivion almost every night to deal with the pain. But there was one thing that hurt him more than any of that, one thing that only he knew.

He was the father.

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hannie-dul-set · 4 months

Text

— arranged by: member (eldest to youngest) | date (latest to oldest) | type (full-length to drabbles to blurbs). i don’t recommend reading my older works because they’re terrible. still putting them on here for the sake of bookkeeping | last updated: 23.12.18.

HOME FOR THE BITCHLESS. wherein your friend offers a room for you to crash in while your dorm is being renovated, but fails to mention that your new housemates don’t know how to talk to women (oh, and they also have an ongoing bet about you, too).

PAIRINGS. choi soobin, choi beomgyu, lee heeseung, park jongseong, sim jaeyun, park sunghoon x female! reader. GENRE. housemates! au, rom-com, sitcom, reverse harem time baby. GENERAL WARNINGS. too much swearing, references to/jokes about sex but i will not write smut, an awful amount of secondhand embarrassment, all of the boys are pathetic (check each chapter for specific warnings). WORD COUNT. (currently) 22k.

[monsters don’t hide under the bed]

LOVE VOMIT. [n.] — the term when you become too full with your feelings too quickly and too frequently that you end up spitting everything out before even getting the chance to digest. this happens to you more often than you’d like to admit— every quarter, actually, ever since starting college. but what can you do when the prospect of falling in love is just too good to say no to? what can you do when maybe the next desert might actually stay inside your system this time?

or, wherein you fall in love with a different guy every season but fail to notice the one that’s been looking at you the whole year.

PAIRING. choi soobin x reader (ft. the rest of txt x reader). GENRE. college! au, orgmate! soobin, strangers to friends to lovers, slice of life, romance, humor, mild angst, comfort (no hurt), SLOWBURN, featuring some members of seventeen, enhypen, and le sserafim. WARNINGS. reader is shorter than soobin, swearing, drinking, kissing, unrequited feelings, annoying org jargon. WORD COUNT. 36k.

THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER DRINK BEYOND YOUR LIMITS (OR MAYBE YOU SHOULD?) soobin blacked out one evening and forgot something he shouldn’t have.

PAIRING. choi soobin x reader. GENRE. fluff, humor, lovestruck! soobin, based on the manhwa “daybreaking romance.” WARNINGS. drinking, swearing. WORD COUNT. 1.2k.

모기 / MOGI. in which all of your life, you and beomgyu have been stuck together like glue whether you liked it or not. and as much as you want to change that, life seems to have different plans.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x reader. GENRE. childhood friends to not quite friends (derogatory) to not quite friends (endearment), romance, humor, very light-barely there angst, pining idiots, college! au with flashes to high school, featuring an ensemble of 01z idols. WARNINGS. swearing, many many (fake) death threats, so much secondhand embarrassment, mentions of sex, mentions of blood and gore, the worldly problems of a teenager, mc has anger issues, gossip. WORD COUNT. 14k.

THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF. you don’t buy it when beomgyu keeps trying to make a move on you.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x reader. GENRE. fluff, humor. WARNINGS. swearing, beomgyu is embarrassing. WORD COUNT. 1.6k.

BFF PRO MAX. best friends doing not so best friend things.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x reader. GENRE. fluff, suggestive. WARNINGS. making out. WORD COUNT. 582.

[rockstar! au]

TOMORROW X TOGETHER MASTERLIST. © hannie-dul-set.

#masterlist

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tetsustation · 2 years

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( SHUTTLE BUS )

pairing :: ranpo edogawa x f!reader

synopsis :: campus is big, but your loathing for your classmate is bigger. and yet, you still find it in your heart to help him navigate the shuttle system—why is that?

word count :: 1.6k

genre :: university!au, frenemies to lovers, comp sci major!ranpo (bc i said so)

warnings :: swearing

notes :: one year later and i finally finished this

STRAY SCHOLARS COLLAB MASTERLIST

cars are something you have a very distinguished love hate relationship with.

freedom is privilege, one that your car has granted you repeatedly for the last few years—however, your car has also strained your wallet for as long as you can remember. today, you decide that you love your car, or perhaps you loved your car.

they say that you don’t feel the love you have until it’s gone—the sentiment holds true as you walk to the shuttle stop, officially mourning the death of your first car.

it’s terribly muggy, as the moisture in the sky drags down the brisk air you struggle to swallow. typically, on days like this, your car would have an unpleasant mildew smell that resonates in the seats due to a stubborn hole in the roof. you never got it fixed, now you never will.

walking in the rain is more unfortunate for your shoes than it is for you, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily enjoy it, per say—and the squelch in your shoes with each step are a clear testament to that. the primary objective in mind is to get in and out of your lecture, then you can wallow in your dorm for the rest of the evening, killing time doing god knows what.

intro to coding. it’s a standard class, one set and fixed by your major—and despite being so affiliated on computers and the inner workings of them, you never really liked coding all that much. maybe because the pieces were too sturdy for your brain to mold, not enough space for interoperation—only fact and predictable patterns.

internally, you’re groaning.

and the feeling of such dread doesn’t stop as you enter the hall, nor does it stop as you take your seat (two rows and three seats to the right from the center) and pull out your pens. the semester just started, and as of right now you’re still going over the basics—tips and tricks your professor wanted you to remember. despite his monotone voice, you make thrilling and complex notes—structured to a tee to ensure a steady enough foundation to stand on.

then, the line that you’re tracing runs away.

typically, you pay little to no mind to the people sitting next to, or around you, in your classes. not when the pace of such is so accelerated you can barely keep up with the single speaker (somewhat) in front of you. yet, when a foot knocks your own notebook forward, subsequently ruining your trains of thought and your notes, your attention can’t help but split down the middle—maybe more so in quarters.

there’s a sharp inhale, and the owner of the foot jumps upright in his seat, causing a mild cluttering sound only the surrounding students seem to mind. the professor is, otherwise, unfazed at the fact that a delinquent of some sort had not only fallen asleep during his lecture, but did so with his foot on the table, and proceeded to interrupt the others.

the utter audacity, and you can’t decide whether you’re mad at him for creating such a scene, or the professor for allowing it in the first place. still, the lecture goes on, and you have your first assignment coming up at a steady pace. turning back to your paper, you continue the notes and try to ignore the subtle line through the center of the page—in which no eraser can fix.

in the blink of an eye, an hour goes by—then two—and before you know it you’re shuffling to pack up at the same rate as your peers, as to not draw any attention to yourself. luckily for you, however, the boy with the wandering foot seems to have no trouble standing up with an exaggerated yawn, and walking out with his hands in his pockets—no bag, books, or stationary to prove his identity as a student.

you seethe.

nonetheless, you have a place to be—a stop with peeling posters and a clear ceiling that just barely stops the rain from trickling in. lifting up the watch that works maybe seventy percent of the time, you note how close the the small hand is to the four, the time in which the shuttle departs from the select spot for an hour (more or less).

huffing dramatically, you sling your bag over your shoulder—not quite satisfied with the way your jacket sits on your back or how your sleeves bunch at the bottom—but you don’t really have the time to fret over it any longer.

it’s a speed walk of sorts, you’re mode of travel out of the technology building and down the steep slope, accented with hydrangeas and spring bushes. on days like this, where the sun breaks through the clouds, and meekly lines the concrete, you’d stop to smell the flowers—today is not a normal day however—it is most likely the worst alternative.

you think you might be overdramatizing it, however you find the statement to be proven when there’s a tug on the tail of your jacket (uncomfortably shifting it under the weight of your backpack). the speed at which you whip around may be considered a safety hazard, but the nuisance at fault barely seems to care, and stays in place as you face him with smoke coming out of your ears.

“you took the shuttle today, didn’t you?”

unfortunately for you, the snoozing seat mate that ruined your lecture notes seemed to find you somehow—though he left first. you figure he could’ve waited, but for what reason? you can’t recall ever speaking to him before this moment. it’s a shame your meeting has to be underlined with such comical rage, but he couldn’t have chosen a worse day to strike up conversation with you.

“what’s it to you?” you snap, not caring for the hostility in your voice, but eager to get away. turning on a heel, you continue down the steps of the building, “as a matter of fact i did, the same shuttle i have to catch now.”

looking over your shoulder, you try not to glare, “excuse me.”

almost at foot of the staircase, you stop momentarily at his huff, “but you’re not excused.”

it’s almost baffling how sure of himself he sounds, it reeks of arrogance, but you can’t help but wonder if there’s a legitimate reason for him acting in such a manner. the rage falters slightly, and is replaced with confusion—as the adrenaline that fueled your race to the shuttle stop slows under your skin.

saying nothing, you show your palms to the open walkway in front of you, wondering if it’s worth it to look back and entertain him. he speaks before you can take anymore time to consider it, “i need to know how to get there.”

it takes all of your willpower to not laugh. the boy seems to be asking for a favor, but not a single ounce of consideration or sincerity can be heard in his voice. he seems entitled to the knowledge, as if you should’ve been prepared to accompany him to the shuttle stop—which you may never be, even if you’d’ve been briefed—because it seems utterly ridiculous.

the gall he has is amusing, you must admit, so you turn only to motion behind you again, “it’s at the bottom of the hill—not rocket science.”

“if it was rocket science, i wouldn’t need your help.” he quips back instantaneously.

what was that you had mentioned about arrogance?

still, despite the comment he followed as if he were trying to chase your shadow—a puppy with its tail between its legs—all the way to the shuttle stop. you wondered if he missed the two directories you passed on the way down the hill (three if you could the one facing eastward beyond the path you were stumbling down).

upon stopping and turning on your heels to face the street, you hoped he’d silently stand beside you, or perhaps disappear altogether like a figment of your imagination. however, he did neither. instead he seesawed back and forth on the edge of the sidewalk, tempting fate, or perhaps the shuttle that was expected to arrive in another minute or so.

just watching him made you anxious, frankly. one tip too far and his nose would hit the concrete in a way that you couldn’t fathom due to your lack of knowledge in the medical field.

“does it always take this long?” he said, as you pondered the flexibility of cartilage.

“it’s been all of thirty seconds—give it another minute.”

he whined, and you wondered if college students were allowed to make that noise as it seemed so inherently wrong coming from his lips—still he wore it with pride and continued to waddle on the curb’s edge. it was then you caught a glimpse of his student identification, barely staying inside his back pocket. you couldn’t make out the words exactly, just his first name—’edogawa’.

in the spirit of this push and pull dynamic you had, you poked fun, “what business do you have asking me for directions to the shuttle, edogawa?”

and if he were a puppy, you assumed his ears would perk up.

he didn’t question where you got his name from, he just smirked as if it’d be inevitable that you’d find out. through a smirk he clarified, “public transportation is the one thing i can’t crack.”

before you could protest, saying there were directions all over campus to aid him otherwise, the shuttle pulled up. he stepped back swiftly but fearlessly—almost anticipating it despite his reckless restlessness. surprisingly, he let you board first, stepping aside and eyeing the entrance before turning his gaze back to you.

silently, you took your normal place, and edogawa sat directly across from you. due to the other passengers you didn’t say much, but when your stop finally arrived—he said only this.

“same time on tuesday?”

you could’ve laughed, but otherwise didn’t think twice about it. it was a date.

✿ TETSUSTATION — 2022 ; do not repost, translate, share without permission, or recycle my writing & layouts. this blog does not hesitate to hardblock in that instance!

#ranpo x reader #edogawa ranpo x reader #edogawa ranpo x you #ranpo x you #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd x you #bsd x reader #edogawa ranpo #ranpo bsd #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #writing.bsd

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kpopnstarwars · 6 months

Text

His Song Has Been Written: Din Djarin x Reader

A/N: ok so paz is gone now and I NEEDED TO WRITE A TRIBUTE CHAPTER TO HIM - this follows the plot for episode seven season 3 but i tweaked some stuff

tw: SPOILERS FOR MANDO EP 7 SEASON 3, swearing, pain, death, violence, they really gave us ragnar just to orphan him, not proof read one bit, sad asf,

Translations: vod = brother/sister, vod'ika = little brother/sister, di'kut = idiot,

wc: 1930

You realise now, how fucking blind you were.

There was no reason for the Stormtroopers wearing beskar to retreat; they were overpowering you, killing at least a quarter of your group. They'd cut and run, anyway, and you'd been too blinded with rage that these people, these Imperials, had been squatting in your home planet all this time, spreading rumours that its atmosphere was unbreathable and the land was poisoned, to realise. The fires of the Great Forge had been extinguished, and the air was cold and empty, barren and lacking the clang of hammers, but kindled at the sight of it was a deep rage towards the Imperials; Imperials that you now chased blindly through the caverns of the once shining Mandalore, right into their trap.

Now, you stand, between one of the Nite Owls and Paz Vizsla, surrounded by dirty, Imperial walls, built in the rock of your planet, as if they own it. As if they own the beskar they use, as if they own the metal that your people are built around, lurking in the shadows of your rightful home as you and the other children of the Watch fled from Concordia, if only to preserve the Creed. You're certain Gideon's behind this - you've clashed with him many times while you travelled with Din, protecting the child you now come to think of as your son.

You grit your teeth, widening your stance as you shoot at the Stormtroopers, Paz to your right, gunning them down with his heavy infantry gun. Somewhere to your left, Din fights too, and although you can't currently see Grogu in IG-12, you know Din must have an eye on him, because the way he stays in a certain radius of you informs you that he's acting as a sort of beskar shield around your son.

'Watch out, vod'ika,' Paz calls.

The sound of more jetpacks sound ahead, and you feel him grab the back of your shirt, tugging you backwards as a new wave of troops enter the hangar. Glancing at him over your shoulder, you retreat with him as he returns his hand back to his blaster, the deeper, rhythmic sound of his infantry gun almost comforting over the high whine of the Imperial blaster bolts and the familiar resonance of your own shots. Scanning the battle for Din, you catch him at the head of the retreat, his armour shining under the harsh lights, his back to you. A quick look behind you confirms that the third, smallest but probably oldest member of your clan is sheltered by a group of Nite Owls and members of your tribe, his eyes squinted against the light of the blasters.

'Din,' you yell, shooting a few of the troopers around him. 'Fall back!'

He turns his head; the red light of blasters reflects off his armour, like smears of crimson blood. Another jetpack sounds, and you yell Din's name again, dread settling in the pit of your stomach, heavy as a rotting corpse coming to rest on the murky sea floor. You balk at the sight of a man, clad in all black, a cape on his shoulders and a mockery of a Mandalorian helmet on his head; the cheeks are stained vermillion, the visor tinted in the same colour, Zabrak like horns rising from the top - there's no doubt who that is. Rage seethes within you: you knew it was him, you knew it was Gideon. Raising your blaster, you lurch forward, ready to protect your riduur, ready to -

The blast door slams shut, a few inches from your face.

Shock filters through your system, and your momentum carries you forward, slamming you right into the blast door, your helmet smashing into the glass window built into it. Curses leaves your lips, and you ram your fist into the metal, fear sending frigid chills down your spine; Din's out there, alone, with Gideon and about twenty Stormtroopers, all wearing beskar sacred to your people - the irony of it is almost as cutting as the self satisfied smirk on Gideon's face once he removes his helmet. You see the way Din's chest heaves, the way he clenches his fists, lifting his chin: he knows he's fucked, but he's ready to fight anyway.

The troopers on his right lunge for him, and he cuts them down, spinning to take on the next batch as they pile up before him. The smile on Moff Gideon's face grows wider and wider. You slam your fists against the blast doors, blood red oozing into your vision as rage warms your bones and burns away at your fear until all you want to do is cram the Imperial's face into molten beskar. Paz grabs your wrists, pulling you back from the blast doors and holding you firmly in his grasp, his arms tight around you, unescapable, and you growl, struggling, but he doesn't let go, his voice low in your ear.

'Don't - don't do this to yourself, vod'ika,' he says, his own anger prevalent in his voice. 'You're hurting yourself. I'd rather you break your knuckles across Gideon's face than against Imperial metal.'

You sigh, falling limp in Paz's arms. 'Okay. Let me - let me go, vod, I - I'm fine.'

'We'll think of something,' he assures you. 'We always do.'

Paz embraces you tightly, and you gladly wrap your arms around his waist, your fingertips barely touching from around his broad back. He knows you need this, he knows that you need something to anchor you, to calm you before you can think of a rescue plan. You've known him and Din as long as you can remember, and while Din became your riduur, Paz became your closest friend; he's as close as a brother, someone who would listen to your lovesick rants about his vod, someone who never failed to make you smile with his bold quips and bolder laugh. Peering up from his shoulder, you glance through the window in the blast door, and your heart drops. Gideon smiles on, smug as ever, as the troopers shove Din to his knees, and he continues to struggle, taking another down in a last attempt to break free.

'No,' you whisper, tearing yourself from Paz's grip. 'No!'

'Vod'ika,' Paz says measuredly, laying a hand on your shoulder. 'He's - ' You shrug him off, an idea forming in your mind. 'That's my riduur there,' you growl, voice low and wrathful. 'That's my fucking riduur. I know what to do, vod. Don't try and stop me.'

Amused, he huffs. 'That's my vod'ika.'

You turn to Bo-Katan, and you swear that the strength of your glare melts the beskar straight off her face. 'If you don't use that fucking Darksaber to get through the bloody door, I'll challenge you for it. Right now.'

She cocks her head; maybe she's surprised by the venom in your voice, or maybe she senses the undercurrent of desperation, but she obliges your words, cutting through the blast door. Darkly, Paz chuckles, cracking his knuckles, ready to fight again as the troopers turn their attention back to you, some of them jumping a little as if they forgot that there's a small army of wrathful Mandalorians behind the blast doors, their honours smarting from the sight of Imperials in their home world. Glancing at Paz, you give him a nod - he knows what to do, he's seen your stupid manoeuvres during the hunts you've been on together. He returns the gesture, and once you turn back, Bo-Katan has a hole through the blast door.

'Ready, vod?' You ask, checking the whistling birds on your vambrace. 'As always,' he answers.

You don't hesitate. You know he's got you covered, so you just dive straight through the hole, activating your whistling birds in a heart beat as Paz sticks the barrel of his blaster out, taking out any remaining troopers as you advance. Vaguely, you're aware of Gideon pressing a few buttons on his vambrace and shooting upwards, borne by his jetpack; you're aware of Paz slipping through the hole behind you, but you're not here for them. You're here for your riduur.

'Din,' you gasp, skidding to a halt in front of him.

'Cyar'ika,' he greets, and you hear the gratitude in his voice as he clutches you tightly to his body. 'He's calling for back up. We have to go.'

You turn your head to Paz. 'Vod?'

'Behind you,' he replies.

Bundling Din through the opening in the blast doors, you turn to follow him, but something tells you to glance back. Your heart drops. Paz stands there, his infantry gun ready, and you recognise the determined set of his shoulders with a settling feeling of dread drifting over you; you grab his arm, tugging him backwards, but he's stubborn as always, shaking you off and jerking his head towards the others.

'Go.'

You snarl. 'Not without you, vod.'

'You won't make it unless someone delays them,' he answers, tilting his head up at the sound of more jetpacks. 'They're almost here.'

'Who fucking cares,' you snap. 'I'll stay with you, then. We can hold them off.'

'Din waits for you, vod'ika. Go to him.'

'And leave you? My vod? Nice try.'

'He's my vod too,' he replies, voice level. 'I do this for both of you. Better me than you two, for your kid's sake.'

'And what of Ragnar?' You ask, desperation leaking into your voice.

'Tell him I love him.'

'Vod,' Din calls. 'Get back here, di'kut. What do you think you're doing?'

Suddenly, Paz grabs you, and you yelp in surprise as he physically shoves you through the opening in the blast door and into Din's arms. He stands in front of the hole, blocking it with his legs and body, and you grunt in frustration, knowing that he's won but not ready to let him go; you know he's right, you know he's doing this because he loves you and your riduur, but it still fucking hurts. It still hurts as he begins to fire at the first Stormtroopers coming into land, it still hurts as Bo-Katan begins to usher the other Mandalorians back, it still hurts as your riduur's arms tighten around you, holding you back.

'If you love me, don't let them go,' Paz yells at Din. 'I love you, my vod. I love you, my vod'ika.'

He hurls himself into the midst of the Stormtroopers, and as he does, he takes a bleeding piece of your heart with him. You hear Din's shuddering breath, feel the way his grip strengthens around you, and you swallow thickly, eyes smarting - it's like digging shards of glass into your heart to take your riduur's hand and run, but you do anyway, tears streaking down your face from under your helmet.

His song's been written, you tell yourself. His song has been written.

You find that you're saying it out loud, and maybe Din is saying it along with you, his fingers clenching around your own as the two of you run, away from your vod, a brave man who fights with deadly strength and honour, a loving father who protected his son with his life, and a brother, in spirit if not in blood. Grief blends with the burning hatred in your heart; you curse Gideon for orphaning Ragnar, for taking away your friend and your brother, for spilling yet another Mandalorian's blood.

Once you stop running, you vow with Din that you'll avenge him. His death will not be in vain.

Paz Vizsla's song has been written.

But yours has not.

#paz vizsla #star wars #the mandalorian #sad #angst #mando x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fanfic #grogu #baby ypda #mandalorian x y/n #mandalorian x you #din x you #din x y/n #din x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n

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mariacallous · 1 year

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LIMA, Peru—When Dina Boluarte was abruptly sworn in on Dec. 7, 2022, the fact that she was the first female president in Peru’s 201-year history was widely noted, yet barely explored by Peruvian media. Journalists had other things on their minds: Boluarte’s inauguration took place just hours after her predecessor Pedro Castillo was impeached for attempting to dissolve Congress and rule by decree, bringing down the curtain on a 17-month administration that had tipped the Andean republic into unremitting political instability and chaos.

Boluarte’s professional credentials as a lawyer felt like a qualitative leap forward for the presidency—regardless of the fact that she, like her predecessor, had never held public office before becoming vice president for the self-declared Marxist-Leninist Free Peru party in the June 2021 elections.

The youngest of 14 children from a working-class family in the remote Andean market town of Chalhuanca, nearly 10,000 feet above sea level, Boluarte said in her maiden presidential speech that her priority would be to fight for “the nobodies, the excluded, the others, to have the opportunity and access that has historically been denied to them.”

“More than a politician, I am a Peruvian citizen and mother who fully understands the high responsibility that history has put on my shoulders,” she declared. “Responding to that high responsibility is [a show of] my respect for the millions of Peruvian mothers who day after day provide sustenance for their families.”

Now, three months since Boluarte’s swearing in, her presidency has descended into a dark mess of severe human rights violations, its legitimacy decimated by allegations of principle-free political opportunism, brutal authoritarianism, and racism. It looks increasingly inevitable that Peru’s first ever female president will face a similar fate to Castillo, the country’s first ever campesino president (in Peru, the term means someone of indigenous ancestry who works the land), with a post-presidency dogged by legal problems and a potentially lengthy jail sentence.

At the time of writing, 48 Peruvians had been killed by security forces, some while protesting violently; some while demonstrating peacefully; and some who were just bystanders, including a medical intern treating an injured protester. Another dozen people died after protestors’ road blockades prevented them from receiving emergency medical treatment, and one police officer was found dead in a burnt-out patrol car.

In a searing report released in February, Amnesty International warned that Boluarte had presided over an out-of-control police and armed forces that, motivated by “systemic racism ingrained in Peruvian society,” had repeatedly violated international human rights standards by using “lethal ammunition to control demonstrations.” Many Peruvians view Boluarte as having blood on her hands. Three-quarters want her to resign.

“We are not celebrating her presidency,” Indigenous feminist activist Tarcila Rivera Zea said. “For us, it has meant pain and sadness, with so many deaths. More than anything else, it is a feeling of frustration and disappointment.

Boluarte, 60, who is bilingual in Spanish and the indigenous Quechua language, started her presidency relatively well. Indeed, in her inaugural address, she distanced herself from Castillo, referencing her “revulsion” at his flagrant alleged graft and condemning his “attempted coup.” Having been expelled from the Free Peru party nearly a year earlier after openly disagreeing with the party’s more extreme politics—and after managing to stay clear of her predecessor’s endless corruption scandals—she had some credibility in the matter.

But her legacy, to the extent she has one, will remain inseparable from that of her predecessor. This is not only a matter of the authoritarian excesses of her leadership over security forces, but also her emphasis on social conservatism, which has been one of the few areas of common ground between Free Peru’s presidential administrations and the hard-right congressional majority. Free Peru’s campaign manifesto has even been accused of advocating “machismo Leninism” for accusing the state of “subcontracting” its obligation to provide for the children of separated parents to absent fathers by requiring them to pay child support.

“It’s also a lesson learned,” Rivera Zea added. “What her presidency shows is that it is not enough to be a woman or speak Quechua if you don’t have that sensibility or identification with the historically excluded. She could have been a president who showed strength, wisdom, justice, and respect for human rights. Instead, she has aligned herself with the worst in Peruvian politics.”

Far from being carried on the back of a feminist wave, Boluarte’s rise to power came at a particularly challenging time for gender rights in Peru, even as some other Latin American nations have been relaxing restrictions on abortion and increasingly tackling gender violence. Peru was already one of the most socially conservative societies in Latin America, with what are thought to be some of the highest rates of sexual violence in the region, and where abortion is only allowed in cases where the mother’s health is at risk.

It is unclear whether Boluarte has ever identified with the feminist movement, although she has shown an appreciation of gender issues. “[Boluarte’s] not a feminist in the sense of a feminist activist,” Alexandra Ames, a political scientist at Lima’s University of the Pacific, said. “But she’s definitely a woman who feels that she has got ahead by working hard, harder than men would normally have to, and seems to have that awareness.”

While she was vice president, Boluarte also served as minister for development and social inclusion, a role that would normally have a strong gender component. During that time, gender rights came under a sustained assault from lawmakers, one that might have been met with effective resistance from a different executive.

Members of Congress sought to further restrict already highly limited abortion rights with a blanket ban, and change the name of the Ministry of Women to the Ministry for the Family—a switch that in Peru’s machista society could have potentially life-and-death policy consequences for, for example, women facing abusive partners.

But the most damaging counter reform has been a new law allowing parents to block classes with a gender focus—or, as Peruvian conservatives call it, gender ideology.

First introduced to the national curriculum in 2004, gender focus concepts, which include sex education, were aimed at raising awareness among boys and girls of the harms caused by Peru’s patriarchal culture—everything from wage disparities to femicide. Conservatives, often fundamentalist evangelical Christians, caricature gender focus as “cultural Marxism” that encourages premature sexual activity and pressures children into homosexuality and transgenderism.

“Getting rid of gender focus will do enormous damage,” warned Gloria Montenegro, former minister of women. “You’re getting rid of sex education, of a girl’s right to understand herself, to make informed choices, or have good self-esteem. What is so lamentable is that in Peru, we already have so many cases of physical and sexual abuse, of women being raped, often in their own homes, and this is going to make all of that worse.”

Throughout the debate over the curriculum, Boluarte was notable for her silence. She did, at different points during her work as a minister, show protocolary support for gendered development policies, including to empower indigenous women. But she failed to provide any substantive leadership, much less confront the attack on gender focus.

Boluarte did restore gender parity in her government after Castillo’s notorious cabinet appointments, which were not just overwhelmingly male but frequently involved ministers with a track record of misogynistic statements and even domestic abuse—including, briefly, one prime minister.

Ironically, however, that parity was just a return to the status quo ante in a country which, despite its entrenched patriarchy, had previously had some half dozen female prime ministers. Indeed, at one point, just before Castillo’s surprise election victory, almost all the major roles of state barring the presidency had been occupied by women, including the prime minister, foreign minister, defense minister, speaker of Congress, chief prosecutor, head of the judiciary, and chair of the constitutional court.

Boluarte’s term is scheduled to end in 2026, although the deadly repression of anti-government protests means she faces huge and potentially irresistible pressure to resign. Either way, her story as Peru’s first female president seems unlikely to end happily.

Montenegro said Boluarte’s mistake was not realizing she didn’t need to cross the political aisle to build a base of power. “She abandoned the Free Peru program, which, as a party of the left, had a strong social agenda, especially for rural Peru,” she said. “She’s an Andean woman; she should have understood. Where’s the political skill, the ability to broker political compromise and then sell that to the population?”

Protesters are now demanding a constituent assembly to draft a new constitution capable of addressing stark economic injustices. However, a new constitution could also entrench gender inequality. Although there have been no polls on the issue of gender rights in a new constitution, surveys show that most voters want a conservative Magna Carta when it comes to social issues, including prohibiting same-sex marriage and reinstating both compulsory military service and the death penalty.

As for Boluarte personally, the moment she loses her presidential immunity she faces criminal exposure as a head of government who presided over heavily armed police and soldiers gunning down anti-government protesters.

“She’s going to have very serious problems with the justice system,” Montenegro said. “She doesn’t seem to understand that there is no statute of limitations for human rights violations.”

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awesomeuchuu · 1 year

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@bloodymoonxvampire

Built by the Avvar in ages past and situated almost in the middle of Lake Calenhad, Kinloch Hold, known by the common man as the Circle Tower, was a place with a deep and long history. The cavern system underneath the tower was vast, dark and dreary and it wasn’t uncommon for disobedient mages to be thrown down there without food or water, left to fend for themselves for days, but always being closely monitored by the way of their phylacteries. This was the case with Kanata Shinkai, who only months ago was an apprentice, but had passed the Harrowing during quite an ordeal that left both the boy himself and the senior enchanter responsible for his training drained, physically and mentally.

He couldn’t even remember just what he had done to offend the Knight-Templars tasked with ‘looking after’ the mages in the Tower (they didn’t look after the mages as much as they looked after their own pleasures and amusements) but it had to have been something, because he was on his second day down in the labyrinth that the cave system made up, not too hungry, but definitely thirsty. Kanata specialized in ice and water magic and ever since awakening to his powers, even more so after the Harrowing, he needed a steady supply of water in one way or the other, or he fell ill. He couldn’t explain it, and he had heard people whisper about ‘a dangerous aptitude for blood magic’, probably because of his talent when it came to water based magic, but it didn’t make sense to him. He wouldn’t dabble in blood magic, that would be a direct death sentence, even he knew that much.

Kanata sighed, dizzy, and leaned against the wall of one of the cavern corridors. When would they come for him? Would they come for him? The wall he leaned against was damp and he dragged his hand along it, catching what little moisture he could on his fingers. He brought his hand to his mouth, licking it carefully. It tasted metallic, bitter… But it was better than nothing.

There was a pull. Inside him.

His phylactery? It had to be that. Someone beckoned him. Closer to the exit? So, they had come for him. He choked back a sob of relief, dragged his hand over his eyes to keep himself from crying outright. He couldn’t afford to lose any of the water inside him after all.

On sore feet, he walked where the pull told him to, soon enough coming face to face with the senior enchanter. Her face was hard and the wrinkles around her mouth and across her brow seemed deeper than usual. Without a word, she reached out and grabbed the elf boy by his arm, pulling him along, out of the caverns and up toward the first floor of the Tower.

“There’s a visitor,” she explained in a curt, clipped voice. “Grey Warden. Can’t have you trundling about down here, and you’re not to say a word, you understand me? This?” She made a gesture with her free hand toward the way they had come. “This didn’t happen. Now, I doubt he’ll even speak with you, but should he do so, there’s to be no complaints from you, understand? Swear by the Maker, elf.”

But if he swore by a god that was not his own, wouldn’t that make the oath null and void? Confused, Kanata looked despondent at the human woman, but it didn’t seem like she really expected an answer from him in the first place.

Roughly, she shoved him into an empty apprentice quarter and barked an order:

“And get yourself cleaned up!”

When Kanata was done with that – and after he had drank his fill of fresh, clean water – he tiptoed his way toward where the entrance chamber of the tower was located, the place already crawling with apprentices, mages and enchanters who wanted to see a glimpse of the fabled Grey Warden. Kanata spotted him quickly enough; a tall, extremely pale man with raven dark curls that framed a beautiful face with intensely burning red eyes.

“He seems very sad,” he mumbled before he could stop himself. Ah. He should stay quiet, shouldn’t he…?

#Ensemble Age (Dragon Age AU)#bloodymoonxvampire #the proof of mystery (kanata)

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sunshine-luca · 1 month

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Luca had woken with a start and tumbled out of the narrow bunk in Ryan’s quarters to land in an ungainly heap on the floor – no mean feat when Ryan’s arms were still snaked around him.

“Where the hell do yer think yer goin’, boy?”

A sharp flare of discomfort shot up his spine. His body ached, but in a way that made him flush warm and his dick want to fill. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the sheets and have Ryan’s hands all over him again, but he couldn’t.

“I’m late for my duty shift,” Luca groaned, fumbling with his incessant alarm and casting around for his uniform. He could swear it was around here somewhere.

“Fook your duty shift,” Ryan muttered and Luca snorted, knowing the grizzled pilot didn’t mean it.

“I’d rather fuck you,” Luca grinned, hopping on one leg as he pulled up the leg of his pants then leaned down to give Ryan a deep, open mouthed kiss that was both a replay and a promise of more passion to come. “But if I don’t, Captain will have both our heads and then we won’t get to spend any time together.”

Ryan muttered something Luca didn’t catch and sighed as he released Luca to finish dressing. Luca could feel his hot gaze on him, the heat in his eyes as Luca pulled on his uniform. He was tired today, far less sleep than usual the night before.

He couldn’t wait for his shift to be over so they could do it all over again.

It was hard to concentrate on his work – huddled in the narrow service ducts that crisscrossed the ship. This one had been damaged, stray debris too small for the ship’s sensors to pick up had slammed into the side of the hull, leaving a whole easily big enough for a person to be sucked through and into the void of space. There was nothing between Luca and a cold death but a powerful force field but it wasn’t what he was there to work on. It took three attempts to get the internal generators working and he was performing the final checks when a hatch clanged open a few feet away and a figure poked up.

Luca looked up, startled. “LT? What are you doing down here?”

Ryan glanced behind Luca to the force field, a twist of distaste to his mouth. “Status on the shield repairs?”

Luca snickered. “Oh, is that what you're here for?”

Ryan’s expression softened at Luca’s teasing grin. “Aye, I'll admit, there are other things of interest. But the shield repairs come first. You've got ten minutes. Then I need yer in my quarters. Understood?”

Ryan pinned Luca with a stare that brokered no argument. Luca couldn’t have anyway, Ryan out ranked him by miles.

“Yes, Sir,” Luca replied formally but with a wide grin. “Ten minutes. I’ll have it done.”

“Good. See to it yer do.”

Ryan disappeared through the hatch before Luca could say any more and he grinned to himself as he completed the last system check and reported back to his superior.

“Good job, ensign,” the chief engineer told him, pleased. “It’s handy having someone as small as you on board to get into the places we can’t so easily.”

Luca chose to ignore that, already itching towards the door. The chief squinted at him. “Where are you going now?”

“Lieutenant Ryan told me to report to him. I’d better not keep him waiting. Must be that screwy button on his console again-“

Luca didn’t wait for a response, darting out of engineering and into the corridor without a backwards glance.

He had less than three minutes to get to Ryan’s quarters but he made it in two.

#really a nothing thing #sitting-in-a-waiting-room writes

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1-800-get-sherlocked · 3 years

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hi guys i just wanted to say sorry im like behind on tag games and im not that active anymore rip, im not ignoring u if u tagged me in smth im just swamped with uni and stuff :’) (im literally so done with weeder classes) i’ll get to them afterwards sorry it just gonna be super late andddd hopefully by then i’ll have more gifs prepared to share

and on a brighter note, wtf im like im shook /pos:

tyty for supporting me!! <33 i havent rlly been able to check follows to see if theres some i want to follow back bc again been swamped hahajksdlf but yeah i appreciate yall and thank u! idrk what to do to celebrate or smth so have a virtual cookie from me 🍪 and have a nice day!

#bluris rambles #the quarter system is death i swear #iddk why i did this to myself this quarter really #i tell myself tis to prep for next year when my courses r actually gonna be hel lbut like #im alerady suffering #every quarter im always like damn last quarter was easier djdalkfd #anyways damn this was so surprising omg djskljaf #i still remember when i just had a few friends following me to support me haha which was super nice #i love them and appreciate thhem but yea #so yea thank yall and im glad i got to meet some amazing ppl ^^#also if u want to be friends just send me a message :DD #also sorry my sherlock hyperfixation has been slipping #on top of that i barely have time to read stuff i actually enjoy :')#ANYWYAS i feel like i just complain a lot sorry guys so again thanks for stickiing with me #and for understanding #bc i am a Mess #have a nice day/afternoon/evening~#<3 #oh wait btw weeder classes if u dunno what they r theyre basically classes that r made morre difficult on purpose #to 'weed' students out and not let them through the major #not like the other kind lmlao

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head-empty-only-sunshine · 2 years

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Moondrops for the Soul

Moon X Reader

A/N: this came from a very real place and i apologize

Description: Sleep is hard to come by for you. Insomnia is a bitch. thankfully, you have a loving partner to help you.

Tags: fluff, hurt/comfort, depression, insomnia, self hatred, reader has no occupation, gn!reader

Word Count: 2112

These late nights were really starting to get on your nerves. You were beyond lethargic the entire day thanks to an awful night’s sleep, and that ended up forcing you to stay late to finish your tasks. Time had become an obsolete construct as you droned away at your work, completely unaware that it was almost lockdown time. By the time you gathered your things in hopes of going home to get a suitable amount of sleep, the doors had shut; right in your face too. It was a rather mocking gesture to you; to have the door close oh so rudely before you and bar you from exiting the Pizzaplex. To say you were frustrated would be an understatement. You were downright pissed.

Staring down the painted shutters with a death glare so strong you could’ve melted through them, you turned around and headed for the one place you had left to go to in this obnoxiously large establishment. The daycare was the only place you might find solitude, and hopefully some sleep. Defeated by time, you trudged onward to the daycare, hoping to meet your lovely robot partner and have his assistance with knocking out for the night. You were clocked out. Management wouldn’t care, right?

The time in which it took you to march on over to the daycare was perfect in nature. As soon as you laid a hand on the grand door that was the entrance, Moon was found standing on the other side, about to go out for a patrol. He looked confused for a moment, thinking you had already gone home by now. The tired look on your face said otherwise, and you were already spewing out your situation before he had to ask.

“Got locked in. Lost track of time. Can I sleep here tonight?” You asked with a scratchy voice.

“Tsk, naughty~. Staying past your schedule huh?” He teased, bending down to your level.

“Not the time, Moon. I’m so tired. Please, let me sleep here tonight. I don’t wanna pass out by a fake palm tree.” You begged now, too tired to entertain his teasing like you usually would.

Moon sighed and decided to quit playing. After a quick scan of your vitals and catching a glimpse of your violent eyebags he deemed you way too unfit to be kidding around with. Worry instantly took over his systems as he wasted no time picking you up, cradling you bridal style in his arms.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, starlight. Let me bring you up to our room so you can get some sleep.”

“Ugh, thank you.” You groaned.

Happy to have been taken seriously, you allowed Moon to whisk you away to the upper quarters of the daycare where he or Sun resided after hours and between other things. Their room was cozy as always, and you hoped it would be enough to get you to knock out. He gently placed you down in their hammock, and you responded in tune by throwing your bag off your body and onto the floor next to it.

“Thank you. I really hope you don’t mind.” You said once more.

“Notin a million years. You’re welcome to stay here whenever you want for as long as you want.” Moon reassured you. “Will you be okay though? I noticed in my scan that you… well, you aren’t doing too great. You’ve been overworking yourself again… haven’t you?”

“I have been. I didn’t mean to though, I swear.” You nodded.

“I believe you, starlight. I just wanna know if you’re going to be alright. I still have nightly patrol to go on, so I can’t stick around much longer right now.” He said softly.

“I’ll be okay. I have a change of clothes in my bag. It’s not like I can get out anyway.” You chuckled, remembering the shutter closing in your face.

“Alright. I’ll be back then. Get some rest, starlight.” Moon nodded, giving you a tight squeeze for a hug before leaping from the window to resume his duties.

Though you wished you could give him an assured ‘yes’ for an answer, you couldn’t. You had a feeling that this night would not be kind to you, and insomnia would poke its head into your business again. Regardless of that possibility, you gave it a good shot and pulled your spare clothes out of your bag on the floor and changed in the hammock, now clad in a shirt and shorts that were much comfier than your uniform. With yourself all sorted you laid yourself back in the hammock, pulled up the blanket that rested at the end of it, and closed your eyes with the best intentions to fall asleep. You were so exhausted, so you were sure to knock out immediately, right?

… Right?

===

Hours. Hours, hours, HOURS. Hours had gone by, and not a wink of sleep was granted to you. Moon was still gone, most likely on an extended patrol in places without power. The time was well past three in the morning, and you had been locked out at midnight. Sleep had not come, and your eyes felt like they were caving into your skull. It was slowly killing you inside, and by now, all you could do was cry.

“Why can’t I just sleep…” You muttered to yourself.

Silent tears fell down your cheeks as you wondered why your tired body still fought against the compulsion to sleep. It made no sense. Why couldn’t you escape this painful fatigue? You were about to start sobbing over it when the sound of Moon ascending on the fly line made your breath catch in your throat. He was back, but he couldn’t know how weak you were right now. With all your might, you attempted to stop the tears and hope he wouldn’t notice, or at least think you had fallen asleep. Unfortunately, it was impossible for him to not notice. It was in his programming, after all.

Moon cautiously approached you in the hammock, not wanting to be so forward. You hid under the blanket, but according to his scans, you were wide awake. He was worried, and wanted the best for you, so he gingerly nudged the side of the hammock and called out to you, hoping you were at least a little okay.

“Starlight… I know you’re not sleeping.”

Silence.

“Starlight please, maybe I can help?” He spoke again.

The blanket rustled, and you finally poked your head out. There was no point in hiding honestly, so the first thing Moon saw was your tear streaked face. He instantly went into care mode and knelt by the hammock, hands holding your face as concern took over his own expression.

“What’s wrong? Please tell me…”

“I can’t sleep. I can’t. I just… I can’t.” You mumbled, quite frustrated with yourself.

“Oh dear I’m… I’m so sorry. How long have you been awake?” He asked.

“Almost a full day. You can see it. I know you can. My eyebags are deeper than any gulf. But my body… It won’t let me go in peace.” You whimpered, getting more and more upset the longer you spoke.

“Insomnia?”

You nodded. “If I’m being honest, I just want to stop existing. I don’t know why my body won’t let me sleep. I hate this. I want nothing more than to just fall asleep and cease to exist.”

“Oh starlight.” He said softly, wiping away a tear with his thumb.

“This insomnia is killing me. It takes away the control I have over my own body. It keeps me from my safe space in my mind, and forces me to remain conscious in this body. I don’t even like this body. Why am I forced to exist with it? I hate it.”

You had gone off on a tangent, the overwhelming thought of being unable to control your own body angering you to your breaking point. You didn’t mean to, but you spilled your troubles before Moon as tears streamed down your face. As you sobbed, Moon had moved himself into the hammock with you, sliding under the blanket and embracing you in the warmest hug he could offer.

“I’m so sorry moonbeam. I’m sorry you have these struggles, and I’m sorry you feel this way.” He sympathized, cradling you against him.

“I just want to stop existing sometimes. I don’t like being forced awake when I don’t want to be.” You mumbled, accepting his embrace.

His grip tightened on you, in an almost fearful manner.

“If it’s any help, Sun and I would be devastated if you ceased to exist. We can’t imagine a life without you. We love you so much… and I know this is just words I’m offering, but you mean the world to us. You fight for us, and love us. You’re our foundation, and we would never wish any harm upon you.” Moon consoled, gently stroking the back of your head.

No one had ever really said such kind things to you before. The feeling of the soft padding on his hands brough you comfort, and his nails gently scratching your scalp relaxed you. His touch was intoxicating, and made you firmly believe that this moment was okay. It was fine to feel the way you did, and you were safe to be this vulnerable before him. You took in his words in the silence, and he accepted the silence as you agreeing with him. Your heart rate gradually slowed, and the longer you sat there with him, the more calm you were. The breaths you released were no longer shaky after a while, and you let out a big sigh of relief once you considered yourself comfortable enough to speak.

“Do you… have any moondrop candies left?” You asked.

“I do. I was honestly going to suggest it to you, if you were okay with it.” He nodded.

You nodded, insisting that you wanted the sedative melatonin filled candy. After a moment, Moon popped said candies out of the palm of his hand, having stored a few in the empty cavity beneath the padding. He offered you three, one above the standard adult dosage for moondrop candies. You took all three without question, desperate for the sweet solace of sleep. When his hand was free, Moon returned to holding you tightly, now lying down with you in the hammock.

The wait was on for the candies to kick in. You preferred silence in this moment, so he remained quiet while waiting for the candy to kick in. With gentle caresses and soft humming, both of you waited for the candy to do its job and bring you the peace of rest. As time passed, your heart rate slowed, along with your breathing, the candy taking effect.

“Moon… It’s working.” You mumbled.

‘It is? I’m glad.”

“Before I pass out though… I want you to know something. You mean… The world to me. I mean it. You’re so… nice, kind, and warm. I might actually sleep good for once in my life with you by my side.” You said softly.

Moon did not say anything. You were quick to pass out after those words, an expression of relief falling upon your face once your slumber had come to you. Moon sighed, happy to see you finally at ease. He couldn’t leave now. Not after all you had said. He was moved, and wanted to remain with you as a soft blue blush took over his complexion.

Moon paged management through his system, updating them on the situation. He would no longer be continuing his nightly patrols, and requested a security guard cover his sectors tonight. You were far more important right now, and it was so rare that he got to cuddle you so closely. Once he received a confirmation, Moon snuggled up to your sleeping form and let out a gentle mechanical sigh. Your sleeping face was so peaceful. Despite the deep eyebags and signs of crying, you were so beautiful to him.

For the first time in a very long time, Moon went into sleep mode. This was a mode so rarely entered he almost forgot he had it. But here with you, he could use it. He was safe to do so. Your heart was his, and you needed him. With peace in the room, Moon gently shut down, his fans reducing to the gentlest of whirrs as he rested alongside you, holding you close against his frame. Your steady breaths were rhythmic enough to lull him into his own state of rest.

It was about time both of you had a moment of peace anyway.

#moon x reader #moondrop x reader #fnaf #fnaf fan fiction #fnaf security breach #security breach x reader #fnaf x reader #moon #moondrop #fan fiction #reader isnert #hurt/comfort #fluff #depression #self hatred

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nurse-buckley · 3 years

Text

I’m Fine

Fandom: Star Trek Word Count: 1,515 Pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader Warnings: Minor mentions of death. Mentions of blood and injury. Tagslist: @firemedicdiaz @fireladybuckley @pupandangelscoffee @winterreader-nowwriter @iamasimpingh0e @dayrin085 @evanbuckos @gigglyparker Thank you to my amazing beta @evanbuckos Request from @moose-on-the-l00se I am so sorry it took so long my love. You are on an away mission and as ever and much to Leonard’s dismay, you always put others before yourself.

You’d decided to go on the away mission as the crew’s medic instead of Leonard. He’d been apprehensive at first, but you both knew he had charting to catch up on and the last of a few yearly medicals he had to get through. Putting them off any longer would only put him further behind.

You weren’t expecting to end up being one of the casualties yourself, as an explosion knocked you off of your feet, sending you and your crew flying backwards against the blast. You were briefly knocked unconscious, your ears rang as you came back to your senses. You felt a pounding sensation in your head, you reached up, hissing as your palm was met with blood that dripped from the wound that had appeared there.

You lay still for a moment; you moved each limb one at a time, checking yourself for injury. Happy that your limbs were all intact, you sat up slowly, but were stopped by a sudden shooting pain that radiated from your side. You looked down to see a piece of shrapnel that protruded from your side.

Another crew member rushed to your side, but stopped short when they saw the metal sticking out from you. Their hands shook as they hovered over your wounded side as they looked at you for confirmation on what to do.

“Go into my kit, grab a pack of gauze and the medical tape,” you ordered them.

They did as you said, placing the items you had requested beside you. Their eyes widened in shock as you gripped your hand tightly around the shrapnel and pulled with a cry of pain. You took the gauze from the other crew member and secured it tightly to your side with a few pieces of tape.

Leonard was finishing up with an ensign’s medical when a siren blared through the medbay, followed by the captain’s voice over the ship's intercom. “Prepare for incoming trauma. Number of casualties unknown. Doctor McCoy, report to the transporter deck.”

The doctor’s blood ran cold at the transmission. He knew something had gone wrong with the mission you’d attended. Leonard turned to his nurse in charge, Christine, ordering her to discharge any non-critical patients and clear any non-emergent surgeries planned for the day. Leonard grabbed a trauma bag, and headed to the transporter room for further orders from his captain.

He met the captain in the transporter room, who immediately began to run him down on the situation. The away mission had been a trap, what was supposed to be peace talks, turning into something quite the opposite. An explosion had been set off, causing mass casualties. Leonard’s blood ran cold at Kirk’s brief, his blood running cold at the thought of you being one of the injured, or worse; one of the many he knew he wouldn’t be able to save today.

Pushing back the fears running through his mind, Leonard made his way onto the transporter deck. With one last ‘good luck’ from the captain, him and a few other crew members; various medics and members of security were encircled with golden swirls as they materialised down to the planet below.

When the group arrived, they were met with chaos. Screams of agony and distress could be heard from every direction. Crew members with various degrees of injury, some more serious than others. Leonard, however, was only focussed on one thing in that moment; finding you. His eyes scanned the unmoving bodies on the floor. Finally, he heard your voice; loud and commanding. He saw you, bloodied wound on your head, in the middle of treating a civilian.

The doctor had to stop himself from running to your side. He had his own mission, and patients to tend to. You were alive, and breathing; and for now, that had to be enough for him. He’d tend to you when you were back on the ship, safe and sound in your shared quarters. With that, he busied himself, triaging patients. Labelling those he couldn’t save with a black tag and using the traffic light system to tag those more serious to the walking wounded.

You found yourself back to back with him at various points as your paths crossed while treating the wounded crew members and civilians.

“You okay, darlin’?” he asked from your side.

You nod, “I’m good.” You know that was a lie, but there were still casualties to see to.

It took another hour and a half for you, Leonard and the other crew members to triage and transport people back to the enterprise. The trauma beds quickly filled up and the surgery list doubled to what it was earlier that morning.

Leonard took you aside as soon as you were back on the enterprise. Setting you on a spare chair, you protest against him, trying to get up from the seat, knowing you were needed elsewhere. But he pushed you back down with a gentle hand to your shoulder.

“I’m fine Leonard, really,” you insisted.

“I know you are darlin’, humour me though.” He gave you a look, knowing arguing would be futile.

He gathered a few supplies from a cart nearby, tearing open a pack of gauze and vial of saline to clean the wound on your forehead. He gently cleaned the wound, wincing every time you hissed as if the action were hurting himself, not wanting to see you in pain, let alone being the one to cause it. Once satisfied you didn’t need sutures, he taped a piece of gauze to the wound and placed a gentle kiss atop of the bandage. You pushed him away with a smile, loving how soft he was with you but also knowing that you really did have to get back to work.

You could feel yourself growing weaker throughout the shift, the adrenaline had slowly been wearing off as the patients you were seeing were either discharged or admitted for a longer stay or surgery.

Unbeknownst to you, Leonard had been watching you closely, not being happy with your condition earlier but knowing he wouldn’t have been able to stop you from helping the others. As much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t handle the onslaught of patients without another doctor with him.

You saw him from the corner of your eye as he made his way towards you. He placed gentle hands around the tops of your arms, pulling you aside as he excused you from the patient you were currently dealing with, handing them over to a nurse. He held you at arms length, taking in your slightly pale appearance, noticing the light sheen of sweat that formed over your brow.

“You sure you’re feeling okay darlin’, I really would prefer it if you let me check you over.”

“I’m fine Leonard, nothing a good shower, dinner and rest won’t cure when we get out of here.”

He made a non-commital noise, trusting you that if something were wrong you’d tell him. He pulled you in for a hug, not missing how your body stiffened against him. He held you at arms length, his eyebrow quirking up in that inquisitive look of his you loved so much. It’s then he noticed the small stain of blood, seeping through the blue of your uniform.

“You’re bleeding,” he stated.

You placed a hand to your side, sucking in a breath through gritted teeth as pain flared through your side. As you pulled your hand away, you noticed your palm covered in the slick wet blood that had seemingly seeped through the dressing you’d placed earlier, as well as the fabric of your tunic.

“Oh…” is all you managed before you felt the energy drain from your body and fell into Leonards solid body, comforting and warm as he gently lowered you to the ground. You vaguely heard the commotion around you as Leonard called for a gurney and felt yourself being lifted before the comforting darkness invited you into its embrace.

When you came to, the pain you were feeling before was gone, replaced by a numb and tingly feeling where the wound had been before. You felt the warmth of someone else's hand in your own holding on tight, as if they let go, you’d disappear. Opening your eyes, you were met with Leonard’s concerned gaze, his eyes locked on your face.

“How’re you feeling?”

“A little sore and tired, but I’m-”

“If you say ‘I’m fine’ one more time, I swear,” he chuckled, but the smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. “How many times do I need to remind you that you need to look after yourself if you want to look after others,” he sighed.

You settled deeper into the pillow, the drugs Leonard had given you keeping you pain free and sleepy. “I’m sorry,” you sighed.

Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head, not covered by a bandage. “What am I going to do with you?” He asked, as you fought sleep. “Doesn’t matter, rest now. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

#star trek #star trek aos #star trek tos #leonard mccoy x reader #bones x reader #leonard mccoy #bones #dr mccoy #doctor mccoy #star trek fanfic #star trek fanfiction #mine

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hannie-dul-set · 3 years

Text

— under this masterlist includes collections, drabbles, oneshots, blurbs, and other written pieces sorted by group and age order. please inform me if ever there are any broken links. groups: tomorrow x together, enhypen, nct, seventeen, the boyz. last updated: 23.07.08.

blurbs masterlist.

💗 — personal favorites.

TOMORROW X TOGETHER.

or, wherein you fall in love with a different guy every season but fail to notice the one that’s been looking at you the whole year. 💗

THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER DRINK BEYOND YOUR LIMITS (OR MAYBE YOU SHOULD?) soobin blacked out one evening and forgot something he shouldn’t have.

PAIRING. choi soobin x reader. GENRE. fluff, humor, lovestruck! soobin, based on the manhwa “daybreaking romance.” WARNINGS. drinking, swearing. WORD COUNT. 1.2k.

BFF PRO MAX. best friends doing not so best friend things.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x reader. GENRE. fluff, suggestive. WARNINGS. making out. WORD COUNT. 582.

THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF. you don’t buy it when beomgyu keeps trying to make a move on you.

PAIRING. choi beomgyu x reader. GENRE. fluff, humor. WARNINGS. swearing, beomgyu is embarrassing. WORD COUNT. 1.6k.

모기 / MOGI. in which all of your life, you and beomgyu have been stuck together like glue whether you liked it or not. and as much as you want to change that, life seems to have different plans. 💗

ENHYPEN.

CITRUS IN THE MORNING. sunghoon doesn’t believe you’re his and in his arms. 💗

PAIRING. park sunghoon x reader. GENRE. fluff, lovestruck! sunghoon. WARNINGS. kissing. WORD COUNT. 403.

YOU(R SHOELACES ARE PRETTY). park sunghoon is a rizzless loser pass it on.

PAIRING. park sunghoon x reader. GENRE. fluff, meet cute. WARNINGS. swearing, secondhand embarrassment because sunghoon doesn't know how to to talk to cute people. WORD COUNT. 706.

ONE WORD, FOUR LETTERS. there’s not enough words in the dictionary to describe how jungwon feels about you.

PAIRING. yang jungwon x reader. GENRE. fluff, comfort, videocall with wonie who's out on tour. WARNINGS. none. WORD COUNT. 441.

NCT.

MISSED TIMINGS. drabble game; “do i look like i’ve moved on?”

PAIRING. lee taeyong x reader. GENRE. post breakup! au, angst. WARNINGS. swearing. WORD COUNT. 887.

BLUE HYDRANGEAS. wherein this time, it’s your breath that gets taken away and not the other way around.

PAIRING. lee taeyong x reader. GENRE. romance, humor, light angst, and of course the overall theme of the event — dumbassery (this time, by y/n), florist! taeyong, contract killer! reader. WARNINGS. murder, death i mean lol, violence, swearing, mentions of blood, knives, & guns. WORD COUNT. 2.2k words.

CAUGHT RED HANDED. all you wanted to do was take a picture of the handsome law student during your train ride home. you did not expect things to end up like this.

PAIRING. kim doyoung x reader. GENRE. fluff, humor. WARNINGS. swearing. WORD COUNT. 804.

A FOOL’S GAME. were you the fool for being blind to his intentions? or was it he who forgot what his intentions were in the first place?

PAIRING. jung jaehyun x reader. GENRE. royal! au, drama, romance, angst, slight comedy. WARNINGS. swearing, mentions of death. WORD COUNT. 27.4k.

CONTRARIETY & CONFLUENCE. there was not an instance in your life where your judgement was proven to be mistaken— especially with regards to infatuations outside of your own. after an unpredicted introduction with a far too remarkable farm boy, you took it upon yourself to find a suitable match for him, not realizing that perhaps this time; your usual correct judgements might have been incorrect.

PAIRING. jung jaehyun x reader. GENRE. emma! au, matchmaking! au, strangers to lovers! au, slowburn, period romance, humor, one suggestive scene, very very tiny angst. WARNINGS. implied and borderline smut. WORD COUNT. 16.9k.

IS IT BECAUSE YOU’RE ALWAYS THINKING ABOUT ME? video call with your best friend, mark lee.

PAIRING. mark lee x reader. GENRE. long distance (not so relationship) relationship, mutual pining, angsty themes. WARNINGS. none. WORD COUNT. 428.

HOW TO GET THE GUY. drabble game; “why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

PAIRING. mark lee x reader. GENRE. college! au, friends to lovers! au, fluff, humor. WARNINGS. swearing. WORD COUNT. 1.2k.

BIBINGKA. legend says that if you finish all nine night masses of simbang gabi, your wish will be granted. mark only hopes that it’s actually true because that’s his last chance in getting you to notice him (but wait— shouldn’t his wish only come true after the nine days?)

PAIRING. mark lee x reader. GENRE. christmas! au, crush! au, lots of fluff, mark is a piner, mark is also very awkward, some filipino references and customs. WARNINGS. swearing, religious themes. WORD COUNT. 6.9k.

PUT A FINGER DOWN. wherein mark lee finds you drunk for the first time and promises to himself that he should make sure that you never get wasted ever again.

PAIRING. mark lee x reader. GENRE. college! au, humor, fluff, suggestive, drunken mistakes that would probably make you cry in real life. WARNINGS. swearing, alcohol consumption, mature content (sexual & explicit jokes about fingers and --- u get the gist) please read at your own discretion. WORD COUNT. 1.6k.

DO YOU WANT ME (DEAD)? murder and making out.

PAIRING. huang renjun x reader. GENRE. high school! au, suggestive. WARNINGS. attempted murder, mentions of blood and self injury, veryy descriptive kissing, mc has a few screws lost, swearing, depictions of unstable behavior. WORD COUNT. 1.8k.

IT’S FOR YOU. all it took was the heavy rainfall from the sky to clear up your misunderstandings.

PAIRING. lee jeno x reader. GENRE. e2l (sort of), fluff. WARNINGS. swearing. WORD COUNT. 1.5k.

I’LL TAKE YOUR WORD FOR IT AND NO ONE ELSE’S. maybe snooping through your friend’s phone wasn’t that much of a good idea. or maybe it was. either way, you didn’t regret it.

PAIRING. lee jeno x reader. GENRE. friends to something, fluff, lots of bickering. WARNINGS. swearing, invasion of privacy(?) lmao. WORD COUNT. 2.1k.

I (HAVE/HAD) A CRUSH ON YOU. running into a past crush at your best friend’s birthday party wouldn’t have been so bad if he wasn’t— well— all that. 💗

PAIRING. lee jeno x reader GENRE. crush! jeno, college! au, rom-com, mildly suggestive moments. WARNINGS. swearing, smoking, mentions of dicks and balls (sorry), an awful amount of men and boys being boys. WORD COUNT. 5.8k

SHAMELESS. drabble game; “did you just— did you just kiss me?” “yeah” “do it again”.

PAIRING. lee donghyuck x reader. GENRE. enemies! au, fluff, humor, co-worker! haechan. WARNINGS. swearing. WORD COUNT. 997.

DATING 101. drabble game; “you’re not very intimidating”.

PAIRING. lee donghyuck x reader. GENRE. highschool! au, fluff, slight suggestive, slight humore, wannabe badboy! haechan. WARNINGS. swearing. WORD COUNT. 678.

KATHANG ISIP. musings of the mind and heart are always dangerous— it’s easy to get carried away and get lost in your made up scenarios, rose colored wishes, and fleeting daydreams of what you thought would be. that is until reality hits you like the crashing of an ocean’s waves.

PAIRING. lee donghyuck x reader. GENRE. roommates! au, college! au, brief roadtrip! au, angst, fluff, humor. also let’s pretend hyuck cannot drive and that his hometown is elsewhere for the sake of plot, thanks. WARNINGS. swearing, alcohol consumption, one descriptive kissing scene, lots and lots of overthinking. WORD COUNT. 19.8k

TOP OF THE WORLD. things had always been the same in the world of na jaemin— him sitting on a throne above everyone else. that was the natural order. but the world as jaemin knew it began to shake after a few fated encounters with someone at the bottom of the food chain.

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader. GENRE. private school! au, one sided e2l lmao, a dash of fake dating, romance, heavily suggestive themes, lots and lots of sexual tension and power dynamics. WARNINGS. bullying (lots of it), public humiliation, mildly nsfw, borderline smut, implied smut, swearing, jaemin being a literal asshole. WORD COUNT. 15.6k.

US, AGAIN. they say history repeats itself, but you’d like to disagree. you had to disagree. history changes, even if you had to force it. but when all your attempts to twist fate were met by nothing but the flashing recurrences of the past, what were you supposed to do?

or, wherein you try everything in your power to have nothing to do with na jaemin, but na jaemin wants nothing but you.

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader. GENRE. ollege! au, historical! au, soulmate! au, past lives, forbidden love stuff, reincarnation, romance, drama, humor, angst, fluff, looots of flashbacks, this is an entire kdrama, very loosely inspired by the webtoon “see you in my 19th life”. WARNINGS. (updated as the series goes on) character death/s, night terrors, murder, terminal illness, hospital mentions, gun mentions, inaccurate depictions of the joseon era for the sake of plot lmao. WORD COUNT. currently 4.9k.

WHAT BEST FRIENDS DO. drabble game; “i need a hug”.

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader. GENRE. high school! au, maybe secret relationship! au, fluff, light humor. WARNINGS. swearing, mentions of food. WORD COUNT. 988.

DON’T THINK, JUST DO. an overthinker, a piece of advice, a sudden confession, and a subtle meltdown.

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader. GENRE. high school! au, f2l, fluff, humor. WARNINGS. swearing. WORD COUNT. 1.6k.

DO IT AGAIN. maybe you should have paid more attention to your boyfriend. he isn’t always petty, but he has his limits.

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader. GENRE. fluff, established relationship! au. WARNINGS. alcohol consumption, kissing. WORD COUNT. 576.

IT TAKES FOUR YEARS TO GROW A PEACH TREE. humans are fickle in nature— it takes a great deal of patience, fortitude, and devotion to have a heart that remains constant. that or having an absolute tolerance for all pain and torment that comes in exchange.

so when you are once again met by the ex-boyfriend that you’ve desperately avoided for four years after tearing up his heart, it becomes a test of how much you can endure, and how much more you’re willing to endure after realizing that you’re still in love with him when his love has already been weathered down. 💗

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader GENRE. exes to lovers! au, college! au, romance, angst, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, SLOW AS FUCK BURN, pining, lots of pushing and pulling, the “its always been you” trope, a modern retelling-ish of jane austen’s persuasion. WARNINGS. swearing, heartbreak, alcohol consumption, parental pressure, stress and anxiety, one scene with a nosebleed, jaemin is kind of a dick in the beginning, mentions of hospitals, one scene with a creep, one makeout scene, ghosting, breakup, a lot of me projecting. WORD COUNT. currently 54k.

ARAW-ARAW. mahiwaga— someone or something that you’ll choose every single day no matter the circmstance. and for you, that was na jaemin. even if time decides to set you apart.

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader. GENRE. childhood friends to lovers! au, college! au, romance, slow-ish burn, fluff, humor, tiny angst, biology major jaemin and art major mc HEHE. WARNINGS. excessive swearing, insecurities, some sex jokes LMAO, i project a lot in this i’m sorry JSFJG. WORD COUNT. 14.5k.

CAN’T HANDLE THIS. how are you supposed to explain that you and na jaemin started dating just to prove each other wrong and ended up catching feelings. 💗

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader. GENRE. strangers to lovers, college! au, matchmaking! au, yet another richkid! au, jaemin is an asshole again, romance, humor. WARNINGS. excessive swearing, a near death experience, drinking and smoking, more than a handful of illegal shit, mentions of vomit, blood, violence, too much sexual tension it’s unhealthy, again jaemin is kind of a dick but he’s an attractive dick, jaemin also likes it when you tell him his personality is trash. WORD COUNT. 16k.

HOSTILITY. making out with the person you hate the most.

PAIRING. na jaemin x reader. GENRE. suggestive, stageplay! au. WARNINGS. making out, swearing, reader tells jaem to k himself, reader spits on jaem's face and he does something...questionable. WORD COUNT. 438 words.

SEVENTEEN.

HUMILITY. lucky 7 collab with @haokyeom; humility /(h)yo͞oˈmilədē/ — a modest or low view of one’s own importance; humbleness.

PAIRING. choi seungcheol x reader. GENRE. royal! au, romance, fluff, prince! seungcheol. WARNINGS. none. WORD COUNT. 4.8k.

EVEN IN DEATH. even in death, you’ll never win.

PAIRING. choi seungcheol x reader. GENRE. dystopian! au, angst. WARNINGS. suicide, major character death, swearing. WORD COUNT. 569.

LUST. lucky 7 collab with @haokyeom; lust /ləst/ — the mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the spirit is life and peace - romans 8:6.

PAIRING. yoon jeonghan x reader. GENRE. college! au, extremely suggestive, angst. WARNINGS. borderline smut, implied smut, nsfw themes obviously lmao but no actual doing the dirty because i can’t write smut for shit, swearing, jeonghan is the literal devil. WORD COUNT. 4.5k.

BLANC & NOIR. there’s no plot, just joshua being a devil, really.

PAIRING. joshua hong x reader. GENRE. suggestive, power dynamics. WARNINGS. nswf-ish lol, finger in mouth yes u heard me. WORD COUNT. 634.

RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU. it’s easy to miss things when you’re preoccupied. but sometimes the obvious answer is just simply right in front of you.

PAIRING. joshua hong x reader. GENRE. coffee shop! au, fluff, humor, underlying pining. WARNINGS. swearing. WORD COUNT. 996.

PRIDE. lucky 7 collab with @haokyeom; pride /prīd/ — it was pride that changed angels into devils; it is humility that makes men as angels - st. augustine.

PAIRING. kwon soonyoung x reader. GENRE. dystopian! au, angst, suggestive, romance-ish. WARNINGS. major character death, mentions of death, unhealthy relationships, one slightly nsfw scene. WORD COUNT. 3.7k.

DILIGENCE. lucky 7 collab with @haokyeom; diligence /ˈdiləjəns/ — thoroughness, completeness, and persistence of an action, particularly in matters of faith.

PAIRING. lee jihoon x reader. GENRE. canon compliant, established relationship! au, comfort fluff . WARNINGS. none. WORD COUNT. 679.

BETWEEN THE AISLES. wherein you discover your feelings for your best friend in between the grocery aisles.

PAIRING. kim mingyu x reader. GENRE. best friends! au, fluff, humor. WARNINGS. swearing. WORD COUNT. 2k.

HONEYDEW. seokmin smoochies.

PAIRING. lee seokmin x reader. GENRE. tooth rotting fluff. WARNINGS. none. WORD COUNT. 410.

BE CAREFUL. sunset at the beach with seokmin.

PAIRING. lee seokmin x reader. GENRE. summer! au, fluff. WARNINGS. none. WORD COUNT. 461.

THINGS YOU CAN’T HIDE. seungkwan decides that you’re his best bet to get his annoying friends to finally fuck off.

PAIRING. boo seungkwan x reader. GENRE. college! au, volleyball! au, fake dating! au, fluff. WARNINGS. swearing. WORD COUNT. 2.1k.

THE BOYZ

A REMEDY FOR BROKEN BONES. drabble game; “wait, no, don’t take kissing away from me” + “that was, by far, the stupidest thing you’ve ever done”.

PAIRING. eric sohn x reader. GENRE. established relationship! au, hospital! au, fluff, humor, skater boi bf eric. WARNINGS. mentions of injuries, hospitals, as well as slightly descriptive kissing. WORD COUNT. 757.

#masterlist.docx

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kingofkingdom-archive · 3 years

Text

Recovery [Ezra (Prospect) x Fem!Reader]

A/N: Hello all! This is my first Pedro Pascal work and the first to be posted here to this blog. If anyone has any requests, don’t hesitate to send them my way! As always, please read the tags/warnings, you are responsible for the media you choose to consume. Also posted to AO3 under the same username (kingofkingdom). I did not use “y/n” or anything similar in this story.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You were taken from your younger sister, Cee, ten years ago. When you answered a distress call from the Green, you didn’t expect to be reunited with her, and you certainly didn’t expect to meet a man like Ezra.

Warnings: mention of past violence/death, discussion of medical procedure, discussion of disability (amputation/loss of limb), family dynamics, abstract discussion of philosophy, small SW universe cameo :)

Tags: considerable amounts of fluff, size kink, daddy kink, hint of dd/lg, copious use of various pet names, p-in-v sex, some breast play/worship, some dom!ezra & sub!reader

Word count: 9552

You hadn't seen Cee since your mother died.

Her father had taken her and left you in the care of your aunt, a woman you didn't know, a woman who jumped at the chance to send you off to boarding school on the Ephrate the moment you were old enough. Most of your memories consisted of your host family there, with a younger "sister" who reminded you all too much of the one you had lost. In your mind, Cee was still a toddler, all wispy blonde hair and big blue eyes.

Cee's father had never liked you. You were the evidence of his wife's life before him, and you looked too much like your own deceased father for him to have any affection toward you. It didn't surprise you that he left you behind after your mother died, but at ten that didn't make it hurt any less.

Since then, ten years had passed. Now, your aunt was gone, and your studies on the Ephrate completed. You'd taken to a rather nomadic lifestyle, catching rides from planet to station to planet and picking up odd jobs here and there. It wasn't much, but you'd become a strong woman in your time on your own, and thoughts of your half-sister plagued you only some nights now.

Jobs you took ranged from helping the lone-wolf prospector on an excavation to ship repairs at major stations across the system. In one of your darker moments, you'd even carried out a hit against some low-level merc who'd pissed off the wrong people. Those people paid well, enough to fill your stomach for a few days and cover a ride far away from that moon. The right circles knew you could hold your own, and that's what mattered.

This particular station was on the outskirts of the system, a rough-and-tumble place frequented only by prospectors and the people that paid them. You'd taken a shift at the bar here a few weeks ago, and knew the locals pretty well. In a spot like this, people could often get more information at your humble establishment than they could from the officials. You were lying low, and you itched to get moving again, like the nomad you were.

Hence why you kept the radio channels on all the time during your shifts, quiet and unobtrusive where you stood at the bar.

You were thankful, looking back, that it had been a quiet afternoon, and that you'd been so vigilant in keeping track of job openings.

"This is Kilo-Romeo 12, calling from Green sector 608. In need of assistance pronto, rapid extraction A.S.A.P."

The voice is faint, but frantic - a masculine growl laced with an edge of panic. Your radio isn't the best, and you don't recognize the prospector's callsign, but you know he must be in deep shit. A call like this from the Green is a death sentence if someone doesn't act quickly.

As with most of your decisions, you act entirely on impulse. As you hit the button to close up the bar's doors, the radio is already in your hands.

"This is Juno B-390, responding to Kilo-Romeo 12. Do you copy?"

You're down the hall by now, rushing to your quarters to collect your meager belongings. Everything fits in a single pack, and you're just pulling your helmet onto your head when the radio crackles to life again.

"I copy, Juno B-390," the relief is evident in his voice, even through the static. "We need extraction and medical care."

Well, that wasn't in the initial signal. "We? How many are with you? And what kind of medical care are we talkin' here?"

"Just me and one other. Deep trauma to the abdomen, I'm afraid."

You swear under your breath. Nothing you can't handle, but this guy's timer's really running out. You grab the necessary supplies and dash to your small pod racer, which is just big enough with its three seats.

"Hang on, Kilo-Romeo. I'll be there as soon as I'm able. You'll need to direct me to your exact location, is that clear?"

There's a moment of silence before his voice echoes through your racer one last time.

"Clear."

You descend upon the Green as fast as the forces of physics and gravity allow you to. Sector 608, as it says on your map, is a stretch of deep woods and rolling terrain, nearly unexplored save for the last rush. You slow up as you approach, and call out to the prospector over the radio once again.

"Kilo-Romeo 12, this is Juno B-390. I am approaching your location. Do you copy?"

It's quiet. Much too quiet. You slow the racer even more, as your heart begins to race. Just as you begin to worry that you're too late, the radio awakens.

It's not the man, however, whose voice you hear.

"This is Ez-- I mean, this is Kilo-Romeo's... uh... companion. He's gotten worse."

It's a girl. A young teen, from the sound of it. Your heart clenches, thinking of how scared she must be out there.

"Okay, hey there. It's gonna be okay. Can you tell me what landmarks you see? Help me find you."

"Um, yeah. We're in a clearing, there's another ship right nearby. It's not operational, which is wh-- uh, yeah. Clearing, big ship. Also sort of a gulley nearby."

You're about to respond when she speaks again.

"Please, hurry."

"I will, kid. Just keep him alive."

It takes you longer than you would've liked to find this clearing, but once you do you see a scene that brings more questions than answers. Dead bodies litter the field and a half-blown excavation site sits in ruins. Discretion's always been a virtue of yours, though, so you file the information away in your brain and swiftly land your craft. As soon as you exit, you hear the girl's voice not too far away.

"Here! We're over here!"

You grab the field kit and run over to where she stands over a slumped figure. The man you'd spoken to is now unconscious, and not only does he have a nasty looking wound in his chest, he's missing an arm. You look up at the girl. Her brows are furrowed, eyes like steel. You like her already.

"Go to the racer and grab the stretcher that's behind the passenger seat. We'll have to move him onto that and carry him over."

She nods and runs off. Immediately, you turn to the man and take stock of his injuries. The arm has been gone for at least a little while, so that's not of immediate concern. You set to treating the chest wound, making sure to purge it and his suit of dust. Nasty stuff, that which floats around this planet. His filter is as good as gone, so you quickly connect your own.

You drain the wound with the juice the locals here produce, which is generally in stock in the station's field kits. It smells rank, but it works, and the man below you groans. Good, he's still vocal, at least. It doesn't sound like a lung's been punctured. You set up a highly temporary pocket over his wound and torn suit through which you can patch the injury. You take some foaming antiseptic and apply it to the wound before adhering a sticky bio-bandage over the top of it.

It'll do for now. He'll need further treatment at the station, but this should keep him alive, at least.

The girl returns with the stretcher then, and places it next to the man. You glance up at her, and see momentarily a young version of yourself. Eager to help. Eager to make things right.

You shake your head, collecting your thoughts. "Okay, so I'm going to tilt his body towards me, and you slide the stretcher as far as you can under him. Then we'll let him down on top of it and secure him for travel. Can you do that?"

She nods, and you give her a small smile. You hook one arm around the man's waist, the other supporting his neck and shoulder.

"On three, okay? One... two... three!"

Quickly, you roll him up onto his remaining arm as she slides the stretcher under him. As gently as possible, you let him back down, and just like that he's mostly on the stretcher. You set to arranging him properly and tying straps down.

The girl fidgets, and you look up to her.

"Do you know how to stow the back seat in a racer like that?" you ask, and she nods.

"Good, go do it."

She runs off, and is back by the time you've gotten the man secured to the stretcher.

"You take the handles at his feet and I'll take his head. We have to be careful not to tilt him too much, to keep the weight on the stretcher even. Did he suffer any head trauma?"

The girl shakes her head. "No, I don't think so."

You probably should have asked that before moving him onto the stretcher, but then again no one's ever known you for your excellence in trauma care. Your knowledge of first aid comes only from what you've picked up in the field, so sometimes the order of operations gets a bit jumbled.

Whatever. He'll be okay. You can't let yourself think otherwise.

The girl stoops to grab hold of the handles at his feet. You do the same at his head, and again you count backwards from three.

"Up!"

Together you stand, and twin groans echo from both of you. The girl huffs, clearly struggling a bit under the weight.

"Okay, let's go. Slowly, remember."

You walk backwards, feet taking cautious steps so as to keep the same pace as the young girl. Her face is screwed up in focus and concentration, hands in a vice grip on the handles.

"You're doing good, kid. Just a bit further."

Before you know it, you've reached the ship. Carefully, you set the stretcher in the racer, and then the two of you slide it in. There's just barely enough room for it. You quickly secure it, and then close the hatch.

The girl is looking at you, eyes wide and chest heaving. You reach out a gloved hand and set it on her shoulder, giving a firm squeeze.

"He'll be okay. I promise. Now go get in the passenger seat and I'll get us back up to the station."

She nods, and seems to relax a bit at that. You can't help but wonder what she's been through, out here in this rough, unforgiving environment. "Thank you."

You smile, and sincerely hope that this young girl finds a way to leave this life of prospecting behind. You don't know how she got here, but it's no place for someone so young. You know that all too well.

"Let's go, kid."

The trip was pretty quiet save for a single groan from the man in back. The girl glanced back to him when she heard that, and then looked at you, concerned.

"It's okay. He'll be in and out of consciousness until we get to the station. I'll pull up to the emergency med-bay so the doctors can start treating him properly right away."

You look over to her, and she nods.

"Does he have anyone they can contact? Any family?" you ask. "The doctors will need to know."

She shakes her head. "I'm not sure. I don't think so."

You sigh. "Okay. Well, we'll deal with that when we get there."

It's not long after that you arrive at the med-bay. It's a whirlwind of nurses and questions and forms, most of which you have to leave blank, since you don't know the guy and the girl seems not to know much more. She does, however, give you a name.

"His name's Ezra," she offers, when she sees you pause at the line on the top of the screen.

You look over at her. "Ezra? Spelled E-Z-R-A?"

She nods. "Never told me a last name though."

"That's alright. A first name's enough."

She sits next to you and helps where she can as you fill out the form. Once you're done, you go up to hand the tablet back to the receptionist. You then sit back down next to her, crossing your arms over your flight suit. The girl's fiddling with her fingers, bag tucked between her feet.

"Do you think we'll be able to see him when they're done?" she asks, clearly trying not to sound as worried as she is.

You shrug. "Probably. It might be a while, though. Do you want something to eat while we wait?"

She nods, and when you look over at her, she's smiling.

As it turns out, it does take a pretty long time for them to complete the operation. It feels like hours that you two are sitting there. You watch the people come and go from the waiting room while the girl writes in some notebook, headphones secure over her ears, absently eating a chocolate bar.

She can't be more than 13 or 14. You think back to when you were that age - in the middle of your time at the Ephrate, moody and angsty like all young teens. It makes you think of Cee. She'd be about that age by now. You look over to the girl sitting next to you, wondering what ever became of your sister. Maybe she's at the Ephrate by now, or perhaps her father has taken her to some peaceful planet with beaches and a nice home, a few pets running around.

Hopefully a better life than the one you've led. Somewhere far from thrower blasts and gemstones.

This girl seems nice enough, and you're sure she's seen her fair share of shit. It's clear this guy's not only not her father, but that they haven't known each other long at all. You can't help but wonder how they ended up traveling together.

Images of the clearing littered with bodies flashes in your mind. Something went down there, and it clearly got ugly fast. It's amazing that the girl emerged relatively unscathed. You've seen a fair share of shootouts and fights, and never did you escape completely uninjured. It takes cleverness and a strong sense of self-preservation, the latter of which you don't often have.

You're ruminating on the mystery sitting next to you when the doors to the operating rooms swing open. A nurse steps out and looks at both of you. You stand, and she follows suit.

"He's awake, and asking for you," the nurse says. You nudge the girl slightly with your elbow.

"Go on, go see hi--"

The nurse cuts in. "He's asking for both of you."

Oh. You're surprised. He doesn't even know you, so there's no reason he should be asking to see you. Despite your confusion, you follow behind the girl as she follows the nurse to his room.

The hallways are sterile and white, cleaner than anything you've seen in months. The doorway is the last on the right, and inside is a single bed, with a small window looking out to the stars.

The young girl enters first as the nurse stands to the side, and you hover in the doorway to watch, still not quite feeling entirely welcome. You can just see the man's - Ezra's - hair behind the girl, with an unusual shock of blonde in otherwise dark brown curls.

"I was wondering where you went, birdie. One minute I was on the ground and next thing I know I'm sitting here like a babe in a bassinet, right as rain," he says, voice melodic with an accent you can't quite place.

"Do you feel better, Ezra?" the girl asks, voice wavering just slightly.

"I do. Are you faring alright yourself?"

She nods, and crosses her arms. Silence fills the room for a moment, then Ezra speaks again.

"Who was so kind as to bring us here, birdie?" he asks. The girl turns to you and steps aside so Ezra can see you.

"She did," she replies, a soft look on her face.

You step forward and look at Ezra properly for the first time. You hadn't really paid much attention to his facial features back on the Green, so concerned as you were with getting him out of there.

His dark brown eyes are kind, and his lips tease at a smile. He's got stubble growing on his chin and a mustache on his lip. There's a thin white line in the shape of a crescent underneath his left eye, the silvery remnant of a deep cut sustained long ago. He's older than you, maybe 40 or so. For some reason, you feel butterflies erupt in your stomach, but you're quick to snuff those out best you can. Mirroring the girl, you cross your arms, and flip your braid over your shoulder.

"Yeah, that would be me," you say, as nonchalantly as you can manage.

"I recognize that voice from the radio," he notes, looking at you intently. "I can't hardly give you enough thanks for getting the two of us out of that... sticky situation. You really are somethin' else, sugar."

You shrug, unused to such praise, such immediate kindness. You feel your face heat up with a blush, and you clear your throat.

"Well, it sure sounded like you were in need of some help. I'm happy to see you're doing better."

Your voice is softer than you intend. Spending even three minutes with this guy seems to have thrown you off balance. You haven't met anyone that talks like him since you were in school, and it's like a breath of fresh air.

His face turns serious at your words. Ezra's gaze is as intense as it is gentle, burning into your own.

"Oh, much better," he assures you, giving you a look you can't quite decipher. A smile quickly returns to his features. "It's a shame they couldn't get my arm to grow back."

You laugh a little at that, happy to see that he's in good spirits. The nurse steps forward then, tablet in hand. The three of you turn to her.

"Ezra will likely be discharged tomorrow morning, given how much progress he's made just today. He will need somewhere to rest, however, for the next week or so. We can help to make boarding arrangeme--"

"No," you interrupt, surprising even yourself. "No, he can stay with me. I have quarters in the 4th wing." You turn to the girl. "You can stay with me too, if you'd like." You don't know what's come over yourself, but you find yourself drawn to this unlikely pair.

The girl nods once, just as Ezra speaks up. "You're too kind, sugar. Your hospitality and generosity are appreciated beyond measure. Do let us know if there's any way at all we can show our gratitude."

You shake your head immediately, waving a hand as if to wave away the notion.

"No need for that. Consider it a celebratory gift for parting with the Green."

Everyone laughs at that - even the nurse, who hides her grin behind her tablet.

The next morning, you and the girl - whose name you still don't know, and who still does not know yours - visit the med-bay first thing after breakfast. Your quarters are small, enough to fit two comfortably and three at most. The girl has decided to take the sofa, since Ezra will need to rest, and a bed is most ideal for that. It seems you both tend to rise early, so you gave her some oatmeal and a cup of coffee. She took both without hesitation, and it warmed your heart to see her eat after however long she and Ezra had been out there.

When you two arrive, Ezra is waiting in his room, dressed in clean loungewear with a bag on his lap. He is seated in a wheelchair. You and the girl greet him, happy to see that he is rested and ready to leave.

"I told the kind folks that I am more than able to walk unaided," he comments when you begin to push the chair from behind. "They insisted, however, and I am not one to ignore the advice and orders of my physicians."

You see the girl try to hide a smile. It seems as though he's grown on her, and she struggles to admit that to herself. Before you can think better of it, you give Ezra a pat on the right shoulder, a small attempt at reassurance.

"You'll be walking in no time, I'm sure," you reply.

You feel his left hand cover your own, and you nearly stumble as you push him along through the hallway. His palm is rough and callused, a signature trait of most prospectors. It's large, too, covering your own entirely. Its warmth soaks through the back of your hand and into your stomach.

"With kindness as bright as yours to guide me, that will certainly be the case."

You don't know what to say to that, so you give his shoulder a squeeze and retract your hand.

The 4th wing is not too far from the med-bay; the station itself is smaller than most, so the distance is blessedly short. Ezra does most of the talking while the three of you walk.

"It would suit me just perfectly to never see that god-forsaken moon again so long as I live," he comments just as you reach the door to your quarters. You scan your ID card and the panel slides open, revealing a small but comfortable dwelling. "Forget the gems, forget the money. Prospecting is surely the most foolish endeavor of them all."

"The lust for wealth is stronger than the fear of death," you reply, almost without thinking.

Ezra looks up at you, smiling, a curious look on his face. "Asmolea. Ruminations, chapter seven. Color me impressed, sugar."

You look back, equally surprised. "You recognize that quote?"

"Why, yes, in fact, I do," he responds, and you notice the girl watching the two of you out of the corner of your eye. "I was an admirer of the great thinkers, long ago. When I was younger, and more -- well, more curious about such things, I suppose."

You wheel him into the small sitting area, arranged around a holo-screen. The walls are bare, lack of personality belying a short-lived residence here. You engage the wheelchair's brakes and take a seat yourself, across from him on an armchair. The girl sits on the sofa, where she slept last night.

"Philosophy is the sustenance of the mind," he continues, kicking his feet up to rest on the coffee table. He winces slightly at the motion, but keeps speaking nevertheless. "Without it, we decay. We risk succumbing to trivial errors of man. It is the sharpening stone to the blade of our intellect."

"What about literature?" the girl asks, her eyes firey and brow set. "I think that's much more valuable than what some ancient guy thought about a world we don't even know anymore."

You smile, pleased at this contribution. "I think great literature can convey philosophical ideas in the form of a modern narrative. You just have to keep an eye out for it, and understand its relevance to the story."

Ezra nods along. "I agree. Where did you read Asmolea, sugar?"

"At the Ephrate," you reply, and you see the girl perk up. You smile at her, hoping the two of you will have a chance to discuss that later. She seems entirely intrigued by you now. "I studied there for seven years, until I was eighteen."

"Why did you leave?" the girl asks.

You sigh, and bring your foot up to rest on the chair, so your thigh is pressed against your front. "Life there didn't suit me. I'm much happier on my own, not surrounded by stuffy academics and pretentious businessmen. The only ones I could stand there were the monks."

Ezra laughs at that. "The Neo-Carthusians?"

You nod, grinning. "Yeah. Considered joining, for about a month or so. I admire their lives of solitude and contemplation, but I couldn't imagine staying in one place for so long."

The conversation flows between the three of you so naturally you hardly notice the time flying by. They ask questions about you, and you return the favor by inquiring about their lives. The girl is quiet when it comes to her past, but you find out her father died on the Green. Both she and Ezra are hesitant to talk about it, which tells you all that you need to know.

Night falls quickly, or at least night according to standard time - on the station, there is no night or day, just a constant darkness visible out the windows interrupted by pinpricks of light. Everyone follows the standard clock, which runs according to time on the Ephrate.

You show Ezra to his room after the three of you have eaten dinner. It's a small space, just enough for a bed and a dresser. Carefully, he stands from the wheelchair, tosses his bag on the bed, and turns to look at you.

He's much taller than you are. The butterflies return as you look up at him, and a warm feeling radiates through the area below your stomach.

"Thank you again for the hospitality, sugar," he murmurs, voice low and deep. He moves the wheelchair out from between you, so there's nothing but air separating the two of you. "As I said, don't hesitate to ask if there is anything I can do to repay you. Anything at all."

You nod, at a loss for words. His hand comes up and gently brushes a loose strand of hair away from your face and tucks it behind your ear. You positively melt. This man is going to be the death of you.

"I'm just glad to see you safe, Ezra," you reply, and your eyes flutter at the way his fingers linger over the apple of your cheek. His lips look so soft, his eyes full of promises he intends to keep. You can feel yourself falling, as if in a dream.

You blink and lean back, away from him. This is a bad idea. For what reason, you can't say, but you dart to your room as soon as you begin to doubt yourself.

You shut the door and lean against it. There's no way, your mind whispers to you. He feels indebted. That's the only reason. You're too young, he just sees you as a kid.

In your haste, you didn't see the look in his eyes as you left so suddenly, or the way he stared at the door long after you shut it.

In the night, you dream of him. Dark eyes above you, heavenly, filthy moans filling the air around you, something thick and perfect filling the empty space inside you. His musical voice murmurs sweet words in your ear, and you hear the sound of your passion just as much as you feel it. Your hands grip his hair as he thrusts, your body trembling underneath him.

Your peak startles you awake, and you find your bedsheets soaked with the evidence of your fantasy.

Your bedside clock tells you it is the early hours of the morning. With a sigh, you toss back the blankets and emerge from your room quietly.

After a quick shower in the refresher, you step out and wrap a towel around yourself. You stare into the mirror, thinking about him.

You've never felt such an instant attraction to anyone before in your life. Sure, his looks contribute quite a bit, but it's much more than that. You and he seem to have a similar intellect, his passion and aptitude for prose matching your own knowledge and understanding of philosophy and the humanities. The girl is also equally respected by him as she is by you, and you both share a common want to see her thrive. You've known them both barely a day and a half, but they already feel more like family than anyone you've ever known.

You wonder if you're imagining his affections toward you. That could just be him, his way of communicating. You desperately hope it's more than that, but you also can't get your hopes up because of a silly dream.

A silly, beautiful dream.

Water drips from your hair, down your chest, and into the towel. As you begin to shiver, you decide to return to bed and try again for some uninterrupted sleep. You'll have to change the sheets, unfortunately, but that shouldn't take more than a few minutes.

You open the door and tiptoe back out into the hallway, quiet as a mouse. Just as you're about to sneak back into your room, towel clutched tightly in your fingers, you're startled by the door opposite your own sliding open.

And there he is. Dressed in little more than a pair of grey shorts, hair tousled and eyes weary with sleep.

He blinks a few times, and then his eyes widen, suddenly much more awake. You see him glance down, and his mouth parts ever so slightly before his gaze returns to your face.

You are frozen in place. Somewhere in your mind, you will your feet to dart away again, but the remnants of your dream still echo in your muscles, preventing you from leaving. Your hands tighten on your towel and despite yourself, you make note of his chest, his abdomen - the wound, which is an angry red line, held together with clear stitching, and which makes your heart clench at the thought of what would've happened had you not arrived - and finally, a rapid glance at his shorts, his thighs, before you find your sense and look back up at his face.

There's that intensity again, with considerably less gentleness. You inhale sharply, and spare a glance towards the sitting area, where the girl sleeps.

"She's quite the light sleeper, I'm afraid. I'd be mightily surprised if she didn't already hear --"

His voice is low, nearly inaudible to your ears as you look back at him. The tone of it causes the insides of your thighs to tremble, and your chest to heave with silent breaths. Ezra cuts himself off, clearly not having meant to say as much as he did.

Maybe it's the early hour that makes the words escape your lips with ease. Maybe it's the dream, the visions of which you can still see in your mind's eye as you look at him. Perhaps there's just something about Ezra that makes you bold, standing there with nothing more than thin terrycloth protecting your modesty.

"Hear what, Ezra?" you whisper, and set your jaw when his eyes widen ever so slightly.

Ezra reaches out, and his hand comes up to grip the back of your neck. His thumb strokes your jawline, behind your ear, and he steps forward. He's so close that you can feel the heat from his body on your own.

His lips press softly against your forehead, a surprisingly intimate gesture that makes you shiver. The hand that isn't clutching your towel moves to rest on his waist, golden skin warm under your cold fingers.

"Hear this, sweet thing," he murmurs against your skin, lips still pressed against you. "How strongly I feel for you. How deeply I know that it was divine providence that brought you to me. The ways I want to repay you for saving my life.”

His words are like molten gold, shimmering and hot as they slip over your skin and into your heart. You shiver, and your fingers curl gently into his side.

”I don’t - I don’t want you to feel obligated to... to do anything. With me. For me,” you whisper back, eyes closed, basking in the feeling of this quiet moment.

Ezra hums in dissent against your worries. “No... no...” he says, as his fingers slowly thread their way into your hair. “It isn't like that —“

He’s interrupted by a shuffling sound from the sitting room. You both freeze, wide-eyed, and look toward the room where the girl sleeps.

A moment passes, and then two. Enough that you know she is still asleep and there isn’t any risk of her finding you two like this.

It‘s like ice water thrown over you, the reminder of where and who you are. You look back up to Ezra, whose eyes are soft and knowing as they stare at you. His hand gently caresses the back of your neck, and then he brings it back to rest at his side.

"Go to bed, sweetheart," he murmurs, and then steps around you. He enters the refresher without another word.

You do as he says, but you find yourself struggling to fall back asleep once you return to clean, cool sheets. You watch the stars inch past outside your window as your mind races at the memory of his lips.

The next morning, you wake to sounds of movement coming from outside your door. For a moment you panic, before you remember your two visitors. And then you remember your encounter with one of those visitors last night, and the hushed words exchanged between you and him.

Beside you, the clock reads barely past 06:00, which is usually the time you wake up anyway. Today you have another shift at the bar, assuming you still have a job there after you ditched it the other day. With a groan, you pull yourself out from under the warm, soft covers and dress yourself.

The noise becomes more decipherable as you make your way down the hallway. Ezra and the girl are making small talk while something sizzles. You turn the corner and see Ezra standing at the stove with the girl sitting at the counter, the pleasing aromatic smell of pork bacon wafting through the air. You lean against the wall and watch the pair with a small smile, happy to see someone making use of a space normally reserved for microwave rations and alcohol snuck from the bar.

No one's ever accused you of being a particularly good bartender, that's for sure.

Ezra turns to look at you when he hears your footsteps, a bright smile lighting up his face.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he teases, and pushes the bacon around with a spatula. "I cannot emphasize enough how divine it was to wake up with a soft cushion beneath me rather than dirt. I could much too easily let myself get used to this, and I think Cee here agrees with me on that account. Don't you, birdie?"

The girl nods, but you don't notice it. The color has drained from your face and you feel a frantic, sinking feeling in your chest.

"What did you say?" you ask, pushing yourself off the wall and looking at Ezra with wide eyes.

He looks back, brow furrowed, confused. "I believe I said that I could get used to this...?"

You turn away from him and look at the girl. She's looking at you too, now, concern evident in her eyes.

"What did he say your name is?"

She blinks. "My name's Cee."

Your hand flies up to your mouth, and you feel tears gather at the corners of your eyes. It can't be. But she's the right age, and her hair's the same, and...

"What was your father's name?"

She looks even more confused now. "Um, it was Damon."

Oh my god. "Oh my god. You're Cee."

The two of them stare at you like you've grown a second head. You laugh, realizing how foolish you look.

And then you give her your name.

Cee's eyes light up like nothing you've ever seen before, and she nearly launches herself off of the counter stool to wrap you in the tightest hug you've ever been given. You laugh again, a loud and boisterous thing, as happy tears spring unbidden and flow onto your cheeks. Her hands grip the back of your shirt as you hold her head to your chest with both hands.

"I never thought I'd see you again," you mutter through the tears, pressing your nose against her hair. It's her. It's really her. Suddenly you think Ezra was right about divine providence, that the three of you were meant to find each other, the event arranged by some mighty cosmic force.

"Dad told me you were dead," she cries, as the two of you collapse to the floor. Propriety suddenly no longer concerns you, not now that you're cradling your long-lost little sister.

"I'm so sorry, Cee. I'm so sorry."

You can't say much more than that. There are simultaneously too many and not enough things to say to the last family you have left in the universe, to this girl who was so much like you even in the first moments of knowing one another.

Above you, Ezra clears his throat.

"While this is clearly an unexpected but happy reunion that I hate to interrupt, I do have to ask how you girls know one another, so that I might not be kept in the dark about your relation?"

You look up at him as you move backwards to rest your shoulders against the wall. His dark eyes look down at you from above, and though you've never felt so small, you've also never felt happier in your life.

"She's my sister," you answer with a smile. "Same mother, different father. We were separated when our mother died. She was hardly more than a baby."

Ezra's eyes grow soft at that, and he nods. You begin to think that maybe now you both have something to thank the other for. You may have saved his life, but his radio transmission brought you Cee.

You tighten your arms around her, and place a kiss on the crown of her head. You aren't sure how long you sit there - long enough to have surely lost your job when you don't show up for your shift, but you can't find it within yourself to care. This is all that matters to you right now.

The day passes with you and Cee doing most of the talking, for once. Ezra seems content to just sit and listen, though you catch him a few times looking at you like he did in the darkened hallway last night.

After lunch, he makes a point to sit next to you on the couch, arm draped across the cushions behind you.

If Cee notices, she doesn't say anything. You still aren't sure where your relationship with Ezra stands, but in the midst of sharing stories with Cee and learning about her life, you don't find time to sort that out.

Dinner comes and goes again, and the topic of the future comes up.

"When do you think you'll be healed enough to travel again, Ezra?" you ask, as the three of you work on cleaning the dishes.

He shrugs. "I'm fit to travel right now," he answers, and you give him a look. No, he isn't. He chuckles. "Alright, sugar. Maybe another day or so. The serum they gave me to apply daily has been working wonders, I must admit."

You nod, and look over at Cee. "Where do you want to go? The Ephrate? I have no doubt you could get into the school there."

She perks up at that. "You think so? Would you bring me?"

"Why not? I'm a traveler anyway, and I think it's high time I got out of this station. Ezra?" You look over to him, but he's already looking at you.

You feel his hand ghost over the small of your back. "I would be most honored to accompany you both to the Ephrate, if you'll have me."

"Yes, of course," you reply, leaning into his touch, and you turn back to the task at hand.

Later on, when Cee is in bed listening to her music, and Ezra's in his room, you sit on your bed thinking about what's to come. In order to apply to the school, Cee will need a guardian contact, and a record of education. You hope she can pass the entrance exam and submit a writing sample, and that that will be enough. Maybe you can talk some of your former professors into considering her.

It’s a pretty long trip from the station to the Ephrate, even with a ship that can travel at hyper speed. You can’t help but wonder what will become of Ezra after you get Cee set up in school.

The man captivates you, to put it plainly. His poetic manner of speaking and the gentle fire of his passion, when directed at you, gives you a feeling unlike any other you’ve experienced before. You’ve met plenty of men in your life. None have ever made you feel such a way.

Before you can think better of it, while the desire to see his sleep-ruffled hair still sits at the forefront of your mind, you get out of bed and leave your room. Quietly, so as to not disturb Cee, you knock on his door.

”Come in!” he calls out from somewhere within.

You slide the door open, slip inside, and close the door behind you. Ezra is sitting up in bed, looking at you.

”To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing such a beautiful woman enter my chamber in the night?” The question is teasing, good-natured, but the compliment still makes your stomach swoop.

You smile, and walk to where he lies in bed, leaning against the dresses. “I wanted to thank you, Ezra. You brought my sister back to me, which is something I’ll never be able to repay you for. Can we call it even?”

He laughs at that. “Sure we can, sweet thing. You know, when I first saw you in that recovery room, I thought I recognized you from somewhere, and that my brain had done me the disservice of erasing all memory of you. I now realize it was because you and Cee are so much alike. I haven’t known her for much longer than I’ve known you, and it remains a miracle that she has given me even a modicum of trust, but I see the relation between you clear as a bell now.”

You have to smile at that. It warms your heart to know you didn’t imagine it, that someone else noticed it too.

Ezra reaches out then, in the dim light, and you step forward. Thinking he's reaching for your hand, you extend yours - but he bypasses it completely and wraps his hand around the back of your upper thigh, thumb brushing against your sleep shorts. A giggle escapes your lips as he pulls you in even closer to him. Ezra leans forward and presses his face against your midsection, nose just next to your belly button.

Confused, but certainly pleasantly surprised, you place your hands on his head and thread your fingers through his dark curls. Gently you massage his scalp, not quite understanding this sudden show of affection. It's different than last night, though you can't exactly express how.

You decide you're really enjoying seeing these different sides of Ezra when the two of you are alone.

When you happen to massage a certain spot right behind his ear, Ezra groans, a low sound that ripples through your bones. His grip tightens, and you feel his next words more than you hear them.

"Come here, little one," he murmurs into your stomach, nosing at the hem of your shirt. The pet name makes you clench, desire flooding through your center.

He pulls you closer, shifting his face away so he can guide you down onto the bed. You swing one leg over his waist just as he slides his hand up to grip your ass, turning you further so you're on your back next to him. He's on his side, propped up by his elbow, leaning over you.

You're breathless, staring up into those infinite brown eyes.

"You have consumed my every waking thought since the moment I first saw you" he says softly, his voice a low purr that awakens some unknown part of yourself. You turn into him, resting a hand on his side, and he presses his nose against your cheek.

"I must have been a saint in a previous life to have earned this sweet embrace," he continues, breath warm against your face. "I want to learn you, to study you with the same vigor the ancients studied and examined the mind. I want to know you, sweet girl, in every way possible.

"But I must be truthful with you, because I could no longer live with myself if I were not. I am not a good man. I have lived a long life of violence and amorality, and death and deceit seem to follow me hand-in-hand. You are so young, little one, full of life and vitality, future bright ahead of you. I do not deserve you, and you certainly deserve better than me."

His words are like needles piercing your heart. You slide your hand up his chest to cup his face, tenderly stroking his cheekbone. You draw him away ever so slightly so you can look him in the eye.

"You and I are not so different, Ezra," you hum, making sure that he keeps the eye contact. "I have been on that same path, of death and violence, for years. I've lived for none but myself."

You slide your thumb across his lower lip, soft and pink and tempting.

"Let me live for you."

You punctuate your whispered plea by drawing him back down and pressing your lips to his. He gasps into the kiss before returning it with passion amplified twofold. His leg slides over your midsection to stabilize himself, knees pushing in between your own so your thighs stretch open around his.

Ezra deepens the kiss almost immediately. You surrender to his lips, one hand gripping his shoulder while the other tangles again in his hair. His mouth is hot, tasting faintly of mint but mostly a sweet flavor you attribute only to him. You let out a soft moan at the feeling building in your cunt, wet and warm and yearning for him, and he uses the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. Ezra licks at your teeth, seemingly in an attempt to map out every part of you that he can.

All you're able to do is moan, melting into him like a candle to a flame.

You feel Ezra shift a little, followed by profanity muttered softly against your lips. He draws away, and you open your eyes to see him clenching his jaw.

"'M still not fully adjusted to not having a kriffing arm," he grumbles, frustration evident in his eyes. You hum, hurting for him, wanting to take his pain away.

"What do you need, Ezra?" you ask. "What can I do?"

He presses his forehead against yours and sighs. "I want to see you, sweet thing. I want to touch you."

You flush, understanding the meaning of his words and feeling your panties grow wetter at the implication.

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes." You push at his shoulders, urging him to sit back. He does so, sitting back. You rearrange your legs so that yours rest outside of his, and sit up. Your thighs are tucked against his hips in a position that feels much closer than before - you can just barely feel the heat of his groin against your own. A breath stumbles its way out of your lungs, chest heaving.

Before you can think any further on your insecurities, you grasp the hem of your shirt and draw it up and over your head. Ezra's eyes light up, glance at your face, darken considerably as he looks down again, and then he's on you once more.

His arm wraps around you tightly, hand pressing firmly into your ribs, and it's then that you really take in the size difference between you and him. As his head dips to press his lips against your breasts and nipples, you can't help but shudder at the way his body curls over your own. You feel distinctly small, in a way that would usually frighten you but instead makes you shiver.

This position is clearly more comfortable for Ezra, because he becomes more vocal as he lavishes your tits with attention.

"Gods, little one," he murmurs against the top of one of your breasts, tongue darting out to taste your peaked bud, "your body is divine, the sweetest fruit in the universe." He pauses to suck at your nipple, drawing it into his mouth, and the sight of it forces a whine from your throat. Something about it is so perfect, so perverse, for a man who's always been so sweet, that you can't help but press your clothed cunt down on his cock, the shape of which you can feel burning and hard like an iron through your clothes.

Ezra lets out a choked growl at that, a deep rumbling sound that you immediately commit to memory, in case of the unfortunate event that you're not blessed to ever hear it again. He releases your teat, now spit-soaked and throbbing, and looks at you with eyes so dark you hardly recognize them. His brows are drawn together, teeth bared like a feral animal.

"That's what you do to me," he growls, moving his hand down to cup your ass, squeezing harshly. You gasp, and press into him, bare chest to bare chest. "Feel my dick against your little pussy, baby? Think it can fit?"

You nod frantically, knowing your shorts are soaked through, as his filthy words send your mind reeling. You're not capable of thoughts beyond him and this any longer.

Ezra uses his grip on your ass to press your cunt against him once more, and he rolls his hips up into you in a mimicry of what he'd like to do you. You moan, completely unashamed, and drop your head to tuck your face against his shoulder.

"Please," you whine, nearly unaware of the words coming out of your mouth. It's quiet, hushed, this next utterance, and it's passed through your lips before you can think twice about it.

"Please fuck me, daddy."

Ezra freezes. It takes you a moment too long to realize what you've said.

"What did you say?" Ezra asks, the words rumbling from somewhere in his chest.

You get a frantic feeling in your limbs, panic crawling up your throat. Great, you think, I've messed it all up. He probably thinks I'm some freak, screwed up in the head.

You're broken from your spiraling thoughts by the feeling of his lips on your neck, teeth digging into the space beneath your jawline.

"I asked you a question, sweet girl."

You tremble in his grasp. He's not going to let it go. "Daddy..." you whimper, and he groans.

"You really are a perfect little girl for me," he mutters as his hand slides around from your ass to the front of your shorts. You tighten your grip on the back of his neck and lean forward, thinking he intends to pull your remaining clothes down your legs.

Instead, he clenches his fist and tears them, both your shorts and your panties, from your pussy. You yelp as he does so, and watch as the fabric goes flying somewhere off to the side.

"There you are, sweet thing," he murmurs, leaning back to look at you, hand back in position on your bare ass. "Look at you. Filthy and perfect for daddy, aren't you? A fantasy come to life, placed in my lap by the gods themselves."

You moan once more, pressing your bare cunt against the outline of his cock in his thin sleep pants. He reaches down to pull it free, and as you keep your balance against him, you look down and see perhaps the biggest dick you've ever laid eyes on. Ezra chuckles, watching your reaction.

"You ready, baby? Want me to fill you up, fuck you like you need?"

You nod, and lean in to press your face against the crook of his neck again. "Please," you whine. "I need your big cock in my pussy."

The words are completely unlike you - something about Ezra has awoken a completely submissive, unfiltered side of yourself you didn't know existed before. Sure, you knew you wanted him, and weren't a stranger to sex, but this is an entirely new personality, focused entirely on being his. It's almost like a dream, and for a moment you feel as though you're floating, with how relaxed you are in anticipation for --

Oh.

He's guided the head of his cock to your entrance, and is using his leverage on your ass to guide you slowly, slowly down. You gasp - he's certainly the biggest you've ever had, and the stretch is delicious. Ezra's restraining himself, going slow so he doesn't hurt you, but you have no such qualms.

You drop down in one fell swoop, and the way he fills you makes your eyes roll back in your head. His hand moves from your ass to around your waist, nearly encircling it entirely. He groans, loudly and deeply.

"You'll kill me like this, little one. You're just wrapped around my cock, aren't you? Desperate for it?"

You nod frantically. "Yes, daddy. Yes!"

Ezra moans at that. His hand grips your waist, teeth biting and sucking at your neck, as you push up on your thighs to lift off of him. The drag of his dick against the walls of your cunt is incredible, the head of it catching and pushing on hidden, sensitive ridges within you.

You drop down again, and begin to fuck yourself on Ezra's cock.

His hips piston up as you do so, finding and matching your rhythm with ease. His melodic voice mutters the dirtiest things you've ever heard as he slams his hips up into you.

"...That's it, sweet thing. You were made to fit on my cock, weren't you?..."

"...Wanted to do this that night in the hallway, take you right up against the wall..."

"...My strong, sweet girl, bouncing like a whore on daddy’s cock -- gods, look at your tits..."

You feel your climax building, rising like a fire about to consume you from the inside out. Ezra is close, too, from the way his hips stutter and his breathing becomes ragged.

"Sweet thing..." he groans, slowing his thrusts. "I can't... inside you..."

You shake your head. You know he's clean, since he was tested at the med-bay when he went in for the operation. And besides...

"I've got the implant, daddy. Come in me, please."

Ezra finishes with the most beautiful moan you've ever heard, and you come nearly at the same moment. It's an ethereal, heavenly experience, like the two of you have ascended and joined the gods who so graciously brought you together.

You fall asleep tucked into his chest, warm under his blanket, with the smell of him and you and both of you lulling you into the most peaceful sleep you've had in your life.

A month later, you and Ezra and Cee sit at a mahogany wood table, filling out a holo-tablet with the form for Cee's entrance into your alma mater on the Ephrate. Your sister is already taken with the place, and you couldn't be happier for her.

"Now it wants me to put in a parent or guardian's name," she says, stylus hovering over that section. The cursor blinks as it waits.

You're about to tell her to skip it, but Ezra speaks up before you can.

"Put my name down," he offers, and she looks over at him. "Is that okay with you?"

Cee nods, a genuine smile brightening her features. She turns back to the screen with haste.

"Ezra Stallard," he adds simply.

You look over to him, pleased with this revelation.

As you watch Cee enter Ezra's full name into the blank and select Guardian, you get a chill up your spine. Despite yourself, you think back to that night, and you know Ezra's thinking the same when his hand moves over to rest on your thigh.

You can't wait to have your ship to yourselves; the joy of seeing your sister thrive in a new setting is followed only by the anticipation of what is to come. You and Ezra have made no plans for the future yet - all you know is that he will be with you, and that's the only guarantee you need.

For the first time in a very long time, your heart sings.

#ezra x you #ezra (prospect)#ezra prospect #ezra x reader #ezra x female reader #prospect #prospect fanfiction #prospect (2018)#ezra x reader smut #pedrp pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #ezra fic #ezra prospect x reader #canon compliant #wrote this while listening exclusively to grimes #take that as you will

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yoditorian · 3 years

Text

a law divine - 1

soulmate au!ezra/reader

this is solely the fault of one single anon who called out something i put in the tags and now it’s a whole universe but you know what?? it’s the love of my life. anon i hope u see this 💛 i also just want to say i know there isn’t A Lot of soulmate talk in this one but it’s important for the narrative okay bear with me

playlist // series masterlist // main masterlist

word count: 7.2k (a Big Boy)

warnings: swearing, my usual allusions to smut bc we keep things neutral in this house, brief food/alcohol mentions, 18+ please no babies

It might be the ugliest ship you’ve ever seen.

Not that you’re really one to judge, the one you charter out when you’re running point on a job is a mismatched patchwork of rusty panels held together with electrical tape and hope. If there’s the slightest possibility you might be a teeny tiny bit disappointed in it, it’s only because agency jobs are usually a little cushier. A little safer for once. You could do with a bit safer.

Your family might prefer a lot safer, but you’d sooner take your chances in open space without a suit than take a job working scrapyards. At least risking your life on digs gets a decent payout.

“You the danger mouse?”

It’s not an accent you hear often on the Pug, the majority of the station’s population is human, but you turn with a smile to meet the bright purple eyes of the Thanne. Armour-strong scales and sharp teeth, but he seems kind and mild mannered despite his clear predatory biology. You nod as you readjust the pack on your shoulders.

“I’m Iras.” He holds his hand out to you. A distinctly human gesture made a little awkward by the sharp edged scales and extra fingers, but you shake it nonetheless. He’s your captain for this job after all. You wonder where a Thanne became so well versed in human custom, the species as a whole tend to keep to themselves instead of branching out into the universe like so many others, until his crew members appear on the boarding ramp.

Iras gestures to each of them in turn. Summer, a blonde woman with dark skin and a kind smile, and Milo, an older man with a swirling tattoo above his left eyebrow that matches the navy blue of his eyes.

“Is it just us?” You ask. You could have sworn there was a fifth name on the manifest you’d been forwarded, but teams are always subject to change. You just hope you’ll have your own room.

“Ezra always leaves things down to the wire, he’ll show up right before we’re due to push out.” Summer laughs fondly, throwing an arm around your shoulders like she’s known you her whole life. You’re usually a little wary with brand new teams but the way she’s already chatting away makes you feel at home. The last agency job you were sent on got dicey, fast, somehow you’re sure the same won’t happen with this lot.

“There he is.” Milo leans out of the ship to point out into the docks.

You turn to see a man sauntering through the throngs of harvesters towards the ship, and it’s odd. The rest of the crowd seems to melt away as he closes the distance, even the weight of Summer’s arm on your shoulders feels not quite there. You take the moment to study him. He looks all business with his dark hair and his charcoal grey shirt and the neat pack slung over his shoulder, but his pants and boots have seen better days and the streak of blonde at his temple makes you smile. It’s nice to finally be with a crew without a single stuffy addition.

“It’s not often I get to congregate with like-minded souls.” He grins when he’s in earshot, a flash of something feline in his eyes. You don’t want to admit that you like it.

“Like-minded?” You tilt your head at him as you follow Summer up the ramp and into the ship. Ezra slips in behind you just as it starts to raise. Just like the others said.

“We’ve all got the same death wish, Sunspot.”

The launch, at least, is smooth despite the beaten up ship and it’s only about twenty minutes before you’re far enough from the Pug to punch a lane to the next system over. At least it isn’t far, there’s only a day between now and making planetfall. Somehow, you’re not surprised to find that it’s more of a barracks and bunk beds situation rather than each having a private quarters. Last time you were hired by the agency, you definitely got your own room. But it gives you a chance to chat with the others as you unpack.

Milo explains the air isn’t breathable, so he’ll need to double check to make sure everyone’s filters are running at capacity. But he reassures you that it’s a comfortable temperature, so it’s good to know you won’t be sweltering in your suits or freezing your asses off.

You pick the bed on the wall beside the door, taking out a few essentials from your pack and tucking the rest safely away in the storage compartment. Just as he did back at the docks, Ezra is the last to find his way to the room. He settles his things on the bunk opposite yours because the universe has it out for you, apparently.

“Did I hear one of them call you the danger mouse?”

You struggle not to roll your eyes at the nickname awarded to anyone stupid enough to do your job, although admittedly he doesn’t sound like he knows why. You offer him your name instead and pretend the way he rolls it around in his mouth doesn’t send a shock right down to your bones. You’re not in the habit of sleeping with colleagues, not until the job’s over at least. But you’d be lying if you said you’re not tempted.

“They call me in when a site’s unstable but too profitable to close.” You answer, tugging your sleeves up as the climate control settles to a comfortable temperature.

Ezra raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue, and you pull off your gloves. They land on your thin mattress as you hold your hands out between you. Not even the slightest twitch.

“Steadiest hands on the Pug.”

“So they are.” There’s a challenge in his voice that threatens to send a shiver up your spine. It’s clear he doesn’t doubt your skill in the field, but the return of that glint in his eye from the docks has you wondering exactly what else he’s thinking about as he studies your hands. It’s not hard to work out.

It’s been so long since you had to travel out of the system, you forgot how much inter-system lanes can fuck with the human brain. You’re half asleep for the thirty minutes you spend sorting your things for the morning, barely enough energy to change into the sweatpants and ratty t-shirt you call pyjamas, before you crawl into bed and settle down almost immediately.

Only you don’t get to sleep for as long as you’d like. The rest of the crew seem to have filtered in after you, the shift of sheets and snores float through the dimmed room. Except, it’s not just that. There’s shuffling and bed creaking from further down the line of bunks. A hushed giggle sounds in the silence and-

Oh god. Oh no.

They’re not. They can’t be, they- they are.

You’re very awake all of a sudden, eyes wide as you keep them firmly on the ceiling and wishing as hard as you can for an alarm to start beeping or something. Anything to get whoever’s banging Summer to stop. A deep voice hushes her when she laughs again. Iras. Knowing is somehow worse. The mechanics- you don’t even want to think about it.

You turn onto your side slowly, but loud enough to hint that maybe they should find somewhere else for their escapades, and fold your pillow around your head as a kind of makeshift set of earmuffs. Whether they’ve quieted down or it muffles the noise, you’re not sure, but it seems to have worked enough. You catch Ezra’s eye in the almost-darkness, much in the same position as he holds his pillow over his own ears.

It’s embarrassing for the both of you, even as you share a conspiratorial look. But somehow, it’s less awkward to have to hear Iras and Summer going at it when you know he’s awake. He winces when a particularly loud squeak echoes through the room, and it takes everything in you not to bust out laughing. You fall asleep again eventually, making faces at Ezra in the dark until neither of you can keep your eyes open anymore.

You’re surprisingly well rested come the morning, when the whole ship jolts as it punches into the system and you’re almost thrown out of bed. So much so that it’s easy to forget that you woke up at all until you shuffle into the main living compartment of the ship. One of the crates by the wall has been cracked open, Milo hands out granola bars for breakfast.

Summer and Iras are sitting in the same chair, feeding each other, and it might be cute if you’d been awake longer and hadn’t been woken up by their activities in the middle of the night. You slump into a free chair, face twisted in disgust for a moment. You’re pretty sure nobody else sees until Ezra laughs and drops into the seat beside you. They’re nice people, from how they took you as a friend immediately, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s just a bit much for your perpetually single heart to take.

“It’s a week-long job, they can’t take a break?” You watch as they finally pry themselves apart to start, you know, actually working. But not without a genuinely gross kiss that definitely toes the line of public decency. Suddenly the half-eaten bar in your hand isn’t all that appealing anymore.

“Soulmates take no breaks, Sunspot. I’m sure yours would be hard pressed to be anywhere but in bed with you whenever they get the chance.” Ezra winks and it takes you a moment to remember where you are. A glance at the pair makes your new knowledge obvious, the way they seem to be touching, even now, on opposite sides of the room.

“I’m not sure I believe in all that red string stuff.”

Once the ship is safely landed a short walk from the site, the days you spend digging pass with ease. The deposit is a decent size, it takes all five of you to cover it completely, and the payout should be enough to keep you all comfortable for a little while even with the agency’s cut. The crew around you fill the time enough that you barely notice the week coming to a close.

Summer sings in the mornings as she cleans her equipment and readies her pack for the day. Miles talks gently to the cells as though they can hear him, shushing them any time he worries a gem might corrupt. Iras seems to have a secret superpower when it comes to the ration packs, they always taste better when he’s the one on lunch duty. And Ezra spends the afternoons regaling you all with tales of ancient beasts, laying eggs that fossilise into the very gems you’re harvesting. Although you’re not sure how true they are.

You almost get through the whole dig without a hitch. Almost. But aurelac is a tricky thing, even a change in the wind can turn a site for the worst. You’re all sitting around at lunch when it happens. The telltale smoke wafts up into the air for no visible reason at all and although you’ve collected enough to cover the quota, you’d still rather not lose viable gems.

“Get to what you came here for.” Iras gestures in your direction and you dive into the pit head first.

You’re not even sure you stop to think as you follow the harvesting steps at lightning speed, salvaging half the corrupted cells before someone tugs you out by the collar of your suit. The rest of the site starts to smoke the moment you’re out of range, spitting and hissing and rendering the rest of the gems worthless.

“Danger mouse indeed.” Ezra chuckles over the comm system, hand still fisted in the fabric of your suit. For once, the nickname makes you smile.

While you all go your separate ways after the ship has docked back on the Pug, Summer makes you all promise to meet later at a club you’ve only heard of in your friends’ messy night out stories. Still, you pinky swear when she holds her hand out to you and try to remember if you have a single item in your wardrobe that’ll pass as club attire. Or at least something that isn’t so worn there are holes in it.

Even if it’s a song he knows, there’s no chance that Ezra could recognise it with the volume cranked so high through the cheap speaker that everything but the beat is distorted. Still, it doesn’t stop people from dancing.

He’s a little late, as usual, but he doesn’t need to worry as Iras appears behind him and claps a hand on his shoulder, pointing to a booth across the room where Milo is looking increasingly uncomfortable.

It doesn’t take long for Ezra to spot you and Summer in the middle of the dance floor, as he follows Iras around the edge of the space to the booth Milo’s claimed. You’re both more jumping than dancing, yelling the unintelligible lyrics of the song into each other's faces. He can’t hear your breathless laughter as Summer spins you in a circle, smile wide and bright, but he can feel it in his ribs. The drums of the song kick in at the same time the swirling lights of the club light you up like some kind of celestial being, just as you catch his eye through the crowd. And everyone else disappears. The rest of the world, rest of the universe, fades into the background. Just like they did the first time he saw you, glaring suspiciously at the ship on the docks.

Summer’s dragging you back to the table when the song comes to a close, the both of you out of breath and laughing, and Ezra has to try desperately to remember how to speak when he watches a little bead of sweat slide down the side of your neck. And stop himself from just licking a line straight up it. His silent suffering only increases when Milo holds out a shot of the most potent alcohol the Pug has to offer and you down it without so much as a flinch, winking at him when you return the glass to the table for good measure.

Milo calls it a night only an hour later, clearly only having braved the crowds of the club to celebrate the job. Summer and Iras are tangled in each other on the dancefloor, or the booth, as they keep the shots coming. You, at least, decide to keep your wits about you, declining every drink after the one Milo had handed you. Nobody’s going to fuck with a Thanne, even in as seedy a club as this, so you don’t worry about Summer as she gets sloppier and sloppier. But there’s no spiky non-human boyfriend looking out for you down here, it’s just you and the knife you keep at your hip.

You pull yourself from the dance floor, eyes tracking the room for the missing member of your party, until you feel a set of eyes on you from above. Ezra’s leaning on the bannister of the stairs, his unflinching gaze set solely on you. And you can’t help but smile. You follow him up to the mezzanine without hesitation when he glances upwards and back to you. The buzz of the shot has mostly faded from your veins, replaced by something much more dangerous by the way he’s looking at you. The way he’s looked at you since you met him.

It’s not hard to spot your friends from up here, leaning over the barrier with Ezra to people watch. He crafts stories about every stranger who catches his eye. The man hunched over the bar in a beaten up jacket, the waitress who fiddles with her necklace any time her hands aren’t occupied, the pair of lovers tucked away in the dark corner on the other side of the mezzanine. You find yourself sliding closer to him the more he talks, wrapped up in the warmth of his voice even in the rundown club. Your shoulder knocks into his as you mindlessly bop to the music and listen to his made up stories. Utterly enchanted. It’s hard to remember a time when you felt this way with anybody, if you ever did at all. To tell the truth, it’s hard to remember anyone before Ezra. And neither of you have even made a move yet.

He's got his arms braced on the barrier, and you find yourself lifting the one closest to you so you can slip in between them. Surrounded on all sides and you couldn’t feel more comfortable. To his credit, he doesn’t falter in his vivid storytelling about the group now settled in the booth your crew had claimed earlier, not even a stutter as you turn in his arms to face him. He’s decided they’re here to celebrate the beginning of a new job, rather than a successful harvest. His eyes flick to you for the barest moment, enough to notice yours are firmly focused on the way his lips move around his words, before searching the club below for another story. Another way to keep his mind and mouth occupied so he doesn’t accidentally admit all the sinful things he wants to do to you when you press your ass up against him like that.

“Ezra.”

He shouldn’t be able to hear you over the music, but you’re nose to nose and he’d be hard pressed to ignore the way you practically purr his name. He’s expecting you to make another flirty comment in that voice that sends his mind reeling into all manner of indecent places the same way you have been all night.

“Can I kiss you?”

He doesn’t expect you to just outright ask him.

“Yeah.” Yeah. Hell of a time for his eloquence to fail, not that it matters anyway. You’re on him the moment he stops speaking.

It’s like the sun explodes inside him, the way his stomach bottoms out the second your lips touch his. There’s nothing soft about it, not the way he might have imagined there would be. If he’d been so bold as to let himself imagine what kissing you might be like. You’re all warmth and heat and you still taste a little bit like the shot you’d thrown back earlier, and he finds himself falling. Not that Ezra minds, he hopes his parachute never opens if it means you’ll keep kissing him like this.

You let your fingers roam under his jacket, twist themselves in the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and you sigh into his mouth. God, you knew he’d be good at this. His hands leave a trail of starlight as they trace over your body, never quite choosing a place to rest. They start to settle on your shoulders, only to skim down your arms and squeeze harshly on your waist, to play along the strip of skin he finds just underneath the hem of your shirt, to grip harder than he might mean to onto the meat of your ass through your pants. You gasp, break the kiss for barely a moment, and stop his apology in its tracks.

He doesn’t protest when you walk him backwards, still groping at each other like it’s just the two of you in the whole club. Ezra only groans when his back hits the wall and you push even closer into him, as if there was even any space left for air between your bodies already. He’s not about to complain. He could kiss you for a thousand years and it still wouldn’t be enough. It’’ll never be enough, not for a soul as hungry as his. You pull back too soon, far too soon, and it takes a solid minute for his brain to kick in and break the vice grip he still has a little too low for the public eye.

Oh, that look on your face. He’s in trouble.

“Where are you off to?” Ezra asks, flushed and breathless, a hand stretched halfway out to where you’re backing toward the stairs.

“Home,” You say with a sly smile, “You coming?”

He can’t push off the wall fast enough.

You don’t live far from the club, a ten minute walk at the most, but Ezra manages to make it a solid twenty with the way he keeps pulling you to him. Not that you’re about to complain. You’ve been waiting a week to let him get his hands on you. At the press of his lips on your neck, the shudder it sends down your spine, you wonder if part of you has been waiting even longer than that.

You’re trying, desperately, to type in the keycode to your apartment. If Ezra could calm down with the grabby hands, you might have gotten it right straight away.

“No roommates?” He asks, kissing along your shoulder, and you take the temporary reprieve to kick your brain into gear and remember the fucking numbers.

“Hugo won’t be too upset if I make him sleep on the couch.”

The door slides back into the wall to reveal a dark apartment, a strip of light from the hall falling on a very orange cat. He stares at you for a second, clearly not particularly pleased that he’s been so rudely roused from a nap, before he settles back to sleep stretched out on the couch cushions. Hugo. Ezra is silently relieved that the roommate is just a cat, he’s not sure he’s got the self control to stay quiet tonight. Or to make sure you do.

You waste no time once you gesture for Ezra to walk in ahead of you, flicking the switch on the wall to slide the door shut and pulling him back to your lips. He doesn’t hesitate to crowd you up against the cold metal.

Although you could devour each other until the closest sun explodes and swallows the station whole, Ezra has to break away. To think, to breathe, to tease you a little about the moan he just swallowed from you. But you beat him to it.

“Gotta catch your breath?” The smile on your face threatens to make his knees buckle, and with you pressed up against the closed door the way you are? He might just let them.

“What do you want, Sunspot?”

You left a lamp on in your bedroom, the door cracked just enough to let a little filter through to the main living space. Still, he’s almost completely silhouetted against the warm yellow glow. As if he’s some kind of ethereal being, maybe he is.

“Make me see the stars.” You pull him in as close as you can and let your lips brush over his as you whisper. His next words make you shudder almost as much as the way he drags the zipper of your jacket down, slowly, tooth by tooth.

“As you wish.”

And boy, does he deliver.

You’re expecting things to feel more unfamiliar than they do, as you explore each other for the first time, but it’s like you’ve been here before. Once, twice, a hundred times before. Every move feels oddly choreographed. Ezra knows exactly how to take you apart and put you back together again, the way he pulls every twitch and moan out of you so expertly. You’re no different, as your fingers map the plains of his chest like it’s muscle memory.

You shake it off, put the thoughts to the back of your mind. You’ve been around the block a little in your time on the Pug, it only makes sense that he has the same kind of experience. But shared experience or not, you can’t deny how much having him so close feels like a homecoming of sorts.

It’s the best sleep of your whole fucking life and, honestly, you’re not that surprised. Ezra makes a damn good pillow. Even if you both wake hours later into the day cycle than either of you normally would. Even if he’s more of a morning person than you are. It’s kind of nice, to sit still snuggled in your pile of blankets and watch him potter around your apartment as Hugo winds around his ankles like he’s been there for years.

Your fridge, however, is heartbreakingly empty and renders his offer of making breakfast pointless. Instead, he pulls his shirt on and offers to take you to the best little diner he knows, tucked away in the heart of the marketplace. It’s a hard offer to turn down.

“What kind of gentleman would I be to have so much income at my disposal and not treat such a beauty as yourself to a good meal?” He winks as he flashes his credit chit at you as if you didn’t scan in for your paychecks at the same time. You laugh as you empty a food pouch into Hugo’s bowl, and tell him he better show you all the good breakfast spots. You shrug off his raised eyebrow and mutters of a ‘next time’. As if he didn’t already know.

Still, Ezra takes you by the hand the moment your apartment door secures itself shut behind you, leading you through the hall and out into the street, and you’ve never felt more wanted.

It’s like everything’s brighter, walking leisurely through the bustling market stalls with Ezra. The smells are stronger as spices in the air cling to your nose, the cacophony of vendors calling out almost sounds like music, and you start to laugh. Hand in his, in the middle of the maze of stalls full of food and tools and trinkets. As if it’s just the two of you in the whole universe.

At least Ezra doesn’t look back at you like you’re crazy. He smiles too, just as big, and you feel bathed in warmth the same as when the sun comes out planetside.

You’re both still grinning when he leads you deeper through the market, down an alley and up a flight of stairs to an unassuming door.

“Is this where you murder me?” You joke just as the door opens to reveal a short older woman with an eyepatch, who pulls Ezra down into a tight hug as soon as he’s in arms reach. He introduces her as Merse, the woman who’s run the best diner no one’s ever heard of on the whole station. She slaps his arm for his cheek, but her grin grows twice as wide when she spots your intertwined hands.

Ezra pulls you through the doorway after him as he follows Merse, chatting about how she always keeps the best table open just in case he brings a friend and you try not to smile too wide when she wiggles her eyebrows at you. He says something to you, but you’re too distracted by the view from the big windows.

The far wall is completely glass, overlooking the main docks, lined with booths. A small family sits in one of them, their two children standing up on the seats to watch the ships come and go. You’ve never seen it from this angle before, always down in the masses and scanning the boards for new jobs. It’s kind of beautiful. In a rusty, patchwork sort of way.

Merse points you towards one of the booths with a promise that she’ll bring you the best breakfast you’ll ever have, something tells you she’s not lying.

It’s not long after you slide into the booth that she comes marching out of the kitchen with two plates, wafting steam that makes your mouth water and your stomach rumble. Rice and vegetables and eggs and all sorts of things you’ve never even seen pile high, and you’d worry you wouldn’t be able to finish it all if you weren’t so hungry.

“You know I won’t break, right?” You push your fork around in the remaining rice on your plate as you watch Ezra absorb your words. He thinks about it for a long moment, dark eyes over you before settling on your own.

“What’s this about?” He knows, you know he knows. More importantly, you know he’s going to make you say it. In the middle of the day cycle, in this family friendly diner.

“Just,” You exhale sharply, “Making sure you’re aware.” Your body floods with a shyness that’s alien compared to the confidence you had last night and suddenly, your breakfast is the most interesting thing on the Pug. You can practically feel him smiling at you, but you don’t dare look up to meet it.

He was right though, the food really is some of the best you’ve ever had.

It’s not until you’ve wandered back through the market, still hand in hand, and found your way back to your apartment that Ezra decides to bring it up. He may have been more than a little distracted last night, but he’s sure he spotted a set of old books sitting on a shelf above your couch. You freeze, ready to go on the defensive about how ink and paper will never be obsolete, until you realise he’s genuinely interested. He’s not judging you by any means. Something about the curiosity shining in his eyes makes your heart flutter more than you care to admit.

He could watch you talk about your books all day, every day, for the rest of his life. How your eyes lit up when you recognised his interest, a paperback lover himself. You can’t seem to stop yourself as you dive into the intricate details of your favourite classics, two or three hundred year old texts that make you feel like you’ve lived a thousand different lives at once. He wants so badly for you to keep talking but the more impassioned you become, the more he wants to kiss you.

You trail off at some point, he loses track when you climb into his lap to point out notes you’ve made in margins and the books lie scattered on the couch beside you as you kiss him until neither of you can breathe. You’re still a little achy from last night, deep in your bones, and you hiss when his teeth scrape across your shoulder.

“Won’t break, is that right?” Ezra chuckles darkly and nips at your jaw, “Can I try?”

“Please.”

You wake at the creak of your bedroom door, sometime in the early hours. Hugo noses his way through the narrow gap and hops up onto the bed, curling up on the unclaimed pillow by your head. Ezra sleeps deeply, face buried in your neck, and you let the warmth of him wash over you. It ebbs and flows like a tide, that familiarity. The undeniable fact that something about this just feels right. You’ve known this man a week and yet you’re here wondering, as he rests in your arms, if he might want more than just this with you.

Oh, but you are so afraid. Afraid to put a name to anything about him because what then? Will he tell you that you’re simply a placeholder in his life for something better, or that his heart might bleed through his skin when you’re apart? You’re not sure which is worse. Not that it matters, there is no word in any language that would be able to explain exactly how you feel about the man asleep in your arms. It’s enough, you think, to have him with you at all. In any capacity. Whatever pieces of his soul he bares as your breathing evens and his mind wanders. That is enough, and you will protect it with your life.

You have to part ways at some point, of course. Another week of rolling around in your bed sheets together, on the couch, on your pitiful kitchen counter, up against the wall, and Ezra gets a call from the agency. It’s a last minute job, the crew only need an extra set of hands to fit the safety standards, but it’s several systems out from the Pug. It’ll take him away for at least a month. You trail after him at the docks, with promises of messages in his absence and all manner of unsavoury activities on his return. It’s with a deep kiss and a wolf whistle from a couple of dock workers on their break, that you wish him luck. And ask him to hurry back.

Summer’s message surprises you when it dings through on your tablet. Some gajillionaire on Dallore T53 has found an aurelac deposit on the grounds of his new estate and wants it gone. She’s preoccupied, already out on another dig with Iras and a new crew. But it’s the kindness of her even thinking to offer it to you that makes your heart swell. It’s been a while since you’ve had real, honest to god, friends.

You’d go in alone, normally, for something like this. But now? Now, you’re punching in Ezra’s comm pin before you can even really register what it is that you’re doing. He only got back a week ago, and you made him settle in back home before he could settle in yours. It’s not like the two of you would be doing any resting on his return to your apartment, exactly. The job was a pain, he’d told you, it ran months longer than anyone expected and you’re sure he’s still exhausted. He won’t agree, but you find you have to ask. Just in case.

“Sunspot?” He sounds happy, rested. And you breathe a sigh of relief, at least he can follow your orders when he wants to.

Hugo snakes around your ankles at the familiar voice, the same way he does any time the man himself walks through the door. If you didn’t know that the little orange devil’s alliances lie in who feeds him, you might think he loves him more than you.

You explain about the job, make sure to stress that he doesn’t have to come. That you don’t even really need to take it if he’d rather you stay close by. Okay, you don’t say that out loud, but the smile you hear in his words through the speaker makes it known that he’s heard you. Loud and clear.

It doesn’t matter in the end, not when he accepts before you even have a chance to give him any details. You don’t know why you were so worried he might say no.

“Any excuse to be warmed by your light, Sunspot.” Hugo brushes up against your leg at the same time Ezra’s voice practically drips through the speaker, smooth as honey.

“Is that a euphemism?”

“Do you want it to be?”

You choke on your breath and he laughs like you’ve told the funniest joke in the universe. He’ll kill you one of these days, you’re sure of it.

You charter the ship you usually take on private jobs, the space a little smaller than you remember with another person on board, but it’s not like either of you aren’t used to being in close quarters with each other by now. At least Ezra has the decency not to be mean about the beaten up exterior, she still flies true. He’d grinned at that, told you how a rough outside often means the opposite of the interior mechanics. The glint in his eye is enough to know he’s not just talking about the ship.

At least the planet is in the same system as the Pug, so there’s no need to punch through to a lane. You fly in silence for a few hours, the familiar feel of the controls under your fingers as you guide it through the sky. Ezra’s eyes remain firmly on you although you pretend as though you don’t notice, and it takes him a moment to come back to the present when you ask him to flick a few switches and prepare to enter the atmosphere.

The coordinates the client gave you to land are only a short walk from the house itself, a great stone castle-looking thing. It’s kind of ugly, the way the limestone juts out above the treeline. A big white block among the rich reds and oranges of the leaves. They grow that colour all year round, perpetually stuck in spring and summer. It must be nice to have the kind of money to find somewhere like that and decide you’ll build a house there. The air is breathable, and a quick look at the planet file proves it’s never too hot or too cold. A perfect place to build a house really. Although, if it were you making that kind of decision, you’d maybe go for a design that’s a little less cubist.

The deposit isn’t huge, but it’ll be a good payout nonetheless providing the cells are all in good nick. You and Ezra wade through swathes of long grass and wildflowers until you find a spot to set up camp. At least you’re not stuck in bulky suits and having to lug around your equipment.

You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect dig if you’d tried. Each of the cells sit far enough away from each other that even if one were to fail, it wouldn’t corrupt a whole mess of the others. Although with both of your talents, it doesn’t surprise you when you collect every last crystal without a single misstep.

You’d told Ezra the profit would be split down the middle, equal pay for equal work. But it doesn’t stop him from sliding an extra gem into your pack to cover the ship charter. After all, you’re the one who was offered the job in the first place. He’s just following his heart, the one that walks around outside of his body and throws itself into deposits mid-corruption.

You hold one of the little gems aloft in the sunlight and watch as it sparkles.

“I used to think it was weird how rabid people go for these. But the more I dig the more I get it, isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

Ezra tilts his head like he’s studying the rock, but his dark eyes don’t leave yours.

“It’s a close second.”

Sap.

Night falls before either of you realise just how late it is, clearing out the last few cells of the deposit. It’s not worth going back to the Pug now, he reasons, and you find it hard to disagree. The ache of the few days you’ve spent digging has settled deep in your muscles, the thought of having to run through docking procedure when you’re so tired is enough to make you wince.

You let him take you for all you’re worth under the watchful eye of the heavens, and find there’s more stars behind your eyelids than you could ever hope to see in the skies. It’s all you can do to cry out the name of the only god to ever make you feel this holy. Ezra.

He wakes with the sun, the same way he always has on jobs, to find you curled so tightly against him that it bubbles up from his toes all the way to his throat and he finds his eyes threatening to spill over. Everything in the universe seems to slot so perfectly together when you’re like this. Ezra sighs, content to never let the moment end. You are so beautiful.

He shifts up onto his elbow a little, still cradling you against him, and lets his free hand trail softly over your face. Tracing the shell of your ear, the curve of your cheekbone, the bridge of your nose. The dawn’s sunlight breaks over the trees and filters through the fabric of the tent, bathing you in soft green light. He could stay here, holding you, until the universe implodes. Ezra doubts he’d notice such an insignificant thing with you beside him.

But end it must, and he rouses you gently with soft whispers and kisses against your temple. You stretch in his arms, not unlike Hugo, and sigh as your joints pop and settle. Packing up happens slowly, moving around each other so naturally it’s as though you’ve done it a thousand times before. Every time Ezra passes, you drop a kiss wherever you can reach. His shoulder, the arm of his jacket, that little patch on his jaw. He pretends not to blush when you catch his hand and carefully press your lips to the little tattoo between his thumb and index finger, you pretend not to notice when he does.

You’ll be the death of him, he’s sure of it. The way you keep watching him out of the corner of your eye, the way your smile is so bright when he catches you that he can barely stand to look at it. With the tent and equipment packed up, his fingers itch to thread through your own as you start the walk back to the ship, there’s not a word in the universe strong enough to describe just how much he hates that both his and your hands are too full.

It’s odd, thinking about it. How you met by pure chance, hired by the agency just because you were on the same station at the same time. Would he have ever met you if you’d chosen a different career path, if he had? Maybe somewhere, centuries before or after this moment, where you’re meeting again. Different lives, different times, spanning across all of existence. Maybe, right here and now, you’re starting to feel the way he does about you. Just a little. Maybe he’ll get up the courage to ask what you think, how far you want to take things. He’d give himself to you in a heartbeat, without question. In a way, he already has.

Ezra can’t stop himself.

“What do you make of the red string of fate?”

“All you’ve seen of the universe and you still believe in soulmates?”

“Maybe I’m more foolish that I made myself out to be.” He shrugs, trying not to let his eyes fall to the little finger of his right hand. Trying not to clench his fist to show you exactly how much your disbelief affects him down to his bones, as though his soul itself is frowning. You’re smiling. Uncharacteristically quiet, but you seem appropriately pleased by his answer and stray a little further out into the long grass.

Curiosity gets the better of you.

“Can you see yours?” You have to call out across the gap you’ve unintentionally created, yellow stalks swishing in the breeze between you, and for a moment you’re not sure he heard.

Ezra looks at his right hand, at the thin red string tied neatly at the knuckle of his little finger, and follows the line as it threads through the grass to where it’s knotted at your left.

“No.”

TAGLIST (add yourself here):

@bee-dameron @keeper0fthestars @thevoiceinyourheadx @firstofficerwiggles @1800-fight-me @ew-erin @chatterbean @gotta-have-faye @freeshavocadoooo @darnitdraco @greeneyedblondie44 @fire-is-catching-always

#oh god here it is i hope it lives up to what i've made it out to be #a law divine #prospect (2019)#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra x you #liz does words #soulmate au #smut

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