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harry-writings · 4 years ago

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Bothered

- A blurb in which somebody flirts with Y/n for the first time, and Harry lets jealousy get the best of him

This is a little Drive Me Wild extra for all your valentine’s day needs!!! I hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

“Tequila, please. The best one you’ve got!”

Open bars at work parties are an absolute lifesaver.

Harry and Y/n have been nonstop on their feet since three, wearing their sunday best, talking to all the higher ups and other officials at the firm with as much professionalism as possible. And though it was certainly a nice break from the work setting, it was still a lot for the both of them to keep up with.

It’s nearly eleven now, the party near its end and the exhaustion finally settling in. But Y/n wouldn’t ever dream of passing up unlimited free drinks whenever offered (neither would Harry, but getting her home safe is his biggest priority). Besides, she needed to take the edge off, somehow.

The bartender smiles at her, his eyes looking at her up and down very briefly before making her drink.

She’s humming softly to herself, her fingers tapping against the bar, the palm of her other hand resting on the back of her neck and she looks around the venue, admiring the architecture and the chandeliers that hang from above her.

“How long have you been working for them?” The bartender asks as he slides the shotglass to her, to which Y/n smiles.

“Almost three years! It’s been really good to me so far. I must say, though, it gets a bit stressful and there are a handful of times we end up having to take our work home. But I’ve met some of the best people through the company, so I can’t complain much! Especially when this is the only job I’ve ever considered staying at for so long.”

When the bartender doesn’t answer, yet rather just stares at her with amusement and endearment in his eye, Y/n starts to get nervous.

She considers diverting her attention back to Harry and moving on with her night as if she hadn’t spoken a word at all, but she’s never been the kind of person to walk away from an uncomfortable silence. And most certainly, she has never found it in her will to escape somebody’s pressing and persistent stares.

All of it just makes her so anxious.

So, as an attempt to calm her nerves, Y/n throws her head back as she takes her shot of tequila, her nose scrunching and eyes squinting as it burns down her throat and settles in her chest.

“What about you? How long have you been working as a bartender? I’ve heard it’s a lot of work, remembering all the recipes and stuff. Whenever I went to university, I would go to bars and get drunk by myself and watch how fast all the bartenders made drinks. I found it mesmerising, really. Like an art, almost. A sport, too, I suppose, given how much you all have to think and act quickly yet unmistakably.”

Harry smiles softly to himself, a bittersweet feeling bubbling in his chest as he listens to her get caught up in her rambles.

She doesn’t do that much with him anymore, not in the way she used to. And it isn’t because she’s lost any trust in him, or because she loves him any less — rather, it’s because she trusts and loves him so much more that she doesn’t feel the need to fill any gaps or spaces between them anymore.

He doesn’t make her nervous.

She doesn’t need reassurance with him because she already knows how madly in love they are with one another and how they are undeniably bound to spend the rest of their lives together. The silences they share are comfortable for her, his simple presence enough to make her feel at ease and loved and respected without him having to constantly remind her.

And surely, Y/n still chews his ear off here and there, but he only ever wants more of her.

It’s a disease, his greed and longing for her. She is so enough yet so not enough at the same time, it kills him to think about it, but only in the best way possible.

But the smile and the admiration die down nearly instantly when Harry’s eyes catch the way the bartender looks at Y/n, and the way he straightens himself before her, and the way his bottom lip tucks between his teeth ever so slightly.

Harry crosses his arms at this, watching the way another man is drooling and fonding over his Y/n and not at all trying to hide it. And the sad part is that he can’t even blame him for it — how could he? He had done the very same thing for nearly two years straight.

So he suffers with it in silence.

“My goodness, I do love me a woman who can carry a conversation.”

Harry’s eyes squint over at him, his arms still crossed over his chest, his fingers twisting as he watches him blink flirtatiously at Y/n and the upward twitch of his lip whenever she flips her hair over her shoulder.

She only ever does that when she’s sweating, he knows this because she’s his girlfriend and he knows her more than he’s ever known himself. He also knows that Y/n thinks too lowly of herself to ever consider one’s kindness as flirting.

And though Harry wouldn’t dare to dream of changing anything about her, he does wish, just this once, that she’d see it.

Y/n blushes at his comment, but only because she doesn’t know what to say.

“Can I have another shot, please?” She asks as a form of distraction, but in such a sweet manner the bartender barely seems to notice. “I never get to go out to drink much nowadays, with work and all. So, I’m sorry if I order too much. Large groups of people aren’t really my thing. Not that I hate people, or anything. I guess they just make me nervous.”

And as the bartender pours her shot glass full of tequila, his eyes don’t make the slightest move to leave her. He’s gawking, looking smug as if he could ever stand a chance.

Y/n pretends not to notice.

“Look, I close down the bar in an hour. And since large groups of people aren’t really your thing, why don’t I take you somewhere nice —”

“Oh...”

“— just you and me, so I can have the chance to get to know you more? Maybe in more ways than one, if I’m lucky?”

Oh, fuck no.

Flirting is one thing, but listening as some stranger talks about wanting to have sex with his girlfriend is something entirely different. Especially when she hasn’t done anything other than be nice and considerate towards him.

He’s taking advantage of her kindness.

Harry can’t hold himself back anymore.

“Excuse me?”

And curse his fucking natural lack of emotion because it was supposed to sound threatening and protective, but rather, it must have come off the way any other customer were to grab a bartender’s attention because he looks over at him with a tight and strained smile, clearly laced with annoyance, with not a hint of suspicion.

“Yes, sir, what can I help you with?”

Harry clenches his jaw and nods his head, his gaze falling to the top of the bar as he tries — really, really tries — to keep himself together instead of knocking this poor bloke’s teeth in.

The urge is there, but he could never scare Y/n like that, or sacrifice his job for satisfaction’s sake — he was lucky he didn’t jeopardize it when he landed a solid right hook on his coworker a few months back. But to make such a rude, blunt, disrespectful comment to his girlfriend is too much for him to process.

But it’s not all anger. There’s something else there — something else brewing and swelling inside of him that’s never been there before. He can’t identify it no matter how hard he tries.

“It would help me tremendously, actually, if you were to stop asking to sleep with my girlfriend right in front of me.”

It’s silent for a moment, the air thick with tension as the bartender looks both between Harry and Y/n, Y/n and Harry. He looks weary of it, as if it were so impossible for her to ever be seen with somebody like him.

“You’re with him?” He asks Y/n, as if Harry’s word wasn’t enough and it nearly throws him off the deep end.

Y/n’s eyes blink with confusion and shock as she tries to adjust herself to her surroundings. Everything happened so quickly to her, she feels like she can’t keep up.

Harry senses this — he senses her uncertainty and uneasiness and takes notice in the way her fingers begin to grip at her shot glass a bit tighter. Confrontation and arguments are not Y/n’s strong suit and in the hands of either one, she is defenseless.

“Is my word not enough for you?”

The bartender lifts his hands up in defense, his eyebrows raised as if somehow proving a point he’s clearly been missing. “Can’t blame me for assuming she’s single, you’re sitting next to the prettiest girl on earth and you look like you couldn’t even be bothered.”

Harry’s hands turn to fists, his jaw clenching and eyebrows twitching as he hears him speak all the words he’d rather die than hear spoken again.

How a complete stranger can cut a wound so deep within him is unfathomable, but here he is, bleeding out with all his insecurities and flaws and weaknesses along with it. And it pains him. It hurts and if one more wrong word is spoken, he’ll fall victim to all the darkest parts of himself.

He can’t risk that, not around Y/n.

“I would highly suggest you stop talking now —”

“You aren’t even interested in her! I gave her more attention in the last ten minutes than you’ve given her all night!”

“Hey.” Y/n cuts in with pouted lips, her face fallen as her voice quivers at the argument brewing in front of her. “That’s not true. He — he’s been beside me all night. I thought it was — I thought it was obvious.”

“Doesn’t matter anymore. We’re going home.”

Harry’s tone is unlike anything she’s ever heard. It’s stern, harsh, laced with impatience as he stands from his barstool and scrambles to gather her belongings.

And Y/n’s at a loss, just standing against the bar helplessly, looking at Harry with tearful eyes and shaking lips. He has never been this angry at her before and she doesn’t know how to fix it. Talking was what got them into this mess, she’s sure talking won’t get themselves out of it.

But it doesn’t hurt to try.

“Wait, H. I’m sorry, I —”

“That’s enough, now. We’re making our last rounds and then we’re going straight home.”

That was the first time he’s ever interrupted her.

It isn’t until Harry starts the car that Y/n breaks the silence.

“H, I didn’t know he was going to ask me out on a date.” She speaks with a voice small and shoulders slumped as she tries desperately to fix all the trust she has broken. “I was just trying to be nice and —”

“Not now, Y/n, please.”

She realizes the severity of the situation when he doesn’t call her a pet name.

Her eyes fill with tears, fully aware that even when he was most upset with her, he never interrupted her while talking or avoided her gaze like it was the last thing he ever wanted to see. He’s doing both right now and to say that it hurt her is an understatement.

He’s sick of hearing me speak. He’s angry at me for talking too much to everybody and not noticing the consequences. He’s tired of listening to me make excuses for myself when I’m never going to change. He doesn’t want this anymore.

Her mind can’t help but to think such things, and though deep down in her heart she knows he’d never feel that way towards her, words of her past can’t help but torment her in the heat of this moment. Because this is so different than how it usually is with him, and it all started with her.

Harry can feel how much of a toll his words took on her, but he doesn’t know what to say. He is feeling so many things, and processing so much, he feels like he’s lost himself. All sense of everything else had left him the second the bartender spoke the words he always feared to hear.

You’re sitting next to the prettiest girl on earth and you look like you couldn’t even be bothered.

He knows it isn’t true, and he also knows she knows it isn’t true, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

To know other people see it that way devastates him. He doesn’t date Y/n to look uninterested in her, or bored of her, or tired to be with her — he dates Y/n because he wants to show her off, desires to make her and everybody else see how in love with her he is, to make it known she never has to walk this world alone.

To know he has failed to do that simply by being himself is a lot for him to take in.

He sighs, ripping off his glasses so his other hand can rub at his burning eyes before settling the both of them back on the steering wheel, his gaze still set on the windshield.

“I’m sorry for not letting you finish talking, twice now. It wasn’t right and I know what that does to you. And I’m not angry or upset with you, either. I’m just — I’m just not in the mood right now, alright? I need some time to think.”

Y/n nods, fearing that whatever words she chooses to speak will only make it worse.

Neither of them talk the rest of the way home, but that doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t reach his hand over to her thigh to squeeze at it three times, as if to tell her he loves her.

It isn’t until they make it into their bedroom that Harry starts to let it all out.

He’s pacing, his hands fidgeting with his clothes and running through his hair, his eyes wild but still refusing to look at her, muttering curses under his breath but nothing directly towards her just yet.

Y/n’s standing by the dresser, taking off her remaining jewelry and allowing him his time to dwell on his feelings. He needs this. She knows she’s the only person that he’ll ever show this kind of emotion to — he couldn't even show it to himself — so she listens, smiles sympathetically at him here and there, refusing to leave his side until this is all figured out.

He huffs before letting out a sickened laugh.

“Who the hell does he think he is? Telling me I’m not interested in you. I can’t be walking around kissing and hovering and touching all over you at a work party, I respect you too much. But he wouldn’t know a damn thing about that, would he?”

He throws his suit jacket down on the bed, only allowing himself one beat of a moment to shake his head before his hands start to fidget again, pacing around the foot of the bed to try and understand his primary emotion.

He feels a million and ten different emotions scrambling within him at once, he can’t make sense of them. Whether he’s angry, or sad, or hurt, or insecure, or humiliated… he doesn’t know. It all feels the same yet all feels so different. He is utterly lost in all of them.

“Then proceeds to have the nerve to say he’s given you more attention than I have. What the fuck does that even mean? All he does is serve you two drinks and speak one sentence. I give you all my time, all my company, all my attention, and somehow he thinks he’s better for you than me?”

And it hits her.

No wonder he’s been acting so different towards her and so quiet despite him not blaming her for what happened — he’s jealous, which is the exact reason he doesn’t have an understanding with it.

She’s his first girlfriend, and until now, there had never been any reason for him to feel this way.

But as sick and twisted as it sounds, Y/n’s heart warms at the thought of it. Because never once has someone ever had a problem with letting her go. Her loss never affected anybody around her, and so nobody had ever feared it.

To know that out of all people, it’s him who does, means everything to her.

She hums at him, an all too knowing smile on her face as she makes her way to her frantic lover, who stills when he notices her closeness.

Her hands rest at his chest, rubbing at it over his dress shirt, just the way he likes. It reminds him of the night of their first date — when she gave into her cravings and put her hands nearly everywhere they could touch — and so she always goes back to that very first moment.

It never fails him.

“It’s okay, lovebug.” Y/n smiles softly at him, her voice even more soft and tender than usual as she tries to get him to relax.

Her hands slither down the hem of his trousers, her fingers resting just above the swell of his bum and pulling him in closer to her. And he wraps his arms around her shoulders, a heavy sigh leaving his lips before bringing his chest toward her cheek for it to nest in.

“Don’t let somebody get the best of you. Especially when they don’t know anything about you or me or our relationship. We know what we are and what we have, it doesn’t matter what he thinks is better for me. I have what’s best. Forever.”

He sighs, the weight of the night lifting from him slightly, but not enough.

He rests his chin on the top of her head, his eyes on the verge of being soaked with tears. Because though he knows her words to be true, he just can’t seem to shake what’s rattling in his bones and picking at his skin.

He wants it all to be okay, and it almost is, just not fully. And it’s killing him from the inside out.

“It’s a new feeling for me.” Harry confesses sadly, trying to think of the right words to say to explain what’s burning in his chest. “It hurts me to feel it. I’m so comfortable and confident in you and yet somehow I can’t — I can’t stop thinking about you and that fucking bartender and him touching you and making you laugh and —”

“You’re jealous.”

She pulls away from him slightly, her eyes looking up at him softly and sympathetically. He gives into her gaze for only a beat longer before looking away from her again, unable to take it.

It all makes sense — the unfamiliar feelings, the scrambling of emotions, the sensitivity to the words that had been spoken about him. His relationship had been threatened for the first time since it started, how could he not be?

“Of course I’m jealous. Which is absolutely horrible because you look so pretty yet it hurts too much to look at you.”

She chuckles, a playful smirk on her face as she reaches her hands up to his cheeks. And she turns his head to the side, forcing his eyes to look into hers as she rubs her thumb along his cheekbones.

Even like this, he is the most perfect man she’s ever seen. She has loved this person longer than she has loved anything else, how he could ever feel jealous of anybody is absolutely beyond her. He is all she will ever need, and everything she will ever want.

He is the only person that has ever deserved her.

“Baby, you have nothing to be jealous of. I don’t think, since the moment I’ve laid eyes on you, I’ve ever bothered to look for anybody else.” His breath faults, then, his heart dropping as if it were falling in love all over again.

And just like that, the hurt is gone.

“I’m yours, H. I have always been yours.”

He wants her to keep going, so instead of answering, he taps the back of her thigh twice. He’s never done so outside of sex, but he needs her all over him, holding him, hanging onto him. He needs it now more than ever.

She giggles, understanding exactly what he wants before jumping up until her legs are wrapped around his waist and her arms are looped around his neck. He catches her instantly, snuggling his face into the crook of her neck and kissing at the exposed skin.

She loves how much her words have an affect on him.

“I love you so much. I always will. No matter how many sleazy men ask me to sleep with them.”

He whines, lifting his head from her shoulder before looking at her with sad eyes and pouted lips at the subtle reminder that somebody else thought of her that way. Only he has, only he can, it doesn’t matter the circumstance.

She’s his.

She smiles down at him with a small blush on her cheeks, her arms unwrapping from his neck so her hands can grip his face again.

“I sleep with you. Every night. In more ways than one.” She kisses at his lips. “Cause I’m lucky.”

And for the first time tonight, he smiles. And as if that wasn’t enough for her, he laughs too — quietly, breathlessly — his hands rubbing all along her lower back and her thighs.

“Hmm... I am lucky, aren’t I?” Harry hums in bliss, his eyes looking at her fondly as she hangs on his neck in their home and it doesn’t get better than this. She had a man practically drooling on her lap and yet she’s here, with him, loving him, choosing him, just like she always has. “I do have the prettiest girl in the world. And the sweetest. And the strongest.”

“Too bad you couldn’t be bothered.” She teases, a smirk on her lips before her tongue pokes out to run quickly against his closed lips.

He lets out an almost sinister laugh, rumbling so deep in his chest she somehow manages to feel it in her legs.

“Why don’t I show you how bothered I am?”

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagines #harry styles imagine #harry styles preference

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dreamerstreamer · 3 years ago

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Lucky Catch

Pairing: Dream / Clay x gn!reader

Summary: Being lucky has never been your forte, but a chance encounter with a stranger starts making you think otherwise.

Word Count: 3.0k

Warnings: mentions of being followed/creep behaviour (stay safe!)

A/N: inspired by a scary incident i had a while back (but i’m a-okay) that i thought i could spin into something happier!! i hope you guys like this little tid-bit :)

I must be the unluckiest person in the world, you thought to yourself as you turned another corner on the block.

Above you, the sky had only just begun to turn a pale shade of pretty pink, lavender seeping into the shadows of the clouds. The sun was slowly dipping closer and closer toward the horizon, and with each passing second, the footsteps following you grew a fraction louder—drew a fraction closer. Your heart tightened uncomfortably in your chest, your blood rushing through your ears.

Of all the people who could have been followed by some inevitable creep, you just had to be one of them.

The city was still as loud as ever around you, the streets full of bustling cars driven by tired people making their way home after rush hour just like you. At first, you didn’t believe someone was following you—after all, it wasn’t like you were the only person walking down the street. But the farther you walked, the closer the steps drew, and each time you snuck a glance over your shoulder, you caught the same face peeking back at you through the crowd.

You felt sick.

Your head spun with a million hazy thoughts, your brain just barely managing to piece together a plan with your pounding chest. Should I run home? You chewed on your lip. No, I don’t want them finding out where I live. What would my roommate do? I have my keys on me, but I don’t know if I could throw someone off me. I can try to disappear into the crowd.

You could feel a bead of sweat form on the back of your neck as you picked up the pace, the footsteps behind you following suit. Anxiety lapped at the pit of your stomach, fear crawling up the hollow of your throat and squeezing like a vice.

What do I do?

Up ahead of you, you could see the people filling the sidewalk start to die down a little, and your heart sank. Well, there went that plan.

But just then, a tall figure stepped out into the path a few feet ahead of you, and you felt a pair of eyes lock onto yours. Emerald green bore straight into you, and you blinked.

The man standing in front of you was tall, almost overwhelmingly so, his dirty blond hair gently tousled by the warm, summer breeze. Donning a simple lime hoodie, you watched with rapt attention as his gaze darted behind you, his eyes flashing before meeting yours once more. Although he didn’t utter a single word, it almost felt like he read your mind.

Do you need help?

Swallowing thickly, you nodded your head as subtly as you could, praying that the desperation was clear enough on your face for him to read.

Please.

In an instant, his pursed lips melted into an easygoing smile, and he opened his arms up in front of you. Recognition clicked in your head, and you suddenly began sprinting towards him. Sucking in a deep breath, you felt your heart do a nervous flip as you leapt toward him, your arms outstretched.

In one fell swoop, his arms were wrapped around your torso, catching you in a swift hold before pressing you close to his chest. You sank into his warmth, letting your shoulders go slack. The soft smell of pine filled your senses as you felt him spin your around once, a chuckle rumbling through his chest.

“Hey, there,” he said, and you were shocked by just how kind his voice sounded, “did you miss me?”

Leaning back, you gazed up at him with a look of wonder. God, he really was pretty up close, and you did your best to plaster a smile to your face and nod. “Did I keep you waiting for long?” you managed to warble, playing along the best you could.

The stranger shook his head at you, ducking down to press his lips to your forehead. Heat flooded your chest at the feeling, and your heart swelled.

“Not at all,” he murmured against your skin.

When he pulled back, you watched as his eyes flickered over your shoulder, his fingers still protectively curled around your waist. A moment passed with his hands still pressed against you, and then he let out a breath, his grip loosening.

“They’re gone,” he said simply, and you let yourself practically crumple with relief.

“Oh, thank god,” you breathed, stepping back with a grateful grin. You already felt the weight lifted off your shoulders, but an apologetic smile danced on your lips. “I am so sorry about this. I don’t know when they started following me, and I just didn’t know what to do—“

He sent you a crooked grin, and you felt your stomach churn with butterflies. “Don’t worry about it, really.” His eyes narrowed almost dangerously. “I saw them trailing after you, and I couldn’t just let them follow you home like that.”

Your entire front felt like it was on fire. Even though you were just a stranger to him, he was so kind, and the very thought made your gut erupt with butterflies.

“Thank you so much. You really saved me there…”

You trailed off when you realized you didn’t even know his name. How could it feel so natural to be in the arms of someone whose name you didn’t even know?

“Clay,” he suddenly said, his eyes snapping back to yours. Your soul burned with want. “The name’s Clay.”

You nodded your head, half-feeling like a broken bobblehead. “Thank you, Clay.” You reached your hand out toward him with a lopsided smile. “I definitely did this in the wrong order, but I’m [Y/N].”

The laugh that tumbled from Clay’s lips sounded like straight music to your ears. I could listen to him laugh forever, you thought distantly. Reaching over, he gripped your hand in his, shaking it warmly with a smile. Your fingers wanted to stay wrapped around his forever.

“It’s nice to meet you, [Y/N], and I’m glad I was able to help you out.” His eyes darted down to the watch on his wrist, and he raised a brow at you. “Did you possibly have somewhere you needed to be, by the way? I’d hate to keep you here.”

Your eyes shot wide open. “Oh gosh, my roommate is probably worried sick about me. I promised them I’d be back by now.”

His fingers twitched around yours for a moment, almost like he didn’t want to let go. But then, his hand was dropping away from yours as he sent you a fond, melancholic look. “Try to stay safe on your way back, yeah?”

You nodded, giving him another appreciative look. “I’ll do my best.” Rushing ahead of him, you waved over your shoulder. “Thanks so much, again!”

Clay waved back at you as you darted down the street toward your apartment, but as you tore you eyes away from him, you couldn’t help but feel your heart sink. You had only just opened the front door to your apartment when another realization struck you.

Crap—I should have asked for his number.

Even as your roommate shook you by the shoulders back and forth, concern etched onto her features as she began to interrogate you, all you could think about was the warmth of Clay’s arms circled around you and the tinkling sound of his laughter.

You really were the unluckiest person in the world.

“[Y/N], don’t lose me!”

You can only barely make out the sound of your roommate’s voice as you squeeze your way through the crowd. Why you agreed to come with her to such a busy event, you still don’t know. You hardly even knew what it was the event was about. Something about meeting a popular YouTuber? You could hardly remember, now.

“This is, like, the biggest event in the history of YouTube, ever!” she had yelled at you. “You have to come with me.”

And like the good roommate you were, you had agreed, but mostly just because she told you that there would be free food.

But now, a day and a half later, and there was no food to be seen—especially not the free kind. Instead, all you could see was an ocean of people, and you were absolutely positive you were drowning in them.

I’m hungry, you internally whined. Your stomach growled, and you rubbed your hand over your frontside with a muffled moan. This was a mistake.

Even as your stomach growled, you tried to focus your attention on the situation at hand. Biting back a groan, your fingers squeezed at your stomach—being hungry wasn’t the important part, now. What was important was that you had somehow managed to get pushed ahead of your roommate from within the throng of people packed into the massive atrium.

“At least try to stay with me, will you?” you grunted over the horde of people around you. You narrowly dodged an elbow being pressed into your face, blindly reaching your hand behind you toward where your roommate had been just a moment prior. “I don’t want to have to go looking for you later.”

As soon as your fingertips brushed against warm skin, you quickly latched your hand into the one you had just brushed up against, holding on as tightly as you could manage before tugging. “Follow me—I’m getting us out of here.”

There was no resistance behind you as you began walking forward, pushing your way through the crowd toward what you could only hope was the edge of the room. Why was everybody pushing towards the stage, anyways? Was there supposed to be someone important up there?

With a few more tugs forward and the occasional apology spilling from your lips, you found yourself bursting out from the crowd and into an open space, your shoulders sinking with relief at the lack of people pressing in against you. You grinned as you straightened, squeezing your roommate’s hand in yours. Was her hand always this big and warm?

“We made it,” you breathed, turning. “Can we get something to eat, no—”

The words died in your mouth as you looked up into the emerald green eyes gazing back at you.

Oh no. This wasn’t your roommate.

“Um, hi,” he said, offering you a lopsided smile. “Fancy meeting you here, [Y/N].”

Your eyes felt like they were about to bulge out of your head.

“Clay?” you blurted.

His grin only grew wider. “That’s me.”

Your gaze darted down to your connected hands, his fingers wrapped around yours warmly. Immediately, you stumbled back, looking and feeling like an absolute blubbering mess.

“Oh my god, I am so sorry. I was here with my roommate, and I thought you were her.” You sheepishly peeled your eyes away from him, your face growing hot with embarrassment. “I swear I don’t do this kind of thing on the regular.”

He barked out a laugh, and your insides felt fuzzy. You didn’t want to admit how much you missed hearing that laugh.

“I was gonna say,” he said, cocking a teasing brow at you, “both of our meetings have been pretty forward of you.”

You buried your face in your hands, letting out an embarrassed whine. “Do not remind me. I can’t believe I got you roped into my shenanigans, again.”

You felt a hand gently pat your shoulder, and you peeked out from between your fingers to see him smiling kindly at you. “It’s no biggie, really. I wouldn’t mind meeting you like this more often, or just in general.”

Your jaw dropped. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.” Slipping his hand into his pocket, you watched in awe as he fished out his phone and held it out to you. “Here, give me your number. I’d love to take you out sometime.” He glanced up at you, looking almost shy. “Maybe we can even grab a bite to eat after this?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was he for real? Was someone this handsome and this sweet really asking you out?

It looked like your luck had turned around, for once.

Gingerly taking his phone from his hands, you nodded. “That sounds nice.”

As you began entering your contact information, you felt Clay fidget next to you. “You said you came here with your roommate?” he prompted after a moment.

Your lips quirked. “Yeah—she begged me to come with her today. I kind of forgot who she wanted to see, though.” Your brows knitted together. “I think she said something about a face reveal?”

Next to you, Clay had gone oddly still for a moment, but as soon as you were handing his phone back to him, he brightened, a smile tugging on his lips. “Ah, so she’s a fan and you’re here to accompany her?”

You nodded. “Yep! But I don’t regret coming, since I…” You gulped, your face growing warm once more. “Since I got to see you.”

You could have sworn you caught a dust of pink colouring Clay’s cheeks when all of a sudden, a familiar face popped out from the crowd.

“[Y/N]! There you are!”

Before you could even blink, your roommate was barrelling into your side, her arms clutching tightly onto you. “Where did you go?” she whined into your hair. “I thought I had lost you.”

In front of you, you watched as Clay tried to stifle a laugh, and you gently pried her off your arm as you let out an awkward laugh. “This is what you get for bringing me to such a busy place and not even trying to stick with me.”

She sent you an apologetic look. “Sorry. I just got so caught up in the rush.” Glancing over to her side, she blinked in surprise. “Oh, was I interrupting something?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Clay spoke first. “Ah, no. I actually have to get going in a second.”

Your face wilted. He had to go?

His eyes met yours once more, and he must have sensed your sadness, because not even a second later, he was gently smiling at you.

“But I promise I’ll text you right after.”

Just like that, and you had brightened again. Waving at you, he slipped toward the side of the stage, opening a door that presumably led somewhere backstage. Oh, you thought, maybe he’s working here for the event.

You were pulled away from your staring by your roommate’s tugging at your arm. “[Y/N], who was that? He‘s cute.”

You felt your stomach twist again, but this time, not out of hunger. “You remember the guy I told you saved me from that creep?”

Her eyes widened. “That was him? You didn’t tell me he was so good-looking!” You laughed at the way her grip on your arm tightened. “Did you give him your number? What’s his name?”

“Yes, actually,” you hummed, puffing your chest up in pride, “and his name’s Clay.” Your head spun with dizzy, pink affection. “He’s really sweet.”

Your roommate fell quiet beside you, her fingers suddenly going slack against you. At her silence, you turned to shoot her a confused look. “Did I say something wrong?”

Her face was pale, her eyes as wide as saucers as she blinked blankly. “Y-You said his name was Clay?” she croaked, sounding like she was forcing the words out.

You raised a brow at her. “Uh, yes? Are you oka—”

You didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence when the lights in the atrium suddenly grew dim and the room erupted into screams. A single spotlight shone on the front stage, and you watched a brunet man stepped out from behind the crimson red curtains.

“Thank you for your patience, everyone!” he called into his mic, his British accent echoing loudly through the speakers scattered across the room. “It’s been years in the making, but are you all finally ready to meet the world’s most popular Minecraft content creator face-to-face—to finally see the one and only Dream in the flesh?”

The crowd’s screams grew even louder, and you furrowed your brows. Dream? You felt like you recognized that name, but from where, you didn’t have a clue.

You peeked over at your roommate, who was still as pale as a sheet. You were surprised that she wasn’t screaming her own head off. “Aren’t you excited?” you whispered. “Isn’t this the guy you wanted to see?”

She stood stock still, her eyes still trained on the stage with frozen, unwavering attention.

“I already have,” she whispered, sounding absolutely star-struck.

What?

The man on stage smiled at just how loud the audience had grown, and he stepped to the side. “You all certainly sound excited.” Gesturing to the curtains, he dipped into a dramatic bow. “Then, without further ado, here he is!”

In a flash, the spotlight almost seemed to glow even brighter, and the curtains flew to the side. Out stepped a tall, blond man with the most dazzling grin you’d ever seen.

A grin you’d seen twice, now.

All of a sudden, all the pieces suddenly fell into place as Clay took a step forward, waving at the masses. The screams of the crowd had grown to become absolutely deafening, and despite their overwhelming volume, it felt almost like you could hardly hear them at all.

Oh, you thought, the realization sinking deep into your bones. Oh.

So that was why your roommate was absolutely losing her mind, gaping at the stage with nothing short of pure amazement. That was why Clay had seemed so surprised when you told him you didn’t know who this event was even about.

On the stage, Clay’s emerald eyes swept across the audience before landing on you. He must have caught the surprised look on your face, because a split second later, he was sending you a knowing wink from across the room. Someone in the audience screamed at the sight, and you couldn’t stop yourself from winking back, your heart doing a somersault between your lungs.

Maybe you really were luckier than you thought.

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cavills-little-princess · 4 years ago

Text

You Make My Heart Falter

Summary: You play a prank on Henry, and he isn't impressed.

Pairing: Henry x reader.

Warnings: RPF. Fluff, lots of fluff. Implied smut if you squint.

A/N: I've not written in years and thanks to Henry's Instagram post today I had to give it another shot because WOW. Constructive criticism is welcome, I'd love to get back into fic writing again! Thank you to the lovely @a-little-counter-esperanto for encouraging me to give it a shot. 💞

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The sweet smell of waffles seeped through your house, eliciting a sigh from you as you wrapped yourself in your bathrobe. You felt your shoulders fall in relaxation as your eyes momentarily closed, basking in the delicious scent as you slid your feet into your favourite fluffy slippers. Although it took you a while to coax yourself out of the confines of your soft, silky sheets, you knew Henry was already awake and, seemingly, making breakfast for you after his morning run. You padded down the stairs to be greeted by a large fluffy being, soon feeling a wet tongue against the exposed skin of your leg.

"Good morning, Kal," you giggled, leaning down to pet the canine behind his ear, just where he liked it.

Kal barked happily and plodded off into the living room as you made your way to the kitchen. You leant against the doorway as your lips pulled into a smile. The sight in front of you was one to behold for sure. Strong muscles flexed beneath the snug grey fabric of your boyfriend's shirt, his soft brown curls hanging messily on the top of his head. He hadn't noticed you yet, his attention focused on the tubs of protein powder and shakers in front of him. Your smile grew a little wider in fondness, he was always so passionate and dedicated to his fitness. You had always admired him for that. As you quietly moved closer to the counter, he turned on his heel, almost spilling the contents of the shaker in his hand.

"Y/N! God, baby! You almost gave me a heart attack!" He exhaled as he spoke, his free hand pressed against his taut, muscular chest.

You rolled your eyes, playfully slapping his arm. "Yeah, of course, because you of all people are prone to that."

"You know what I mean," he chuckled, placing the container back on the counter so he could rest his large hands on your hips.

Naturally, you brought your own arms to rest behind his neck, lifting yourself onto your tip-toes to do so. Henry pressed his lips softly against yours, humming as his eyes fluttered shut. When you both finally broke away, he rested his forehead against yours.

"How did it go yesterday? At the hospital?" His expression softened and his eyes were full with concern. It was only a routine check-up, and everything had come back with no problems. Not that you were going to give that away so quickly, though.

"I've got to go back in a few weeks, they think I may have a heart condition," you chewed on your bottom lip, adding to the facade but mostly to help contain your laughter.

"What?! Oh no, my darling, please tell me it's nothing serious..." Henry's grip tightened slightly on your hips, his eyebrows raising with worry.

"I'm not sure..." You sighed, "all they told me is to limit how much I come into contact with the cause." The brunet's eyes were so wide that you were sure they were about to pop out of their sockets.

"Well, what is it? I'll clear the house out right now." He let go of you and started opening the cupboards, taking out items and reading the ingredients, looking for a potential culprit.

"My heart gets all jittery and fast and... They said it's you, Henry!" You couldn't hold back your grin any longer, bursting out into a fit of laughter as your boyfriend deflated, giving you a glare that just screamed 'I'll get you for this'.

You doubled over, holding your stomach as you tried to catch your breath. Before you had time to straighten up, Henry had his muscular arms wrapped around your waist, hoisting you up and over his shoulder.

"Aaaah! Henry, stop it! They said I'm fine!" You squealed, kicking your legs while you clung to his strong shoulders. Kal bounded into the room at the harsh sound, barking at Henry in his usual protective manner. Henry clicked his fingers.

"Kal, sit. Nothing to worry about, buddy. You however..." The timbre of his voice lowered as he turned his attention back to you. "You're going to wish you'd never pulled that prank."

"Yeah? Says who?" You chided, smirking as you attempted yet again to pry yourself from his death-grip. He swiftly carried you up the stairs and back towards your bedroom.

"Says me." Henry grinned, a glint in his eyes hinting that you weren't going to have much of a say in anything for the rest of the morning. The waffles simply had to wait.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry x reader #henry cavill oneshot #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill drabble #henry cavill fluff #cavills-little-princess #fanfiction #oneshot #drabble #fluff

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saturnsstufff · 4 years ago

Text

The Empress pt.VII

Ya like weddings?

Warnings: Hinting to sexual Innuendos.

“I don't mind them” you said, taking your seat in front of him per usual. “Why do you ask?” you questioned, your head tilting slightly. your eyes watching his kind ones.

“General Hawthorne is marrying her lover, since she is a friend of mine since our early childhood, she asked me to walk her down the isle in place of her deceased father” you smiled gently finding that action very sweet. “Since I was going with my family... I was curious if you would attend as my date perhaps?” pink dusted his cheeks, watching your eyes intently for your response. your cheeks flushed at the question.

“I-Id love too” you said, eyes slightly widened. You could feel your heart beating faster, subconsciously you started to fidget with your hands. He asked you as his date. Phil’s words laced through your mind slowly.

Techno's form visibly relaxed at your words. feeling a major weight lifted off his shoulders. He had herd from Phil that you were quite soft with the thought of him, as was Techno of you. after your nightly snowball fight, Techno couldn't get you out of his mind. That night he thought for hours on the sight of you under him, smiling ever so fondly up at him. It had his heart in complete knots. He could tell you trusted him completely. For how you always put your guard down around him, it made it easy for him to read you. He saw your lingering eyes at dinners and the casual times you would reach out for him, hug him or just make attempts at contact. He could hear how your voice was when he had to leave. You wanted him to stay. Techno would admit, although he wasn't one for many gatherings. the idea of seeing you in something more formal had him rather eager. He never had a taste for the court women, there poofy frilly dresses, all the extra jewelry they would drape on themselves. He never found attraction to it. Yet when his eyes linger to you, he couldn't wait to see how you presented yourself. Would you wear jewelry? He thought back to the golden earrings you had made a while ago. his eyes lingered to his desk drawer.

“I suppose if your going as my date, you should have the finest things. correct?” Techno's eyes glanced to you. You looked at him doe-eyed, he had to clear his throat and glance away. His cheeks going pinker at the sight of you.

“I-I... I mean, I’ll be ok with what I have Techno” You watched him. He pulled one of his drawers out and taken something out.

Techno sighed. “(y/n) I'm gonna be honest with you...” He said walking to stand in front of you. He offered you his hand, when you took it you could feel how clamy his hand was. He was nervous. He gently pulled you up so you were standing in front of him. although he towered you, you were not scared by his presence. You actually found him very comforting. He gently let go of your hand and showed you a little velvet box. You recognized this box easily. It’s what you put the earrings you made in. “Do you remember these?” He asked. You nodded in response. how could you forget after all. “What was the ingot, and gem’s I gave you, when you made these?” You paused briefly. thinking back on this.

“It was a gold ingot, and emerald's” You said looking up to him, your eyes never leaving his.

“It wasn't just any golden ingot” He said, his eyes now finding yours. “Do you remember when I raided that Mansion? the night we found Tommy?” You nodded. again, how could you forget something that was important to you. Yes, you remembered it for Tommy, but it also was the day Techno said the two of you were friends. “That night I left with a totem of undying. That totem will guarantee that the person holding it will not die.” He pressed his lips. collecting his thoughts. “I..I-I don't let people very close to me... But you, Your just different. I-I, I cant put my finger on why. But you are, and when I say I will protect you. I promise, I will protect you.” His cheeks were a light red now. He was stumbling over his words as he opened the box to show the earrings you made. “I understand that at times, I wont be at your side. But I made a promise to your father, that at no point would I ley harm befall you” You gently rested your hand on his to reassure him. He was nervous, you knew he had no reason to. But that didn't stop him from stumbling over himself. “What I'm tryin’ to say is. Please... Please wear these for me...”

You knew Techno well enough to know that this was his way of saying he cared for you. He was asking you to wear something that would prevent your life from ending. You gave him a kind smile, almost a loving one. “Anything to make you happy” You said softly. His eyes softened by ten-fold. Oh you definitely had his heart in your hand. “could you put them in for me?” You asked, looking up at him. He gave you a slow nod. gently removing your studs, he placed them on his desk as to not loose them to the floor. You felt him put your new emerald earrings in. The Gold of them made with totem of undying. The earrings you now wore, were the same style ones that Techno and Phil wore together. The three of you now having matching earrings.

Techno’s eyes lingered as he put the earrings in. You were so warm to the touch, your skin ever so soft. when you looked up to him with innocence. He couldn't help but think of other things...

later that night you were sitting on your bed thinking. You had forgotten to ask Techno about himself. Far to lost with the moment he gave you, your new favorite earrings. You glanced to your clock. It was late. Your mind drifted back to Techno. You couldn't stop yourself, you wanted to see him again and talk to him more.

“maybe... just a quick visit...” you said to yourself as you got up, slowly waling out of your room. Heading for Technoblade’s room. You had never been to his room, of course you’ve passed it. But you’ve never had a reason to enter, until now. You knocked gently on the large door. waiting for a ‘Enter’ or some signal to go in.

When the door opened it was your turn to go speechless, and red with blush. Techno stood there lazily, his hair was completely down and brushed out of every braid he normally wore. He had no crown, and no shirt. You couldn't help how your eyes fell, I mean you already were chest level with him, but this did not help. He did go pink at your longing stare, choosing to tease you about it for more amusement. “You know my eye’s are up here Princess...” You drew in a breath and quickly spewed out apologies. only earning a fond chuckle from him. “I'm only kiddin’” He leaned on the door way well giving you a moment to compose yourself. Your blush never leaving. “what brings you to my room? Don't tell me your still tryna’ sleep with me now” You gave him a shy smile before starting.

“I uhm.. wanted to actually ask you a bit about yourself... I meant to earlier, but we were side tracked with the earrings.” You explained. He hummed and stepped aside for you. You gave him a quizzical look not understanding why he moved.

“I'm not going to talk to you at my doorway, Princess” You realized he wanted you to come inside. you slowly entered, having not expected this turn of advents. Well you looked around you realized he actually had a nice room. It was a decent size room. In the middle was a rather large, four-poster bed, the covers were pulled back a bit signaling he probably had just gotten out of bed to get the door. There was a fireplace across from his bed with two sofa’s placed in front of it. He had two doors made of glass that led to a rather large balcony beside his bed. Where the room looked natural, there were books lingering, and set aside everywhere, he had bookshelves against the wall. Somehow it fit for him. On one wall there were two doors. one probably being a bathroom and the other for a closet. His room was actually pretty cold contrasting to the way it looked. You assumed it was like this because his body temperature was hotter like Phil said. “Would you like to sit at the sofa or the bed?” his eyes lingered yours.

Glancing between the two you really didn't mind, your rubbed your arms from the chill of the room well you thought. Techno had noticed this and walked towards his bed, pulling the covers back more. “Here... clime in over here. If your cold now, your just going to get colder.” you looked to him and went pink. You chewed your lip a bit thinking, ultimately deciding it wouldn't hurt to sit beside him.

You walked over and climbed up onto his bed. it was so soft, you relaxed down and pulled the covers over your legs, praying for the heaviness of the blankets to rush forth their warmth. Techno climbed in next to you and got comfortable again. As he shifted he figured he would ask. “So what was it you wanted to ask me?” he moved his head to face yours.

You both were laying on your backs, loosely facing each other. “Well... I guess id just like to know more. You know about my childhood and stuff... I was curious if I could know about yours maybe” He pondered a bit, thinking about your words.

“I suppose that’s fair. It’s a bit lengthy though, princess” you shifted your body and faced him, showing he had your full attention.

“I don't mind. Your interesting, anything you tell me will be worth it” He smiled softly at you.

“is that so...” he mused. You nodded and he lightly chuckled, running a hand over his face well he thought. Your eyes lingered down his jaw to his neck. Without his usual pendants it looked bare, he had a prominent collar bone. His shoulder muscles also were very prominent. All in all Techno had a side profile of a god.

After Techno thought of were to start, he slowly began. “When I was about one or two Phil had found me in the Nether. I guess he was just making a supply run for some potions and I was just left behind. He couldn't leave me there so he took me home with him... That's when I met my Mother. She was a very kind and loving person... She always cared more about others than herself. She Taught me how to read, write, she basically taught me everything she could..” His eyes went a little sad. you watched his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed thickly. “She didn't care that I was a hybrid, she was always protective of me... If someone from the court made a comment on me not being a prince she wouldn't hesitate to stand up for my name. Of course Phil would stand up for me too, but mother was the most protective of her boys.” He took a deep breath pondering again. “when I was five Mother had Wilbur, it was a weird adjustment to being a older brother, but I didn't care, I took Wil with me wherever I could. He could be a massive pain, but he’s still my brother” You gave him a sweet smile, finding it cute of how he talked about his brother. “When Wilbur was Four, I was Nine.” he gave a slight pained laugh. suppressing his emotion. “It was right after my birthday... Mother and Dadza had sat down for a dinner. In the middle of it she started to choke. We knew there was a spy among us, after all we were in a rough spot with one other country." He let out a sharp breath "But those bastards targeted her." You gently rested your hand on his arm for reassurance, your smile having fallen. Gently rubbing your thumb over his arm. You didn't realize how strong he was until you felt his muscles under your hand. Slowly he continued on. "I had always herd voices.. they linger and get louder when they ban together... sometimes they request things... Other times just they talk among themselves...” Your brow furrowed as his tone lowered and slowed. His head turned to you, almost checking to make sure he didn't scare you with that information. He was tense, but as soon as he met your eyes he relaxed slowly. “When Dadza and I realized why she was choking... We found out my voices had a very keen ideal for violence... Her funeral was hard... The whole palace adored her completely... Not to mention Wilbur took it the hardest... It does still bother me on some days... But after a while I just came to terms she wouldn't come back." Your slowly rubbed your thumb over his arm again. Gently giving a squeeze to show some reassurance. He gave a soft slight smile. Resting his hand on yours. " When I turned Fifteen Dadza had stepped down from the throne and gave it to me. He said it was time to make a name for myself. About that time Sarah Joined the army. That's when we started turning our small kingdom into a expanding Empire. We had the same ideals and goals so we knew with each others support we could do it” you watched him. Unlike Wilbur who wasn't over his mothers death, Techno, like he said was over his stage of grief. He mourned, but knew nothing would bring her back. So it was best not to live in the past.

You adjusted your head on the pillows to see him better. "You said Sarah was a childhood friend?" He hummed, his hand still rested on yours. Offering warmth to your rather cold ones.

"I know I met her when my mother was alive. Sarah's mom was my mothers personal Knight, and best friend. Sarah's father was part of our court too, so she was always around one way or another." Techno subconsciously shifted closer to you. Your hand still beneath his. "The court tried to set us up, but Sarah made it clear that she was strictly devoted to her work. Well, she was. Couple months months ago she proposed to the jeweler's Daughter. So as of lately she's been trying to sort things out for the wedding." You smiled softly. Happy that she had someone to confide her love in. "Sarah's a good General... She has her blood thirsty tendencies, but she's a good woman. She just wants, what's best for the Empire and for the Royal family." He let your hand go and slowly turned to face you, now resting on his side. His eyes lingered yours and then slowly dropped down to your lips, and neck. He took your hand in his and and held it gently. Liking the feeling of your gentle hand in his.

Your hand wasn't soft, it was calloused with the hard work you put into your trade. Although Calloused they were ever so gentle. When Techno held your hand he could only marvel at how tiny it was.

Recently techno had started thinking. Especially after the snowball fight. You laced his mind before, but now it was becoming a awfully noticeable. You were actually the other reason Seraphina was in Techno's office. Techno had a feeling that what he felt for you, went beyond a casual friendship. But, he's had no prior relationships to base this off of so he needed a outside opinion.

He found himself pondering you quite often, whether late at night, when he was in his office. Ect. He had even talked to Phil about it. Sarah poked fun that Techno finally had fallen for someone, specifically you. Unlike Sarah, Phil was casual when talking to Techno. Asking if you made him happy, if your happiness was important to him. Techno knew he wanted someone strong, kind, and gentle. But also someone who could make a elegant, but confident Empress. When he thought of you, he knew you were everything he wanted. You were kind, gentle, hardworking, smart, and your confidence was growing daily. Phil had mentioned that he knew he had met the right person, when he couldn't see her with anyone else but him. When Techno tried to imagine you with a different man, he could feel his stomach twist into the beginning of jealously.

Well he pondered this, it hit him. Almost full force.

He wanted you.

After the talk of Techno's childhood, and Sarah's wedding. You two sat in a soft silence, having no urge to talk and disrupt it. The walls had the light of the fire dancing in front of you two. the light dancing over techno’s and your face. Your eyes flickered between each other, almost waiting for someone to make a move. Occasionally techno would glance to your lips or neck again. But you would also catch him looking at your earring. He was always hard to read, so you just sat admiring him. Wishing to wrap your arms around him in another hug.

Soon his hand let yours go. You gave him a slight confused expression, having loved the feeling of his hand on yours. you went to protest but you were cut off.

Techno cupped your cheek gently. Moving closer to press his lips to yours in a ever so sweet kiss. It wasn't forced, he allowed room incase you wished to pull back from him. But thankfully you didn't. You rested your hand on his and kissed him back with everything you had.

The kiss was worth a million words. Unspoken words. Techno had a hard time explaining his feelings. But his actions always shown where he stood with people, and where he wanted to stand with you, was right at your side.

He did slowly part from you, his eyes lingering yours for any sign of disproval or hesitation. But he saw none. You were looking up at him doe-eyed, he couldn't help but want to stare at how pleading you looked.

"May I.. k...kiss you again?..." He asked softly. You nodded, your cheeks far past pink and going to a hot red. You could only utter out a quiet 'please'.

He didn't hesitate to give you what you wished for. His lips were back on yours. To make it easier he sat up on his elbow a bit and wrapped his arm around your waist. Pulling you tightly against him, well his lips never left yours. He could feel your arm snake around his neck, the other one resting on his chest. your body was beckoning him closer. His hand held firm on your back, keeping you pressed to him. He didn't want to let you go, now that he had you. now that you were in his bed. He wanted nothing more than to keep you close and protected.

The kiss, although loving and soft, was deep and passionate. Something that you and Techno had wanted from each other, and now that it was a arm's length away, you were not going to let it go.

Techno had wanted this moment longer than he realized. The feeling of your soft lips on his was addicting, he didn't want to stop. Without much thought he gently moved his hand down to your thigh, pulling it closer so your legs intertwined with his. Only roughly a hour ago he was joking about you sleeping with him. But if you continued your grip on his shoulder he sworn he may have just went through with it. Techno couldn't deny it any longer.

He was in love.

@goldensunshineshit @snobunns @olyink @lolitsellieletsgobro @jackalopedoodles @angelic-scent @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @artsimatsu @justabalroginthenet @seme1e @fangirl570 @sweeetteaa @awlawdtheycoming @idkwhatusernametohave @sugarandspicebutnonice @bambibunz @lynnarts @buzzybeebee @feathersthewinged @prefesro @astroninaaa

#technoblade x reader #technoblade x you #techno x reader #techno x you #TE

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bontenten · 4 years ago

Text

Ours

Pairing: Osamu x f!reader, Atsumu x f!reader

Tags/Warnings: noncon, infidelity, pregnancy/forced abortion, knife stuff, gore, body horror, snuff, wound, necro-stuff, abuse, yandere, angst

Osamu stares at your pregnant belly; a round barrier that’s keeping you away from him. He knows you don’t even want it. Otherwise why would you come crying to his onigiri shop crying tonight. It’s obviously because you tried to go to a clinic, but who in their right mind would try to abort the baby of famous athlete Miya Atsumu?

Atsumu gagged them all with money, tied their hands together with even more promises. There’s nothing for you to do but stay put and birth the child. It took everything for you to find a time with no bodyguards to slip away. If it weren’t for the excuse that you wanted to shop for baby clothes, Atsumu would never have allowed you to even step foot outside the house.

“Please help me,” you sob, taking a step closer to the one who looks almost identical to your fiance. “There’s no one else but you.”

You look pathetic, makeup smudged and messy. Osamu smugly looks down at you. “Only now you finally realize?” He grips your jaw and forces you to look at him, fingers squeezing your cheeks and making your lips pucker. “I told you before, didn’t I? Atsumu’s a crazy bastard, but I would take care of you. All he wants is to use you as a breeding cow, his little cocksleeve. That’s all you’ll ever be to him. Shallow, gold-digging bitch, you reap what you sow.”

“Shh-shhamoo, ‘Samu” you slur between your teeth, “shorrry.” Sorry. You regret it now. You probably shouldn’t have turned Osamu down in the first place for Atsumu. Maybe you really were blinded by Atsumu’s reputation and prestige...and his money. He could give you what Osamu could not at the time and the simple life working tirelessly, saving and making ends meet wasn’t how you wanted to live. But really, you shouldn’t have ever gotten yourself involved with the twins.

“Sorry? SORRY?! You say?” Slap. Osamu yanks you back up with a fistful of your hair. “You hurt me. I loved you and gave you my heart, but you...you broke me. And now you’re just going to sweep it all under the rug with ‘sorry’?”

“Sorry, I really am ‘Samu,” you sob, wincing from the sharp pain shooting through your scalp. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. Please help me, I’m begging you. I know only you can save me now.”

The tight grip on your hair relents and Osamu wipes the messy trail of smudged makeup from beneath your eye. He smiles almost gently, “That’s right, only I can protect you. Stupid, took you too long.”

Osamu’s kisses are deceptively soft. Another reason you left Osamu for Atsumu is also this. Osamu made you feel like you were dangled over deep waters with no safety net. You couldn’t tell what was on his mind, he hid his thoughts much better than Atsumu. Atsumu was more straightforward and that gave you security. But right now, only Osamu can give you safety and protection. Even though you know it’s not right, the time and the person, you can’t help but respond back

Your hands thread through his grey locks as bodies come closer until Osamu feels your pregnancy pressed against him. He pulls away abruptly and stares. You follow his eyes to your belly and the unmistakable growing biology within it beyond the skin and flesh.

“You want to get rid of it, right?” Osamu mutters, palming the protrusion.

“Yes...but—”

“Shut up,” he snaps, stalking to the kitchen quickly. You find him back a moment later with a knife in his hand, sharpened tip pointed at you. “You asked me to help, I’m going to help you.”

“What are you doing?” you ask hesitantly, unsure and frightened. With the blade pointed at your throat you have no choice but to back up as Osamu comes closer to you. You feel the edge of the table at your hip, another step and your stumble, falling back onto the table surface.

Osamu loosens the tie on his apron and stands between your legs, forcing them apart. You hear some buckling noises and strain your head to see his length fully erect. His hands travel to your waist to pull your skirt and panties down. Your hand stops him in their tracks. Your widened eyes are alarmed at what Osamu really wants.

“Not this! Please, not this ‘Samu,” you argue, trying to pull his hand away from tearing the clothing from you.

Osamu deftly slices the knife across the back of your hand, drawing out a thin line of red. The pain has your hand flinching away, letting Osamu pull the skirt down, exposing the naked skin of your belly, and pussy folds below it. “Gonna fuck this bastard out of you,” he mutters, stuffing himself into your hole.

You scream, legs kicking out wildly as you feel the thick intrusion sheath itself into you fully. You can feel the tip pushing through your tight muscles, getting closer and closer to your womb.

“Fuck,” Osamu groans. “If I didn’t see your pregnant belly, I would’ve thought you were a little virgin. You’re so fucking tight.”

“No! Please I’m begging you, stop!”

“You begged me to help you get rid of the little bastard.” He hammers into you even harder, assaulting your cervix, the one that’s plugged like a gate.

At some point, your wails are lost when the cries become increasingly lewd. You can’t help the moans that slip out of your mouth each time Osamu pushes into you. Each draw and thrust sends waves of pleasure throughout your whole body. The bliss is almost enough for you to forget that you didn’t have your current burden, the pregnancy, that fetus. It’s kinda a pathetic state for you, being fucked on a table of the restaurant belonging to your fiance’s twin? And enjoying it?

This thing within you...if only it weren’t Atsumu’s but Osamu’s instead. It was a mistake all along.

The pain comes swift and overwhelming, an agonizing hell when you register the three inches of blade buried above your pubic bone, carving its way horizontally across. Your flesh parts like gauze, the skin splitting open sideways, the yellow paddings of your fat and the red that floods over.

Osamu pulls out the knife as he buries himself deeply into you, shooting his seed into the sealed-off womb. Your body shudders as the pain signals run havoc in your brain and the orgasm washes through beyond the pain. Your head tosses from side to side as empty screams fall from your throat. Shock takes over your body as more and more blood comes pouring out from your womb along with the fountain of amniotic fluids.

Osamu isn’t so much as bothered by the amount of red and clear pooling behind you and dripping onto the wood floor. He sticks his finger through the laceration and fingers through your guts, pushing the intestine aside until he finds the tear in the womb.

“Found it!” Osamu delightfully shoves his hand in, grabbing at the mass of dividing flesh and umbilical cord sustaining it. The mound is more difficult to remove than Osamu thinks, he tugs and tugs. It takes the muscles of his whole arm, the same ones carrying rice bags daily, to successfully detach placenta stuck to your womb.

The blood spurts in a flood, filling your belly cavity, painting Osamu’s shirt crimson. Your blood splatters across his legs and drips down his cock.

Osamu has never seen a full placenta like this in its glory. He has heard of people who have cooked it before. It’s the nature of a chef to be intrigued by ingredients of a rare and bizarre nature. But not today.

He drops the mounds on the floor, worse than food scraps. He clambers to the top of the table, knees straddling your body.

“I did it,” he tells your open yet empty eyes, looking for his thank you. He reaches his stained hand and caresses your faded cheek, smearing red across your skin. “I got it out for you.” He kisses your cold lips.

You don’t respond.

“‘Tsumu and I are genetically identical,” he tells your body. “You know what that means? That means the same cell that created that, I have it too.There’s no difference in biology, between his and mine.”

Osamu's hand wraps around his cock and pumps the length, the slick of blood squelching around him.

“But you didn’t want his version, huh? You wanted mine right? “ He chuckles and positions his cock against the gaping hole where your womb begins to deflate.

Your residual warmth still wraps around him, the yellow fats squishy and soft. Osamu wraps your gash around him, thrusting straight into your womb.

“Could’ve been with me, could’ve been...ours.”

Each thrust propels your body back and forth, tugged along his movements like an empty doll that's chewed and clawed broken. Fallen apart by seams, insides spilling out, completely drained. Only to be filled with Osamu’s seed, that you’ll never have a chance to foster.

#haikyuu smut #osamu x reader smut #osamu smut #yandere haikyuu #tw infidelity #tw blood #tw pregnancy #tw violence #tw noncon #tw gore #tw death #tw yandere #emi had a little nightmare and this was it LOL tweaked and added some more blood #miyacest fic is ALMOST done omg sorry it's taking forever but i can't wait to post it soon #idk looking at wips and i just really like 1) osamu with a knife 2) osamu with a knife killing y/n LOL #emi.freshtea #🍵.osamu #🍵.atsumu

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makeste · 4 years ago

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save no matter what.

so this is going to ultimately be a post about Deku. however, if you’ll be so kind as to indulge me, I would like to start things off by making a point about Bakugou. specifically, I’d like to point out that back in the day before this kid got Character Development no Jutsu’d, people weren’t always so inclined to view his attitude towards winning in the best light. which is a nice way of saying that he came off as unhealthily obsessed, not to mention more than a little unhinged.

sorry for the image spam btw, I just think they’re funny. he’s so demented lmao. KILL DIE CRUSH.

anyway so we’re gonna do the rest of this below a cut before it gets long. but I promise it really is a Deku post lol. don’t let the pre-readmore stuff fool you. I PROMISE THERE IS A POINT, AND WE WILL GET TO IT.

anyway! so yeah, we really didn’t have the best impression of Bakugou’s whole winning fixation at the beginning there. and I mean, it’s not like we had the best impression of Bakugou himself at the start of things either. we were already primed from the very first chapter to see this kid as an adversary to Izuku. the story goes out of its way to paint him in pretty much the worst light possible. which is why what happens next is so interesting.

because one might see all this and think, “holy heck, this kid is off the shits, somebody needs to set him straight pronto and get it into his head that winning isn’t everything.” because that’s almost the natural conclusion to draw. “look at this kid, he doesn’t care about helping other people at all, all he cares about is winning, someone needs to come along and show him that he’s got it backwards.”

except that’s not what happens, is it? because this is where, much to my delight, Horikoshi came along and started subverting expectations. because not only is Katsuki not rebuked for being so obsessed with winning -- it’s pretty much the exact opposite.

the one and only time Deku ever straight up hands Katsuki’s ass to him is when he says he doesn’t want to win. Deku is IMMEDIATELY all, “THE FUCK KIND OF BULLSHIT DID I JUST HEAR OUT OF YOUR TRASH MOUTH,” and that’s when he sets him straight.

the important people in Katsuki’s life never tell him, “hey you need to cool it with the whole winning thing.” All Might and Aizawa never scold him for it, or tell him that he shouldn’t try with everything he has to win, or that wanting to win is a bad thing. on the contrary, they both commend him for it. and ultimately, he’s told by All Might that this desire is actually one of the two fundamental qualities that every great hero needs.

he completely turns the whole thing on its head. not only is it not a bad thing, it’s actually crucial. essential. because what the desire to win really is, at its core, is tenacity. it’s the fiercest kind of determination. it’s not something he should be ashamed of; it’s something that sets him apart, something that makes him worthy. he is someone who refuses to back down no matter what. refuses to give up, no matter what. and this quality, which is initially misunderstood by some to the point where even the villains mistakenly take him for one of their own in the making, is eventually validated to the fullest degree by the person that Katsuki looks up to the most. his desire to win goes from being this awkward “son wtf are you doing” thing to being one of the core philosophies of the series. and ever since then, we pretty much don’t question it.

so why do I bring this up now? well, the answer to that can basically be summed up in one word.

“parallels.”

so here’s the thing. there’s been a lot of talk lately about Deku’s ridiculous, reckless, and absurdly self-destructive desire to save others while having little to no regard for himself. currently he’s lying in a hospital bed, having broken approximately 218 out of the 206 bones in his little hero body (yes, somewhere along the way he found an additional dozen bones to break). it is worrying. it is Concerning. and it’s raised a lot of questions, such as “???” and “wtf is this idiot doing.”

and a lot of people have been pretty critical of him! this is, of course, an ongoing thing with this child, and people have been giving him grief over it going as far back as chapter 6.

while others have been bothered by it going even further back than that.

and I’ve seen these sentiments being echoed pretty frequently in the fandom as well. and there are basically two talking points that I want to address here. the first is the idea that Deku’s aggressive brand of selflessness stems from an inherent lack of self-worth. in other words, because he prioritizes other people’s safety and well-being above his own, and is willing to go to such drastic lengths to save them, there’s this feeling that he doesn’t value himself enough, that he must not care about himself.

but I don’t think that’s quite it. let’s go back to those parallels first, though. let’s take another look at Kacchan.

what I mainly want to call attention to is the intensity here. again, it’s something that at first strikes most readers as being absurdly over the top. the truth is, I think a lot of people simply can’t relate to it. Katsuki cares about winning with a ferocity and a fervor that most people, for better or worse, simply don’t have. I certainly don’t, lol.

but he does. to him it’s not a shallow, superficial thing at all. it’s important to him, perhaps the most important thing. I think we often talk about it in terms of it being a desire, but imo a more accurate way to define it is not as a want, but as a need. in other words, it’s the opposite of the question “what is it this character wants” (i.e. “what is it they can’t live without”)? instead, it’s a question of “what is it they don’t want” (i.e. “what is it they can’t live with”)?

and in Katsuki’s case, the thing he can’t live with is feeling like he hasn’t tried his absolute best. he needs to give his all in everything he does. he wants to win, but winning just on its own is not enough.

it has to be earned. he has to prove to himself and to everyone else that he deserves it. anything less than that is unacceptable. anything less than that, and he can’t be at ease. he can’t be settled. he can’t rest. and so he puts everything he has into winning, even if it means going to extremes. because it’s that important to him.

it’s something that’s at times alarming and even disturbing for others to witness. but nonetheless, it’s a part of who he is, and at the end of the day his teachers accept that, and the story acknowledges that it’s his greatest strength.

so now, to finally bring this back around to Deku, this is what I keep seeing in his character as well. only in his case, the thing he can’t live with is knowing that he didn’t do everything he possibly could to save someone. or to put it another way, Deku, at his core, is someone who cannot rest until he knows that everyone is safe. simple as that. it’s not just a desire to protect people; it’s a need. he needs to know that everyone is safe and protected. otherwise he can’t be at ease. it’s no different from how normal, everyday people aren’t able to feel at ease unless they know that they are safe and that their loved ones are safe. it’s just that in Deku’s case, this same fundamental need extends to everyone, not just himself and his friends and family. everyone. he can’t live with himself knowing that someone was in trouble, and he had the ability to do something to help, but didn’t. and so, if you literally can’t live with not doing something, you basically have no choice but to do it.

and this is what in my opinion defines Deku’s character. Kacchan, in trying to understand it, noted that Deku doesn’t seem to take himself into account. but I think OFA Prime summed it up a little more accurately. “he rages for the sake of others. for them, he does his best until he can do no more. this young man is possessed by a drive to save others that eclipses all common understanding.”

so yeah. it’s not that he doesn’t care about himself at all, it’s that he cares about others even more. he has that same intensity and ferocity towards saving people that Katsuki has towards winning. and just as it was difficult at first for fans to understand Katsuki’s feelings, it’s hard to fathom the sheer depth of that “save everyone” feeling that compels Deku to break his own body in that pursuit. it’s scary, not to mention extremely destructive and dangerous. and so really, it was almost inevitable that there would be some backlash.

but just like Katsuki’s desire to win was ultimately validated in the end, I think Deku’s desire to save others will be as well. in fact it already is being validated, for starters by the other denizens of OFA, led by Lil Bro as mentioned above. let’s go back for a moment to that same scene.

here we get a huge hint that “Deku gets taken down a notch and chewed out and scolded for his recklessness” is not, in fact, the direction that the story is going in. because in general, when the main villain starts mocking the hero and saying that they’ve done something wrong, that’s a very good sign that said hero is actually on the exact right track. like, no offense, but as far as character critiques go, AFO is probably the least qualified person in the entire manga to start offering those up lol. so yeah. if AFO is denouncing Deku for something, and OFA Prime is praising him for that exact same thing, I think it’s safe to say that means he is in fact doing something very, very right.

“okay but makeste, he nearly got himself killed and broke all of his arms AND legs and is now lying in a fucking coma,” you say, gesturing emphatically to the last page of chapter 298. “so I mean, that’s all well and good that Wonder Boy has the best of intentions and all that, but at the end of the day he’s only one kid. he literally can’t save everyone, and if he pulls one or two more stunts like this, he’s going to get himself killed.”

and okay, but this here is the other talking point that I wanted to address. because it’s true, Deku does need to learn a specific lesson here. but that lesson is NOT that he can’t save everyone. this is a superhero story, guys -- “you can’t save everyone” is never going to be the underlying message, ever. it’s the OPPOSITE of the message. Deku is the hero because he tries to save everyone. because he doesn’t give up on saving people no matter what. that is literally the core of the story. it has been since the very first chapter.

so then what is it that Deku actually needs to learn here? well, once again, it all comes back to those parallels.

btw, I really just love how he’s carrying Katsuki there lol. he’s just so done with him.

but anyway. so, the final exam arc. Katsuki initially wants to win at all costs -- but there’s a hitch. because even though he wants to win, he refuses to do so while working with Deku. enter Deku’s left hook, and one impromptu Rival Encouragement Speech later, our boy has thankfully come to his senses.

but here’s the point -- the lesson here wasn’t “you can’t always win.” rather, the lesson that Katsuki needed to learn was that you can’t always win alone.

yeah. so now you can see what I’m getting at here.

“...on your own.”

that’s the key. this is the one and only thing that Deku actually needs to get into his head. wanting to save everyone is fine! his will to save others has never been a weakness -- it’s been the most admirable thing about him from day one. it’s what makes him strong. it’s why All Might chose him. it’s why OFA has chosen him. it’s what sets him apart, and I firmly believe it’s what will ultimately help him save the day and defeat AFO as well. because what other character would look at Shigaraki Tomura, the person who just impaled his friend and destroyed an entire city, and instinctively reach out a hand to try and save him? and if you don’t think that’s going to wind up being key to the final battle, you and I have very different ideas about this series’ endgame.

Deku’s determination to save everyone isn’t arrogance or futility. it is and always has been his greatest strength. but what he’s missing now, what he needs to learn, is simply to trust. y’all might have seen that theory about the Fourth’s quirk, and why All Might was so hesitant to tell Deku about it. basically, the theory (which is based on an attempted translation of the crossed-out parts of All Might’s OFA notebook) goes that the Spidey Sense was so overwhelming that the Fourth -- whose cause of death was one of the things crossed out -- eventually couldn’t bear it, and went to live alone in the middle of the woods somewhere. and possibly wound up killing himself?? all of which is just speculation right now of course. but it makes sense. and it would certainly explain why All Might, being all too aware of Deku’s self-destructive tendencies, would keep that from him.

but if this is the case, that means it’s clear that the Fourth’s solution didn’t work. “give up and accept that you can’t save everyone” clearly is NOT the answer to be had here.

the answer is trust. trust that his fellow heroes have his back. trust that they’ll be able to help him reach the people he’s not able to reach on his own. trust that they can work together to save everyone. that he doesn’t have to rest the entire world on his shoulders alone.

it’s the one lesson that All Might, his predecessor and his teacher, never learned himself until it was too late. but of course, All Might never had a prickly and determined rival who was ready to step in and deal out some tough love if need be. a rival who, perhaps, just might soon get a chance to repay an old favor.

“I don’t wanna hear you say you can’t save someone.”

I’m just saying. just as Deku has been watching Katsuki all this time, and admiring his determination to win, and emulating it himself, so has Katsuki recently begun to emulate Deku’s determination to save others. we’ve seen it not just in his recent act of self-sacrifice, but even in little things like his habits and tricks of speech. just like Katsuki is Deku’s image of victory, Deku is becoming Katsuki’s image of saving others.

and so I’ll bet you anything that if Deku ever starts to doubt himself, or starts feeling like his dream and desires are futile, Kacchan will be there to set him straight with a good old fashioned Rival Encouragement Speech of his own. possibly with his own left hook to match, though his left shoulder is currently out of sorts atm so he might need to modify that approach a little bit. but the point is, he’ll be there. and he will not allow Deku to give up on himself. he will be there to remind him that he doesn’t have to face this alone.

so yeah! finally managed to wrap up my giant Deku meta which I’ve been working on for ages and rewritten like fifteen times lmao. just in time for this to be relevant for all of a day, probably, depending on what happens once chapter 279 drops lol. but yeah. tl;dr, local boy tries to do too much, but his heart is in the right place, and hopefully all he really needs is a good pep talk from his tsundere bff to set him to rights again. r.i.p. to the Fourth, but he’s different.

#bnha 298 #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #bakudeku #bnha meta #deku meta #bakugou meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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phykios · 4 years ago

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this one is dedicated to mi amor mari @perseannabeth, who is a beautiful bird and a wonderful friend and i am v v vvvvv grateful to have crossed the airwaves with her :”)

Today Was A Fairytale [read on ao3] T, modern royalty, fun at disneyland!

She stares at him.

He stares back. “What?”

“Really?”

“What?”

“You really think this is going to be enough?” Annabeth points at her head, the blue Yankees cap squishing her curls.

“Of course! It’s the Clark Kent effect.” As if to underline his point, Percy slips on his fake hipster glasses, except that stupid grin of his is too bright not to draw attention.

“That’s not a real thing.”

“Sure it is. Studies show that glasses are actually good enough to alter your appearance if someone doesn’t know you well.”

“Then why didn’t you bring a pair of glasses for me?”

“Because your hair is definitely the prettiest thing about you,” he says, automatically tugging an unruly curl which peeks out from under the brim, a gesture so practiced she almost doesn’t register it--until he blinks, dropping his hand, blushing lightly. “I mean--the most noticeable thing. You know. A hat should be fine.”

He looks away. Heat rises to her face, too. Because it’s so hot out, obviously.

“Anyway,” he mumbles, “um. No--no one’s going to give you a second look if your hair is hidden.”

Chewing her lip, Annabeth can’t help but worry. Percy’s face is extremely well-known, possibly more than hers, and they’ve both spent the better part of three weeks with their faces plastered all over the media on their diplomatic trip. This is probably a really, really bad idea. Then, a thought occurs to her. “How about,” she says, perking up, “you give me your glasses, and I’ll give you mine.” From her backpack, she fishes out a pair of sunglasses, big and nondescript. He’ll practically be wearing a superhero mask with these.

Percy smiles again, and Annabeth thinks she might fly. “Perfect.”

Which is how Her Royal Highness Anna Elisabeth Ingrid Irene of Sweden and His Serene Highness Perseus Alexandros Ioannis of Thera play hooky from their day of boring meetings, insufferable dignitaries, and stuffy security guards, to go see the eighth wonder of the world: Disneyland Resort in California.

And how Annabeth eats her words as they make it past the security gate unchecked. “Eh?” He beams, nudging her with his elbow. “Eh?”

Rolling her eyes, she shoves him back. “Shut up.”

***

[description: a tiktok video which depicts a line at Disneyland. the op, a black girl with braids, covers her mouth and looking into the camera, turning the camera to focus on the two people behind her. one is a tall boy with black hair and sunglasses, and the other is a blonde girl with a yankees hat and glasses. both are white. video text reads: “p sure the people behind me are prince percy and princess annabeth??? um?????”. background audio is a dubstep remix of the fight theme from undertale. end ID]

***

Maybe it’s a little weird, on account of her being actual royalty and all, but Annabeth has always been interested in princesses, both as a matter of historical record (history is awesome) and in the general sense. Like millions of other people, she, too, was raised on Disney movies and tales of princesses and true love, and she was just as captivated as the rest of them. She and Percy used to watch the Disney catalogue whenever their families held state visits for each other, staying up into the small hours of the morning, sharing some popcorn and singing along.

Luckily for Annabeth, her favorite princess is holding a meet and greet at the Royal Hall.

“Excuse me,” Percy says, approaching Princess Ariel. Well, her cast member, anyway. “Could I get a photo for my friend?”

“Of course!” she trills, her blue eyes sparkling. “It would be my pleasure.” Holding her hand out, perfectly poised and graceful in a way that would impress even Annabeth’s stodgy etiquette instructor, she smiles, warm and welcoming, pivoting to bring Annabeth in for one of those weird, semi-awkward half-hugs. “What’s your name?”

“Anna,” says Annabeth. Hey, it’s not untrue. She’s a little leery of using any of her names, but Anna is common enough. Annabeth? Not so much. Even with her glasses and hat disguise, a little paranoia is justified, she thinks.

“It’s so wonderful to meet you, Anna,” she says, cheerful, with all the grace and charm of someone who doesn’t spend hours saying the same thing over and over again to excitable, temperamental children. What a trooper, she thinks.

“Don’t you recognize a fellow princess when you see one, your highness?” Percy says, grinning that stupid, smarmy grin of his.

Annabeth glares. Oh, he thinks he’s so damn clever.

“Oh, of course,” says Ariel, smoothly. “How could I have thought otherwise? Your highness.” And she curtsies to Annabeth, a short dip, her hand placed delicately against her chest. “Perhaps I can introduce you to my friend Anna, princess of Arendelle?”

Still smirking, Percy takes some more pictures, trapping Annabeth into smiling for the camera. She can’t be glaring daggers in her pictures, nor can there be video evidence of her kicking him--no matter how much she wants to.

And she definitely doesn’t miss the way Ariel not-so-subtly checks Percy out, eyeing him up and down.

“You fucking asshole,” she hisses as they leave the photo area, swatting him lightly, and he giggles.

“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“Ugh, I hate you so much.”

It’s hard to stay mad at him, though she definitely tries as they enter back out into the park proper, giving him just the barest hint of a cold shoulder.

“Aw, come on,” Percy says. “I was just teasing.”

“You shouldn’t go around tempting fate like that,” Annabeth says. “Do you want to cause another international incident?”

Percy winces, no doubt remembering the Gateway Arch incident of 2008.

“If someone recognizes us, we don’t have Zoe or any of her team to protect us,” Annabeth goes on. “Not that I think anyone here would try to hurt us, but…” But it’s a little nerve-wracking, being on her own like this. She hasn’t been alone like this for a really long time.

Wincing, Percy rubs the back of his head. “I guess I forgot you’re a little higher profile than me. Sorry.”

She doesn’t like to think about it, but it’s true. Percy, by his nature as the younger son of a largely defunct royal house, doesn’t have quite the same number of… issues… that someone like Annabeth might have.

Deflating, she uncrosses her arms. “It’s okay.”

“I should have asked you first.”

“It’s really okay,” she says. “No harm no foul.”

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks, entirely serious. “I can call someone up.”

She knows just how long they’ve planned this, how many favors he’s called in and policies he’s sidestepped. Backing out now would just be a waste of a day. She shakes her head. “It’s fine,” she says. “I’m just… feeling a little exposed, I guess. But, I don’t want to ruin all our plans. Let’s keep going.” She grabs his hand, squeezing a little.

“...Okay,” Percy says. “But say the word, and we’ll call it a day. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Like he doesn’t have any other expression today, he smiles at her again.

It hits her, suddenly. He’s so much taller than she remembers. Once upon a time she used to be taller than him; now, he’s basically a whole head above her.

It’s annoying. But also… not.

Spying something over her shoulder, his eyes light up, and he practically gasps. “Cinderella!” he points with his free hand, like a five-year old. “Come on!” And he takes off to one of the park corners, dragging Annabeth along with him.

He has to wait in line behind a pair of twin girls, six or seven years old by the looks of it, in identical Cinderella dresses for a photo, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, and when it’s finally his turn, he nearly trips over himself to go up and ask for a photo.

Cinderella agrees, and now Annabeth is relegated to the job of cameraperson. Percy slides in next to the princess, his hand on her waist, but, ever the respectful gentleman, loosely held, so the cast member can slide out of his grasp without any difficulty at all.

Taking a few shots, it does look kind of strange to have Cinderella’s beautiful, shining face, and Percy’s enormous sunglasses blocking his. “Take off your glasses?” she says, lowering her phone for a second.

Dutifully, Percy slips them off, smiling again for the camera.

Cinderella’s smile doesn’t falter, a credit to her professionalism, but Annabeth can see her eyes widen, just a touch.

Annabeth snaps off a few more photos, “Got ‘em!” and Percy once again gushes over the princess, thanking her for her time. Grabbing Annabeth’s hand again, he practically skips off, leading them in the direction of a nearby candy shop.

***

me: IM SHAKING GUESS WHO I JUST TOOK A PICTURE WITH????

sis: prince percy?

me: HOW TF DID YOU KNOW

sis: its on twitter already

***

They’re walking along, Annabeth slurping up a Dole whip, when she suddenly stops in her tracks, outside of one of the many, many gift shops. “Wait up a second.”

“Hm?” Percy says, around the giant lollipop in his mouth.

“I want to get some Mickey ears.”

Very quickly they get lost in the sea of Disney merchandise, walking the labyrinth of Star Wars and Marvel and Pixar goods. There’s a surprising amount of black for the so-called happiest place on Earth, but things do brighten up when Annabeth finally turns a corner and finds the enormous selection of Mickey ears. It’s a wash of sparkles, flowers, bows, and occasionally characters, for children and adults alike. Annabeth eyes a pair designed like Baby Yoda, eyes wide and ears adorably huge, before she fingers a pair of white Mickey ears that have a bridal veil attached to them, contemplating its counterpart, the black ears for the groom, each ear emblazoned with a sparkling silver “Happily Ever After.”

She looks around. Where did Percy wander off to, anyway?

Well, wherever he is, hopefully he hasn’t gotten mobbed by a horde of excitable fangirls. Given that she can’t hear any screaming--well, any unusual, non-Disneyland-relevant screaming--that’s probably a good sign.

Running her fingers over the ear selections, she finally picks out a pair of silver sequined earrings with a shiny gold bow, a tiny, rhinestone Cinderella’s castle placed delicately in the middle.

Yeah. This one.

Percy finds her as she is paying for her ears, a pair of his own already on his head, red balloons inside of plastic circles. The sunglasses, she notes with a tinge of nervousness, are tucked in his shirt, and not on his face, protecting his identity. “Oh, check mine out--they light up!” he says, giddy, pressing the button on the side, not that she can tell in the brightly lit shop.

“That’s not why I was looking.”

Walking out of the store, ears firmly in her possession, she looks around again. Percy’s face is out there for the world to see, and no one is giving them a hard time.

And her hat is really sweaty.

Ah, fuck it.

She removes the Yankees cap, shaking out her sweaty curls, sliding the ears on in its place.

And the glasses, for good measure.

“Cinderella?” Percy asks.

“I thought you’d approve.”

Outside the shop, next to a corn dog cart, Percy pulls her aside, out of the way of a whole classroom’s worth of children, holding up a plastic plag. “So, confession.”

“Percy…” He didn’t. “We said no gifts!” They had agreed to it that morning!

“Well, see,” he says, fumbling around in the bag, pulling out a black t-shirt. “I saw this, and I thought--I thought you might like it.”

He unfolds it, and Annabeth frowns at the shirt design.

It’s… a drawing of a man in a purple mask against a solid black background, glaring at the viewer. Circling him, in distressed, white-grey military font, are the words “BARON ZEMO,” and the logo for the show he must star in, Marvel’s The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. She doesn’t really watch superhero shows, though, and she’s pretty sure Percy doesn’t, either. Maybe he’s started this one and he really likes it? “Thanks,” she says, confusion coloring her voice despite her best efforts.

But he doesn’t look too disappointed. “I was looking through their pride merch, and they didn’t have any stuff with the ace flag, which totally sucks, but then I thought that maybe you might like something a little more subtle? So, yeah.” He shakes it. “Ace pride!”

Oh. Oh, this boy.

She remembers, so vividly, visiting his father’s summer home on Kalymnos, a few years ago, the summer she turned nineteen, waking up to a banging in the kitchen, noisy pots and pans making a real racket. Granted, it had been one in the afternoon, and Annabeth probably should have been awake sooner, but she had stumbled out of the guest room into the kitchen, rubbing sleep out of her eyes, to the sight of Percy wrestling with the standmixer, making bright, neon purple frosting. The night before, sometime around three or four AM, that weird, liminal hour where the shadow of night just starts to recede, the sky a sweet, soft, dusky blue, she had come out as demisexual to her best friend, saying the words aloud for the first time ever. Loopy from lack of sleep, the moment had passed without much fanfare.

But Percy, dark-circled and still yawning, had woken up early to make her a chocolate cake. By the time she had woken up, he had baked the cake, chilled it, and made two out of the three frosting colors, a beautiful, moist, dark chocolate cake which ended up being frosted with a marbled mix of purple, black, and white, all folding into each other into a kind of colorless, grey sugar.

Here, now, in Disneyland, she throws herself at him, wrapping his arms around his neck. His arms automatically come up to circle her, hugging her tight.

She had been worried it had been some kind of defense mechanism. A young girl with an alarmingly high profile, Annabeth had been the subject of intense scrutiny with regards to any romantic entanglements, with critics, tabloid reporters, and fans alike attempting to invent gossip-worthy relationships with every boy she ever talked to--most usually Percy. They did grow up in the public eye together, attending all kinds of events and functions together over the last fifteen or so years. And they did tweet at each other. Like, a lot. They even had their own portmanteau hashtag. But no relationship ever materialized.

She thought maybe she was just being stubborn, unwilling to play the media game. But it hadn’t been stubbornness. It wasn’t about shyness or inexperience. It was real, and it was her.

And Percy hadn’t even blinked.

“I love it,” she murmurs. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he says, swaying her from side to side, just a little. “It was my pleasure.”

***

What’s happening: #percabeth (Entertainment • trending)

@kndrck__ STREAM CHROMATICA: um @TheraUS @SwedenRoyals i think i found your sick royals? #percabeth #disneyland

@wasabiviking: omg werent they supposed to be at some hospital opening today #percabeth

@ChampionSno brando he/him: LMAOOO NOT #PERCABETH PLAYING HOOKY LIKE IT’S ROMAN HOLIDAY

***

“Holy shit,” Percy moans, his mouth full of food. “Oh my God. Dear God in Heaven.”

Annabeth kicks his ankle under the table. “Don’t be rude.”

He swallows, eyes fluttering. “Oh my God, Annabeth. Holy shit. This is the best damn sandwich I’ve ever had in my entire life.”

“A monte cristo?”

“A deep-fried monte cristo! In sweet batter!” Taking another bite, he moans again, just this side of indecent. “Oh my God I love Americans. They are absolute culinary geniuses.”

“Better than Bistrot Chez Rémy?” They had both been to Disneyland Paris, separately, sadly, and Percy had recommended the restaurant to her with great enthusiasm for her upcoming trip. As usual, he was spot on with his food recs.

He nods, eyes closed in rapture. “By a mile.”

“You’ll have to learn to make your own when we get back home, then.”

He jolts, straightening up, cheeks full of food. Roughly, he swallows. “You’re right! I need to take notes.” And he takes out his phone, hurriedly typing down whatever scent and flavor notes he must be able to discern. “This is definitely challah…”

Plucking another piece of chicken with her fork out of her jambalaya, Annabeth lets her attention wander a little, content to watch the passengers on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride as they float on beside them, down in the artificially constructed bayou river.

Truth be told, she’s kind of tired. They’ve been walking around all day, and even with the brief reprieve of rides, her shoes really aren’t the kind that deal well with huge amounts of walking. She can already tell that she’s going to crash, and crash hard, whenever they get back to their hotel. You know, if their security detail doesn’t eviscerate them first.

When Percy had first presented his idea to her, she had agreed without hesitation. They had had a long, dense schedule of public appearances planned for their excursions to the states, and the days had begun to seriously wear them out. Together, they had worked out the kinks, coming up with contingencies, negotiating things to do, all over Discord so no one else would get wind of what they were doing. Prior to this trip, she hadn’t seen him in… probably almost a year. She knows his father had been keeping him close to home for whatever reason, and Annabeth had had a handful of official functions to deal with. Their paths just never managed to cross, up until now.

She hadn’t realized how much she had missed him.

It’s lonely, growing up in the public eye. It’s cliche, but it’s true. And while Annabeth is afforded a metric ton of various intersecting privileges, she thinks she’d probably give it up in a heartbeat. It kind of sucks being a living, breathing tourist attraction.

Growing up, she had her cousin Magnus, and a handful of other assorted children to play with, but she would never say that she had a best friend, or even a good friend, until she’d met Percy. Her mother and his father, famous for their mutual dislike, had put aside their differences to host some kind of charitable dinner for the disgustingly wealthy, and had trotted out their respective children in all their finery. Annabeth, being all of twelve years old, hadn’t really grasped the gravity of the event, and had gotten into an itty bitty little food fight with the then-unknown Prince Perseus, the result of an extramarital affair whom his father had so graciously decided to acknowledge and adopt.

After that night, they became fast friends, and she decided that, if she ever left the royal life, she’d make sure to take Percy with her. He’s one of the few things that makes her life bearable.

She thinks about it, sometimes. Renouncing her title. It wouldn’t exactly be hard. There was Magnus, just in line behind her. And it’s not like her family held any executive power anyway. They’re just fancy, historically interesting celebrities.

Would Percy give up his, she wonders?

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

He looks at her oddly over their dessert, two vanilla-bourbon creme brulees. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Just tired. Long day.”

“You want to call it a night?”

She frowns. “What’s left?”

“Well, we did Space Mountain, Rise of the Resistance, Haunted Mansion, Pirates of the Caribbean, a few others,” he counts off his fingers, “saw the princesses, got Mickey ears, ate at Blue Bayou… I guess all that’s left is walking around the pier, if you want.”

“Sounds like you two had a full day.”

As one, they almost leap out of their seats, Annabeth choking on her spit. “Jesus, Zoe,” Percy pants, his hand over his chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Oh?” says Zoe Nightshade, the head of their security detail, who had just apparently materialized out of thin air. “Funny. I could say the same about you, sir.”

Coughing, Annabeth eventually manages to get her air back. “Hey, Zoe,” she wheezes. “How was your day?”

“Eventful. Let me tell you about it in the car.”

Annabeth glances at Percy, who’s looking a little bit like a deer in headlights. Honestly, she’s surprised they even made it this far without one of their own tracking them down. Still, it looks like their game is up.

...Or is it?

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a large tour group, approaching on the horizon.

“Sure,” Annabeth says, getting up. Luckily, they’ve already paid, so they can just head out; they don’t need to wait for another big group of people to cross their paths. “Will you let us go to the bathroom, first?”

Zoe squints. She’s always been able to see through Annabeth’s bullshit. But Annabeth has her best, Percy-patented baby seal eyes on, perfectly innocent. Surely, Zoe wouldn’t deny them a physical need such as relieving themselves?

After a moment, she nods. “Make it quick, if you please.”

“Of course,” Annabeth says, looking over at Percy, hoping he gets the message. He stands up, slow and stiff, eyes darting between the two of them. “We’ll be right back.”

They wander through tables and chairs towards the bathroom, her eyes always on the tour group as it just starts to pass by. Reaching out, Annabeth grabs Percy’s hand, and with a turn that would make her track coach proud, sprints out of the restaurant, using the throng of people as cover.

She thinks she hears Zoe yelling behind them, but maybe it’s just her own laughter. “Come on!” she shrieks, breathless, as Percy’s long legs keep pace with her. “To California Adventure!”

***

darthbingus said: the monarchy are fucking parasites but percabeth is pretty cute i guess :/

ladyofsandwiches reblogged and said: it’s obviously a publicity thing lmao, also prince Percy is gay???

eowynning reblogged and said: he’s dating rachel dare, right? he can’t be gay

ladyofsandwiches reblogged and said: That was a publicity thing too obvs, and Annabeth hasn’t ever been linked to a guy. The king of thera is hardline greek orthodox, there’s no way he’d let his son come out publicly. They’re both gay and pretending to date because homophobia

lardoftheprks reblogged and said: people can be bi and ace and pan and all sorts of things you know

batgirlcock reblogged and said: can you animals leave them alone fr

***

Zoe only spots them after the ferris wheel starts moving. Sprinting over to them, they’re still a full forty feet off the ground by the time she reaches the operator. “Sorry!” she yells down to her, hands cupping her mouth. “We’ll be down in ten minutes!”

“Ananbeth!” he chokes, giggles still escaping him.

“What?” she laughs.

“We’re in enough trouble as it is!”

“Exactly,” she says, settling back on the ride. “You’ll probably be grounded for life.”

“Me?” he squawks, playfully offended. “What about you?”

She scoffs. “Please. I’ll just pin it all on you.”

Leaning back, he pouts, arms crossed. “Wow. I plan this amazing day, violate a few embassorial rules, and probably put both of our countries on a massive red alert, and this is the thanks I get?”

“I helped plan it, too.” But he does have a point. “Thank you,” she says. “I had a lot of fun today.”

He turns his head to her, a grin stretching across his face. “Me too.”

His voice is so soft, so fond. They share a look, a moment, no words between them, only the silence of a true, deep companionship. They don’t need to say anything else, because they already know what the other would say.

As one, they break away, looking back out into the California evening.

They don’t talk much as the ferris wheel climbs higher and higher. Honestly, Annabeth is kind of impressed with how well he’s handling himself--she knows heights are a bit of a weakness of his. He grabs the edges of their gondola every once in a while as it drops a few feet, knuckles white and face a little green, but he manages to keep his dinner down, even as the ferris wheel grinds to a halt, Percy and Annabeth at the top of the world. The swing back and forth a little, hot faces against the cool evening breeze.

And they stay there.

And stay there.

And… stay there.

Annabeth checks her watch. How long have they been up here?

Percy taps his feet, a little too frantic just to be ADHD.

Finally, there’s a burst of noise from below them, garbled and static. “Uh, yes, excuse me--” the voice says, amplified through a megaphone. “Yeah, um, it appears we are having some… uh, technical difficulties with the Pixar Pal-A-Round. Please remain calm, as we have our best technicians on it, and we are working on evacuating the ride in a calm and efficient manner.” Then the voice cuts out.

Annabeth glances towards Percy. He has his hands in his lap, fists clenching and unclenching, over and over again. “Uh… you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, sure,” Percy says, “just fine. Peachy keen.” He squeezes his eyes shut, slowly blowing out his breath through his mouth.

“Hey.” She reaches over, and takes one of his hands in hers, lacing their fingers together. After a long day of holding hands, somehow it still manages to surprise her, how well they fit together, how her skin tingles as she rubs her thumb against his finger. “It’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna be just fine. They’re going to get us off this ride, and then we’ll fly home and be grounded for life.”

“I thought,” he wheezes, “you’d blame it all on me?”

“As if you could come up with a plan as genius as hiding from our guard in It's A Small World.”

He nods, shakily. “Right. All you. Definitely not my idea. Everyone knows I’d have looped back to Pirates of the Caribbean.”

“Definitely.” She squeezes his hand, scooting a little closer. “Just breathe with me a little, okay?”

They breathe together, slowly and evenly. At some point, Percy takes her hand in both of his, running his thumbs over her palm, tracing her lifelines like a map. His hands are big, and warm, and it seems to calm him down a little, so she doesn’t mind all that much.

Twilight darkens, stars twinkling against the grey, dusky sky, and still they are holding hands. Eventually, Percy relaxes, slumping against his seat.

“You good?”

He nods. He still doesn’t let go. “Yeah. Just…” he sighs, stretching his arms up, taking Annabeth’s hand with him. “Not super looking forward to the dressing down I’m going to get.”

She winces. Annabeth’s dad is a little more flexible than Percy’s when it comes to breaches of protocol. The king of Thera is somewhat famous for his paranoia. “I hope it was worth it.”

He whips his head to her, eyes wide. “Of course it was worth it!” he says, as though the opposite were even fathomable. “You kidding? This was the best day of my life.”

“Better than your sixteenth?” His father had officially acknowledged him that day. Annabeth had spotted him in a deserted hallway with his mother, the two of them fighting off a few happy tears. She knows just how special that day was for him.

“Not even close.” Squeezing her hand, he smiles again, that smile she knows almost better than her own by now. That smile she grew up with, a quiet oasis in a whirlwind of ancient tradition and modern media coverage. That smile is safety, familiarity. That smile was there to greet her when her mother chose to leave her family, when her uncle died without heirs, thrusting the position of heiress on her, whenever she had a rotten day or a bad grade or a lonely night, just on the other end of a phone, or down the hall, or in the kitchen.

Whatever happens, she knows, Percy will be her best friend. Her anchor.

Her…

She swallows. “Thank you,” she says again. “I needed this.” A day without an agenda. A day just for them.

His eyes are dark, and soft, like the water beneath them. One hundred and fifty feet in the air in a broken ferris wheel, there’s nowhere safer she can be. “Me too.”

So she’s not really surprised at herself when she says, “I’d really like to kiss you now.”

Eyes widening, just a hair, he opens his mouth, momentarily speechless. “You--are you sure?”

She nods, maybe a little too enthusiastically.

“Cool. Uh, me too.”

“Cool.”

Neither of them move.

“So, do--do you want to--”

Annabeth leans in, her other hand cupping his cheek, and kisses him.

His lips are soft. His mouth tastes like vanilla and bourbon. They are trapped in a metal box, one hundred and fifty feet off the ground, about to get the punishment of their lives when they get down, and it is absolutely, utterly perfect.

And when Annabeth pulls back, there are fireworks.

Quite literally.

Percy’s face glows with pink and green and purple, and a little fire in his eyes that’s all him. The pops of the fireworks, loud and brassy, and muted, completely overshadowed by the pounding of her heart in her chest.

They rest their heads against each other, breathing each other’s air, quiet and intimate, the calm before the storm that is surely coming. But that’s fine. Let it come, she thinks. She’ll be safe with Percy.

When the park technicians eventually get the ferris wheel moving again, Percy and Annabeth disembark from the gondola like nothing’s even gone wrong, waving to the crowd of people, fans, and reporters alike, who have swarmed the pier, phones and cameras held aloft in a constellation of light, before being quickly hurried away by Zoe and her crew, ushered to the end of the pier where Annabeth’s embassy’s car is waiting.

Percy doesn’t let go of her hand once.

***

KALYMNOS, GREECE--Prince Percy has arrived on the island for his family’s annual summer retreat, bringing his girlfriend, Princess Annabeth of Sweden, with him for the fifth year in a row, and the third as his official partner. Lifelong friends, the couple were most recently seen at Disneyland Tokyo, continuing something of a tradition for the two royals where they visit Disneyland parks across the globe. Our sources inside the castle are hinting that the family is planning something big this year. Could we see a proposal by the end of summer? Be sure to subscribe for more updates!

#pjo fic #percabeth #percabeth fic #my fic #au #perseannabeth #the rivalry ends here #will i ever stop writing modern royalty aus? no 💖#also look mari i even used a taylor swift song

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swaps55 · 4 years ago

Text

Mnemonic

This is an AU version of a standalone scene from Cantata that I rewrote with kissing. Because there was a lot of UST and I am weak.

Ao3

14 June 2180, Hades Gamma, Farinata System, SSV Myeongnyang

For a biotic, the armor never really comes off. What they carry under their skin is like a live wire, a current always in need of grounding.

Standing face-to-face with half a dozen L2 biotics holding the chairman of the Parliament Subcommittee for Transhuman Studies hostage on the MSV Ontario makes it a lot easier for Kaidan to see how much he takes for granted having a safe place to do it. And knowing how.

Reparations for the L2 side effects are a pipe dream. But a pipe dream Colin Daggett and his people needed to cling to, whatever the cost. And it had almost cost them everything.

Shepard doesn’t say much as they arrange for the survivors to be transferred to the Madrid’s brig and the engineering crew arrives to secure the Ontario for the trip to Arcturus. He says even less on the way through the airlock back to the ‘Yang, and the rest of the squad take their lead from him.

When they’re back on board the ship he disappears, sucking the air out of the room with him. They kit down without him.

“You’re an L2, aren’t you?” Pendergrass asks as she shoves her arms through the sleeves of her uniform, armor plating in a heap at her feet.

Beaudoin jabs her with an elbow.

“Yeah,” Kaidan murmurs, fingers tracing the amp port on the back of his neck when he removes the protection plate. He flexes his fingers, gravity well jumping into his touch. As he reaches for his chest plate to store it in his gear locker, an electric shock passes through him.

When 23:00 rolls around, Kaidan shows up in the mess as usual, figuring he’ll keep it simple tonight and just make some pasta. Shepard is there waiting, as usual, picking at a spot on the table while Kaidan pulls out a pot and finds a container of pasta. The entire time the water boils Shepard doesn’t say a word, stubbornly lost in thought.

Kaidan tells himself he’s not going to do more than olive oil and garlic – it’s been too long of a day for effort – but by the time he gets it to the table there’s parmesan cheese, parsley, and even a little red pepper in the mix.

“You going to tell me what’s up, or do I get to guess?” Kaidan asks when he sits down across from him and hands off a fork. He spent too much energy on going above and beyond with the red pepper to bother with a second bowl. They’ll just have to share.

Shepard looks up, almost in surprise. “Just thinking.”

“You’ve been thinking ever since you got Chairman Burns through the airlock. Maybe you should think out loud.”

The gravity well churns as Shepard stirs eddies in it, in tune with the twirl of his fork in the pasta bowl. “Everything that happened on that ship hinged on what Daggett did with his pistol.”

His toying intensifies, until blue energy shimmers around his knuckles. This one’s been chewing at him. A snap of electricity skips between his finger and the fork, and he drops it with an annoyed mutter. He looks up.

“You pulled the gun out of his hands,” he says.

And Shepard had put a bullet between his eyes. The fight had gone out of the rest pretty quickly.

“He wasn’t going to put it down,” Kaidan says. “We all knew it.”

“No. He wasn’t. And if you hadn’t been there, that standoff turns into a clusterfuck where everyone dies.”

A soft smile tugs at Kaidan’s lips. “Guess it’s a good thing I was there.”

Shepard picks up the fork again, staring at it with an unfocused gaze before he stabs it back in the bowl and twirls more pasta.

“I couldn’t have done what you did. I can’t refine a field like that. I was prepared to shoot everyone in that room. But you pulled the gun right out of his hands.”

Only because Shepard had given him the chance. Whether Shepard had done it with purpose or actually hesitated is a question he hasn’t been in a hurry to examine too closely.

“We work together, remember? In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve gotten pretty good at it.”

Shepard huffs. “Yeah. We have.”

“But you’re just gonna get bent out of shape about not being able to do everything yourself, anyway.”

“Have you met me?” Shepard says with a helpless shrug.

“Yeah, I’ve had the pleasure,” Kaidan says with a chuckle. He pushes his chair back. “Come on, then.”

Shepard casts him a suspicious look. “Come where?”

“To the gym.”

“Alenko—”

“Come on.” He nods towards the elevator and starts walking, smirking a little when Shepard’s chair scrapes against the floor and his feet hit the deckplates.

“You’re just dying to give me a taste of my own medicine, aren’t you,” Shepard grouches when they board the lift.

“Oh, definitely.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Apparently not when it comes to taking people’s pistols out of their hands.”

Shepard chuckles, though he tries to choke off a smile by looking down at his feet. When they get to the gym Kaidan digs a canteen out of his locker and sets it down on one of the sparring mats.

“I’m guessing that your training didn’t include a lot of control drills,” he says.

Shepard shakes his head. “Tulak wasn’t big on control. Overwhelming tidal force tends to be the krogan approach.”

“You don’t say.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Alenko.”

Kaidan grins and points to the canteen. “Start simple. Just lift it off the ground.”

Shepard rolls his eyes, but taps into the gravity well, corona enveloping him in a shroud of snapping blue tendrils. The hairs on Kaidan’s arms stand on end.

It’s so rare he gets to just watch Shepard work. All unrestrained power, from the loose, angry snarl of his corona to the sweeping mnemonics, make him seem larger than life. When he swipes the canteen off the floor he does it with his entire arm. The canteen leaps into the air, nearly hitting the ceiling before Shepard wrangles it. He only holds it still for half a second before sending it skidding to the other side of the gym.

“Hm,” Kaidan says.

Shepard gives him a withering look before marching off to fetch the wayward canteen. “It’s small. I don’t do well with small.”

“Not sure the size trips you up as much as you think it does,” Kaidan muses. “That mnemonic of yours applies some pretty impressive force automatically, so you’re already playing catch up if you’re trying to control the speed or direction.”

“See, I can’t tell if you’re complimenting me or giving me shit.”

“Both.”

“Har.”

Shepard resets the canteen and comes back to Kaidan to try it again, standing close but not so close their fields intersect. Kaidan watches through three variations that all end almost the same way, too much force being applied to the canteen, making it nearly impossible for Shepard to control where it goes, or where it doesn’t.

Doesn’t matter that he’s not accomplishing what it intends. The way the gravity well cants under his touch, the way his corona lights him ablaze like a flickering star, the way it caresses every nerve in Kaidan’s body like a swash of silk is mesmerizing. Kaidan swallows before trying to speak.

“Good news is, if we ever need someone to punt a suspicious canteen into space, I know who to call.”

Shepard rolls his eyes. “And if you’re not around to yank pistols out of terrorist hands?”

“Well, first, I will be around. But second, as for the pistol, yanking it towards you isn’t so different from kicking it away from you.” He cracks a grin. “In your case you just need to be prepared to duck.”

“Have I mentioned that separating the pistol from the person holding it wouldn’t end well for anyone?” Shepard says. “If you were to go hold that canteen in your palm and ask me to do what I just did, you wouldn’t like me very much.”

I doubt that.

“One problem at a time,” Kaidan says. “Let’s work on controlling the canteen by itself, then we’ll add clutter.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

“You need a new mnemonic. You’re fighting yourself by adding force and trying to take it away at the same time.”

“I’m sensing a metaphor.”

Kaidan smirks. “Think that says more about you than it does me.” Before Shepard can protest he raises an arm. “Watch me. You don’t have to use my mnemonic, but I want you to see something different so you can visualize it.”

Shepard folds his arms across his chest, but does what Kaidan asks. A nervous thrill runs through him at the undivided attention.

Kaidan waves a wrist, a hard-learned, hard-fought mnemonic that now feels as natural as breathing. Dark energy rushes through him, responsive and willing, as his fingers flex and settle a field over the canteen. Very little mass-shifting needed to pick up a light-weight canteen, which makes it tricky to keep from doing exactly what Shepard did – send it spinning out of control. But Kaidan has spent years perfecting his ability to do exactly this, so the canteen rises off the floor until it reaches eye level. Kaidan closes his fist and holds it still, floating almost motionless in mid-air.

“That mnemonic is so damned subtle,” Shepard says with an appreciative shake of his head. A flush builds at the back of Kaidan’s neck.

“Easier for me that way.”

Shepard grunts and unfolds his arms. “I was never good at levitation.”

“Because your mnemonics always apply force.”

“Need force to yank that pistol.”

“Sure, but if you want to control it, you need to learn how to hold it still.”

“I’m not good at still.”

“I know,” Kaidan says, lips curving into a smile. “So come here and let me show you.”

Shepard strays a step closer into Kaidan’s biotic field. The blend of auras creates a low keen through his nerves, familiar but always striking. The canteen wavers before falling to the ground.

“Sorry,” Shepard mumbles, but doesn’t back away.

“It’s fine,” Kaidan says, lifting the canteen again with another float of his palm.

Their eyes lock for a moment before Shepard clears his throat and looks down at Kaidan’s hand.

“You put everything in your wrist.”

“Yeah,” he manages. “You do it all with your arms.”

“Yeah.”

“So maybe, if you’re looking for finesse, try to create a mnemonic that’s a little, uh, smaller.”

“With my wrist.”

“Right. Um, I’ll show you. Here.” He steps in front of Shepard, angling his body to align their right arms. He takes Shepard’s right hand guides it to his wrist, tingle running down his spine when his fingers close around it. Shepard glances at him with soft eyes that stop the breath in his throat, but doesn’t object.

“Hands-on teacher?”

“Best way to learn,” Kaidan replies, gaze flicking to Shepard’s mouth before going back to the canteen. “Just follow my lead. Don’t act on the canteen. Concentrate on what my arm does. Visualize it.”

“Sure,” Shepard murmurs.

Kaidan reaches into the gravity well, his own corona unfurling, a steady candle to Shepard’s flaring torch. Goosebumps rise on Shepard’s arm, a subtle reminder that he’s human after all, one Kaidan is almost never close enough to witness.

He takes a deep breath and flexes his wrist, Shepard’s fingers loose and feather-light against his skin. A crackle of dark energy passes between them before he snares the canteen and turns his wrist palm-up to lift it off the floor, Shepard close enough his breath washes over Kaidan’s cheek. The canteen wavers but Kaidan keeps it afloat for several seconds, the mingle of auras, ripple of kinetic energy and closeness of Shepard enough to make him dizzy.

He lets it go with a clatter and puts space between them.

“Does that help?” he asks, trying not to sound breathless.

“Yeah. It does.” Shepard’s gaze stays on him, still and steady. “Might take a while to hard-wire my brain for something in the wrist.”

“Doesn’t have to be that. It could be something else. But you associate those big movements with force. Take that away, you might have more luck with leaving velocity out of the initial execution, so you can add it how you need it. Have more control over it.”

Shepard’s mouth crooks in a half-smile. “Sure I’m not a lost cause when it comes to control?”

“I’m sure.”

Shepard breaks his gaze and focuses on the canteen, brow furrowed in concentration. Twice he catches himself using his arm, then nearly wrenches his wrist trying to restrict the movement.

“It’s so ingrained,” he says with a shake of his head.

“That’s why they work,” Kaidan says with a smile. “Here.” He steps close once again, positions reversed with his hand on Shepard’s wrist this time. “Let me help.”

“Fuck, your hands are cold,” Shepard says with a laugh.

Hastily, he loosens his grip. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Shepard says with a grin. “Go on.”

Gently, Kaidan closes his fingers again. Shepard trains his eyes on the canteen, though they dart to Kaidan ever so briefly.

Shepard’s corona is so bright, so fierce, it’s a wonder he can wrangle it at all. Kaidan breathes in deep, letting his own kindle, the snick and crackle as they blend together forming a resonant hum that hovers just under his skin.

When Shepard’s arm moves, Kaidan tightens his grip, keeping the motion small. Instead of his usual languid, fluid posture, Shepard’s arm is stiff and resistant against him. The canteen spins in a circle but stays on the ground.

“Breathe, Shepard,” Kaidan says softly. “Just let it happen.”

Shepard inhales deep, like someone trying to relearn how. This time they move together, Kaidan picking up the slack when Shepard falters, until the canteen hovers briefly in the air. It’s more under Kaidan’s control than Shepard’s, but it’s a start, and that’s what matters.

They gutter out and the canteen falls, but Kaidan doesn’t let go and doesn’t step away, not yet, not quite yet, not while the remnants of kinetic energy are still sharp in the air and he has to remind himself to breathe, too.

“How do you do that?” Shepard murmurs. “You worked around me, without…taking over. How do you do that?”

Their eyes lock for just a moment. God Kaidan could get lost there if he’s not careful. “Practice. Years of it.”

Let go.

He means to. He means to. In his head he loosens his hold on Shepard’s wrist, drops his hand away and puts space between them. That’s what he tells himself to do. That’s what he intends to do.

But while he does loosen his grip, instead of fall away, Kaidan’s fingertips brush Shepard’s knuckles, the pad of his thumb running along the round muscle of his palm.

It’s an accident. Just an accident. So many of their touches are, but rather than move or pull away, rather than let it be just another one of those excusable, explainable slips, Shepard exhales, the breath fluttering out of him, then splays his fingers wider, as if making room for Kaidan’s to slot between them.

Let go, let go.

But instead he explores the open space Shepard has left for him, fingertips light, hesitant, ghosting Shepard’s skin as he finds where they fit, hovering, hoping, but never daring to rest. Never giving up the ruse.

It’s an accident. It doesn’t mean anything.

Except it does.

Shepard stays still as a stone save for the rise and fall of his chest. They’re close enough now their cheeks almost touch, though whether Kaidan moves or Shepard does to close that gap he can’t say.

The next time Kaidan’s fingers trespass through that open space, Shepard closes his around them and traps them there.

Kaidan’s breath hitches.

The gravity well sighs as Shepard calls to it, glow of dark energy limming their hands, accompanied by a soundless hum that strums every nerve in Kaidan’s body before settling in his groin. Without thinking his other hand comes to rest on Shepard’s hip, needing something, anything, to hold onto.

A soft sound stirs in Shepard’s throat. Kaidan’s hand doesn’t stay on that hip for long, because Shepard seeks those fingers out, too, lacing them together. Kaidan folds both arms until Shepard is surrounded by them. There’s no imagining any space between them now – their cheeks rest against each other, Kaidan tightening his hold until Shepard is snug against his chest.

Shepard turns his head, but after briefly meeting each other’s gaze, his eyes drift down to Kaidan’s mouth.

Kaidan can still let go. There’s still a way out. Chalk it up to adrenaline, nerves leftover from the standoff on the Ontario. They can walk it off, laugh, pretend it never happened, continue on like they always have.

But he doesn’t let go, and then the millimeters between Shepard’s lips and Kaidan’s no longer exist and the window is gone.

Shepard’s mouth is warm, soft, lips tinged with the salt of his sweat. They start out slow, cautious, neither of them daring to think about it too hard, but that’s not a problem for long, because soon there’s no room to think about anything at all.

Nothing else matters but this.

Slow and cautious becomes deep and headlong, Kaidan pushing his tongue between Shepard’s teeth, Shepard sighing into his mouth and taking him in. His fingers tighten around Kaidan’s, the glow of dark energy rippling out from their joined hands until it swallows them whole. Kaidan gasps at the sensation.

Shepard kisses him harder.

God.

Kaidan wants to spin him around, throw his arms around his neck and meet him head on, give in to everything, all of it, but he can’t bear the thought of turning loose of that hand.

They part when they run out of air, both straining to catch their breath, fingers still entwined, Shepard still firmly ensconced in Kaidan’s arms as his corona fades.

Shepard rests his cheek against Kaidan’s, ensconcing himself a little further.

“Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Shepard’s fingers flex within his, twining and retwining, never letting go.

“You…don’t seem surprised.”

Kaidan closes his eyes, breathing him in, a star he’s somehow pulled down out of the heavens and trapped right here in his arms. “No. Felt it…for a long time now.”

“Oh.”

“…Yeah.”

Their coronas may have faded, but the mingle of their biotic fields is a constant, soothing whisper under Kaidan’s skin. A small, contented sound slips from Shepard’s throat.

“Why didn’t I see it?”

Kaidan huffs. “To be fair, I don’t think either of us are very good at this kind of thing.”

Shepard tightens his grip on Kaidan’s fingers and pulls them to his chest. The race of Shepard’s heart thrums under their joined hands. If Kaidan had any illusions about letting him go, they’re gone now.

“I think I’d like to learn,” Shepard says.

Kaidan’s stomach flips. “Me too.”

They stay still, Kaidan content to hold him, Shepard content to be held, until their lips find each other once more. Kissing Shepard is easy, effortless, like it’s something they were meant to do, a safe place for the live current running under their skin to go to ground.

Shepard, against all evidence to the contrary, is…safe.

Shepard gazes at him when they part, and butterflies cut loose in Kaidan’s stomach.

“You’re very good at that,” Shepard murmurs.

“We’re very good at a lot of things.”

“Yeah. We are.” He draws Kaidan’s hand up to press a kiss to his knuckles. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” Kaidan admits. “What do you want?”

“You.”

A shiver runs down Kaidan’s spine, the euphoria of that one, single word enough to make him lightheaded. So simple. So complicated. They’ll have choices to make, all of them with compromises and consequences. But that’s something for tomorrow. Right now there is only the truth.

“I want that, too.”

Shepard releases Kaidan’s hand to turn until they’re face to face, then runs his fingers through the hairs growing over Kaidan’s right temple. All the while those glittering eyes search Kaidan’s face, as though reconciling all the things he knows with the things he’s learning for the first time.

The corners of his eyes crinkle as a smile spreads across his face, pure, open, and full of possibility. “Taste of my own medicine, huh?”

“Well…” Kaidan shrugs helplessly, and Shepard’s grin only gets deeper.

“Seems like I should have let you teach me a few things a long time ago.”

Kaidan flexes his fingers, a curl of dark energy igniting in his palm that draws out goosebumps along Shepard’s arm. “All in the wrist.”

Shepard laughs. It’s like music. “You and me.”

“I like that,” Kaidan murmurs, before kissing him again. “I like that a lot.”

#mshenko #kaidan alenko #mass effect #my fic #UST with biotics #in case anyone is wondering #the number of first kisses I have written for Sam and Kaidan #is currently sitting at 7 #and that's just the first kisses i have WRITTEN #¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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wildernessuntothemselves · 4 years ago

Text

Prey for You | Part 4

Genre: Smut, angst, and some fluff this time

Word Count: 4.4k

Summary: It has come to this. After your landlord kicks you out, you’re at Chan’s mercy. Turns out, he might not be as bad as you thought he was.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, switch!reader, switch!chan, wolf!hybrid chan, fox!hybrid reader, thigh riding, really unheathly dynamics

A/N: this part is like the opposite of a tootsie roll soft on the outside hard on the inside

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 Part 5, Part 6

“This is just for a short while.” You say, swallowing the bile that has risen up in your throat as you look at the smug wolf sitting in front of you on his couch.

“Sure.” He shrugs nonchalant, but the cocky arch of his brow says otherwise and you have to squash down your pride with everything you’ve got not to jump on him. Like it or not, you’re at his mercy now that your landlord has officially evicted you. Without his gracious help, you’d now be on the streets. “I’ll find another place as soon as I can.”

“You can take all the time you need.” He opens his arms wide, going for a welcoming vibe but the stupid grin on his face counteracts it.

“No. I’ll be out of here soon.” You deadpan, not wanting to owe him more than you already do. God knows he’ll hold his over your head forever. "And I don't feel comfortable living here for free so from now on until I leave, I'll be taking care of things around the house."

“Oh, how domestic.” He chirps sweetly.

"More like a live-in maid." You mutter under your breath but he easily hears it, the stupid grin finally dropping from his face as he sits forward and looks at you sincerely. "Don't say that. I meant what I said. You’re here as a friend."

"Yeah, sure." You snort. “You’re basically high from gloating.”

A smile tickles his lips again as he leans back. “I always enjoy the chance to one-up you, but that doesn’t mean I’m lying.”

“Wow, you really are a saint.” You jeer, grabbing your bag and heading towards the room that is to be yours.

_________________

To your great surprise, living with Chan was actually kind of nice. Aside from the obvious perk of living in such a comfortable, beautiful house that had everything you could ever need. Chan himself was proving himself to be a quiet congenial roommate. Most importantly, he left you the hell alone for the most part, staying cooped up in his studio the majority of the day so that you barely even saw him. And despite your agreement that you’d take care of things around the house, he still did most of his things himself, picking up after himself and washing his clothes before you got the chance to. He fed himself too as indicated by the boxes of takeout from every possible fast food place filling out the trash. So you were barely wasting any time on taking care of the house, and spending most of your days following up on your studies like you so sorely needed.

All in all, this whole arrangement was working out positively in your favor. Too positively, that you have to wonder what he was getting out of this. He can’t possibly really be doing this out of the goodness of his heart, especially since no one is even aware of this kind deed for him to gain any morality points off of it. He hasn’t even made a move on you for the whole three weeks you’d been here, seeming content to just coexist with you that you were starting to feel like you were taking advantage of him somehow. Even though this whole thing was his idea.

Maybe that, your momentary self-doubt, is what prompted you to do what you did next.

“Hmm, something smells nice.” Chan remarks, walking into the kitchen where you were making yourself some food. He stands behind you to take a look at what you were cooking, and you feel your heart skipping a beat at the now familiar scent of him filling your nostrils and his body being so close to you. And when he speaks, his voice deep and calm next to your ear, it makes your skin tingle. “Looks tasty too.”

And like a teenager who had the great fortune of being noticed by the popular jock, you twist your head around to look at him, dewy-eyed as the words stumble out of your mouth before you can think them over. “Would you like to have dinner with me today?”

He pauses, looking at you curiously and you turn back to the food and continue nervously, “I mean, that junk food you eat everyday can’t be good for you.”

“Aw, are you worried about me?” He asks cheekily, and your shoulders tense. “Never mind.”

“No, no, I’ll have dinner with you.” He rushes to say, plopping down on a seat resolutely. “No take backsies.”

“Idiot.” You mutter, finding yourself wearing an involuntary smile because of him once again.

__________________________________

You’re not the best cook, you’ll be the first to admit it, but Chan praises your food like you are a world class chef.

“Fuck off, Chan. It’s not that good.” You protest awkwardly, not really used to being complimented. But he insists, mouth full of food, “It is! It’s sublime.”

You look down at your food to avoid eye contact with him and put on your best snooty voice. “Poor thing. Your habit of eating exclusively junk food must’ve ruined your palate to the point where you think my cooking is anything but decent.”

“You sell yourself short. These hands--” He suddenly grabs your hands suddenly, startling you as he kisses them. “They’re magic.”

You yank them back to your lap, flustered, the adrenaline pushing your poor fluttering heart into overdrive and making you panic. You quickly grab your fork and shove some food into your mouth trying to distract yourself from the conflicting emotions clashing in your chest, and regretting it almost immediately as your nausea swells up.

“Is that how you woo prey?” You snark, taking a big gulp of your wine to wash down the piece of food you barely chewed. “Blatantly lie to them about their cooking skills?”

The atmosphere fully changes as Chan drops his cheery attitude. “Can we not talk about… that? It’s just you and me here. We don’t have to let the outside world in, do we?”

You still, your sense of danger rising up exponentially at his suggestion, and once again you find yourself wondering why he was doing this. What was his endgame here? Was he just messing with you? He puts on an honorable performance but you’ve seen him slip before. It must get tiring for him. Maybe he wants to see you hurt; it’s in his nature and he’s been repressing it for so long. You’d be the perfect victim too. No one even knows you’re here, and even if they did, they’d never believe your word over his.

Or he could be genuine. Maybe he’s as nice as he tries to be. But that just scares you more, because how do you deal with that? You’ve never had a relationship with someone that was open and trusting. You’ve always hid behind your games. They kept you safe. No one has ever truly hurt you because you’ve never allowed someone to get close enough. But if you trust Chan, if you let him in and he betrays you… you don’t know how you’d even recover from that.

You want to believe though. Everyone always says how much of a good person he is, how loyal, how selfless, how supportive. They can’t all be blind, right? And you’ve seen it too, in the way he always strived to protect his friends from you. He wanted the best for them. Maybe he could want the best for you too.

“Okay.” You answer in a small voice, heart pounding.

His answering smile is bright and big, but it does nothing to assuage your fears so you settle for taking another sip of your wine. That’s what it’s made for, right?

“So, what do you actually do? I never asked.” Chan makes conversation as he gets back to his food.

You clear your throat. “I’m a waitress.”

“Oh, and… um, is that what you want to be doing?” He asks unsurely.

You roll your eyes at him, feeling a little at ease at his naivety. “No. Nobody wants to work in the service industry. It’s basically slavery and all your costumers are either rude or crazy. I hate it.”

He pauses, looking like he’s thinking very hard for a moment, before he asks, perplexed. “So why do you do it?”

“To eat?”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” His ears turn red and it’s his turn to take a big gulp of his drink. “I’m, uh, apparently an idiot. Yes, people work to afford living. Of course.”

“I guess you’ve never had to think about that.” You note, surprised that you don’t feel any bitterness as you say it.

“No.” He stares at the food on his plate. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? It’s not your fault.”

“Yeah but--”

“But I don’t have money so you feel sorry having money in front of me?” You grin, tone light, and he smiles back, face flushed as he obviously chastises himself in his head.

“So…” He starts again, and it’s a little endearing how nervous he is. “What do you really wanna do?”

You regard him for a second, wondering if you should really cross that line and let him in. Well, here goes nothing.

“I’m studying to be a doctor.”

His jaw drops to the floor. “You?”

“Yeah, shocking right?” You quip, taking another sip from your glass.

“I mean, yeah.” You would take offense at his words if it weren’t for the--you begrudgingly admit--endearing confused frown on his face. “Isn’t that a traditionally prey profession? Don’t you get, like, weird looks or something?”

“Yeah.” You snort, feeling the bitterness rise to the surface. “I get more than just weird looks. People feel the need to tell me every moment of every day how I’ll never be a good doctor. How no one will trust a fox with their life. How I should just quit and get into business or law or whatever other profession that can use my no-doubt nefarious skills.”

“That sucks.” He says then immediately cringes at his lame comment.

“Yeah, no shit. And guess who says it the most? Prey hybrids.”

A light bulb suddenly clicks above his head. “Is that why you dislike them? They’re really not all like that--”

You interrupt him sharply, already knowing where he was going with this. “They’re not like that to you because you’re powerful and rich and you could do whatever you want, but they’re ruthless to me. They’ve always been. So yeah excuse me if I don’t care too much for your prey apologism. It’s pretty infuriating actually.”

“I really think you should--”

“What about you?” You ask pointedly, clearly wanting to change the subject. “I mean, I know that you’re a producer. I suppose this is what you’ve always wanted to be doing.”

“Ah, yes.” He coughs, straightening in his seat as he reels back from the change of topic. “I’ve loved it since I was an angsty teen listening to hip hop and pretending like I’m so cool and gangsta.”

The thought of little rich boy Chan swearing it up and down and acting like a thug brings an involuntary and sincere laugh out of you. It doesn’t bother Chan though. If anything, he looks content to have made you laugh.

“Did you…” He begins after your laughter dies down, fiddling with the stem of his glass as he looks at you from under his lashes, “Have you ever listened to any of my tracks?”

“No.” You scoff, the word coming out automatically. I mean, why would you? It’s not like you like the guy.

His face falls at your flippant answer. “Ah. Of course.” He says flatly, bringing his glass to his mouth.

You feel a pang of guilt in your chest. Logically, you know you have no reason to feel bad. You two were never on the best of terms and you have no obligation to listen to his songs. And yet, as you look at his crestfallen face, the guilt still eats at you.

“How about you show me some after dinner?” You find yourself suggesting and his face immediately brightens up. “Yeah! I mean… you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He interjects quickly, even though he clearly wants you to.

“I want to.” You say firmly, and he smiles. ___________________________________

“I’m a nice guy who just has a lot of money?” You wheeze, cracking up and face flushed from the intoxication. You were somehow on Chan’s lap as the night progressed from him showing you his proudest works to his most regrettable ones.

“I know. I know. What was I thinking, right?” He laughs along with you despite his obvious embarrassment.

You lean in close to his face, humming, "I think it's endearing." You kiss him.

"You just like embarrassing me." He protests weakly, mouth opening against your lips.

“Guilty.” You pull away to take his shirt off. Caressing his exposed muscles, you grin, “Hmm...yummy.”

He bursts out laughing, “You like it?”

You shrug, “It’s not what I usually go for but I can get used to it.”

He scoffs at that, and pulls your own shirt over your head. Tugging your bra over your breasts, he cups them in his hands and murmurs against your skin, “Well, I don’t need to get used to these.” before his mouth latches onto them. He sucks marks onto the sensitive flesh while his hands grope and knead your breasts.

Looking up at you, he pushes your breasts together and laps his tongue over the nipples. Your arousal spikes as your gaze locks with his challenging one, and you start rocking yourself over his thigh.

"Fuck that's hot." He mumbles, lightly tugging on your nipple with his teeth as he pulls away, making you moan out and your hips swivel down to push your core harder against his thigh.

"Wait, wait," He pulls you to your feet, and you whine, protesting the loss.

“Hush, baby girl.” He soothes, yanking your pants down your legs along with your underwear before he slips his hand between your legs to drag a finger up your slit, hissing when he feels your wetness. "That's what I want." He groans, pulling you back down on his thigh and using his grip on your hips to make you move over his thigh again. "Want you to ruin my pants with your cum, baby girl. Show me how much you need me."

"But I don't need you." You retort, though your hips don’t slow down.

“Are you sure about that, my little fox?” He flexes his thigh under you, pushing it up more against your core.

“Uh-huh.” You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut and throwing your head back. He takes the opportunity to get back to sucking on your breasts, which only makes your movements more frantic.

“Come on, baby, tell me how good I am and I’ll help you.” He gasps between kisses. You tug on his hair, almost bouncing on his thigh now. “Why don’t you beg for it, pup?”

“Unbelievable.” He growls, pulling your head down. “You’re still so prideful even as you hump my leg like bitch.”

Whatever stinging remark you would’ve hurled at him is muffled against his lips as he pulls you into a hungry kiss. You let him push his tongue into your mouth, taking him in and caressing it with your own before you put your hands to his chest and push him back.

“You really want it? Want me to say how good you are for me? How wet you make me?"

He nods eagerly.

“What a sweet pup.” You praise, “Striving so hard to please me. You’re doing so well, baby. You’ll make me cum real soon.”

“Do it, please. I wanna see what you look like cumming up close.”

“Keep tensing your leg like that and you’ll have me cumming in no time, puppy.” You bite your lip, small but needy moans flowing out of you. “What a good boy you are, so good.”

“Please,” He whispers, his hands helping you move faster on his thigh. “Please, please.”

“So close---ah---oh god, so close...baby!” You gasp, grabbing onto him tightly as you finally cum, the orgasm surprisingly potent. He beams up at you, soaking up every little moan and shudder you let out. “So pretty.”

Gradually, your panting breaths turn into airy giggles as you get down from your high. You give his lips a peck before your hands fall between you and starts pulling his dick out from his sweatpants. You grin against his lips, feeling giddy. "I can’t believe I’m gonna let you fuck me in your studio. How cliche.”

His answering chuckles are punctuated with little moans as you glide your hand up and down his hard dick. “If it--ahh-- makes you feel any better, t-this is the--ahh, yeah like that, baby-- the first time I fuck anyone here.”

You giggles increase in pitch, “You’re so full of shit, Chan.”

“I’m serious.” He whines, leaning up into your touch as you swipe your palm over the leaking head of his cock. “This is kind of a... sacred place for me."

“Yeah, right.” You roll your eyes, “It can’t be that special if you’re here with me now.”

“It is.” He insists with a pout, and continues casually as if it was nothing, “Because you’re special.”

Your hand stills on his cock, your face turning to stone as you try and make sense of what he just said. He's messing with you. He has to be.

Fear and uncertainty makes your stomach churn and your skin loses all color, your face getting cold and sweaty as the bile rises up in your throat. You thought you could handle this but you can’t. You’re too much of a coward to risk it and your sense of self-preservation rears its deformed head once again.

Standing up abruptly, you croak through your suddenly dry mouth, "I think I’m gonna go. I need to lie down"

Chan gets up too, not letting you go. "Oh, is everything okay? Are you sick?".

"I’m fine. I’m just..." You explain weakly, wriggling yourself out of his grip as quickly as you can in your intoxicated state. "I gotta go."

“Hey, wait!” Chan calls after you, but doesn’t try to stop you. You hear him curse out just before you get out of earshot.

____________________

You wake up with a huge headache and an even bigger feeling of dread. The events of last night coming back like a bullet shot through your chest, and you’re even more confused now with the hangover shattering any hope of a coherent thought forming in your head.

You stumble out of bed and head to the door, resolving to get some water and some painkiller so you’d maybe start to feel like your head wasn’t likely to explode at any moment. But as you slide the door open, you hear bickering voices just outside in the living room.

"Chan, what the hell are you doing man?" You hear a familiar voice ask but your brain is too scattered to pinpoint the owner of it right now. Luckily, you don’t need to as Chan speaks up in reply, "It's fine, Jisung. It’s all under control."

"No, it's not. Isn’t that what you used to tell me? That no matter how much she makes it seem like she cares, she could flip the table on me at any moment and that I shouldn’t trust her. That’s what you said!”

You quickly pick up that they’re talking about you despite how much you don’t want to believe it. But that’s the kind of language that has always been directed at you, there is no mistaking it. Yet, against all reason, you hope it’s not true. Or at least, you hope Chan would deny it.

He doesn’t, of course. They never do.

“I know what I said!”

“And? Do you trust her now?” Jisung asks incredulously.

“Of course not.” Chan vehemently denies, the resoluteness in his voice piercing straight through your heart.

Of course not. Of course he doesn’t trust you. What a ridiculous question.

“Jisung is right, Chan.” A new voice adds and you focus on the sound of it, trying not to break down just yet. “You’re letting her sleep under your roof, man, and you didn’t even think to tell us. Has she been messing with your head?”

They are talking about you like you are some kind of monster, some wild beast that would pounce on you the second you turned your back to it. You’d find it amusing coming from anyone else, but not from Chan, because for once in your life you wanted to believe that someone could see you as something other than what the world thought you were. You blame yourself for this one.

“My head is fine.” Chan retorts angrily, letting out a forced sigh. “I’m just.... She was in trouble and I had to help her.”

“Oh, you had to?” The new guy interjects mockingly, “Tell me, would she have helped you if you were in her position?”

“That’s irrelevant.” Chan protests.

“No, it’s not. She would’ve let you suffer and laughed about it. She’s bad news, man.”

“I think you guys are being a little harsh.” Another voice speaks up, deeper than the rest. “Maybe she’s not as bad as you think. I’m sure Chan has a good reason for trusting her.”

“Yeah, I’m sure his dick does.” Jisung scoffs, “You know, I can’t believe you’d do this after preaching to me for hours about how I need to stay away from her and how stupid I am for letting her get to me. But hey, I’m just a stupid squirrel hybrid, right?”

You’ve heard enough. Pushing the door the rest of the way open, you plaster a smile on your face and step into the living room, the four boys’ head snapping around to look at you.

“Chan, you didn’t tell me we had guests.” You ponder theatrically, ignoring Chan’s dismayed exclamation of your name. "Oh hey, Sungie. I knew you'd be back for more." You wink at him and he immediately ducks behind the dark-haired stranger.

“Please go back to your room.” Chan asks, equal measure pale and tense.

“But aren’t you going to introduce me to your friends?” Your eyes flit over the three guys, stopping when you get to the blonde, freckled one. “Especially this one. What’s your name, pretty boy?”

The boy blushes at the unexpected flirtation but extends his hand out to you nonetheless. "I'm Felix." He greets you unexpectedly cheerily, and you’re even more surprised to find out that he’s the one with the deep voice.

But before you can take his hand, Chan steps between the two of you.

"I need to talk to you." He grits, pulling you to your room and shutting the door behind you. “What are you doing?”

You shrug, feigning ignorance. “Saying hi to the guests?”

“Now is not the time for your games.” Chan rakes his hand through his hair, stressed out, but you keep up your innocent facade and he sighs in defeat. “You know what? Just stay in your room until they leave and then we’ll talk.”

“No, we’ll talk now. Are you ashamed of me or something?" You wonder, cocking your head to the side. “I thought you said I was special to you? But apparently you say a lot of things.”

“Baby--”

“Why, Chan?” You finally let your facade drop, letting the full extent of your disappointment and sadness break through. “If you don’t want me here then why did you offer in the first place?”

“I do want you here. I just wasn’t planning on anyone finding out about this.”

You laugh in disdain, “How do you always know what to say, Chan?”

“I’m sorry but you have to realize how bad this looks for me. I worked fucking hard to get to where I am today. There are so many people waiting for me to make the slightest mistake so they can watch me fall. And here you are… well, you don’t exactly have the best reputation. If people find out about us then--”

“Wow, you really are an angel, aren’t you?” You bite, venom lacing your every word.

He laughs cruelly. “Oh, yes, and the judgement comes out. You’re such a fucking hypocrite. You can judge everyone and treat them like shit, but as soon as someone does the same to you you’re suddenly the poor misunderstood victim that everyone bullies.”

You reel back at the harshness of his tone and words. He’s never spoken to you like that before, no matter how much he was upset at you. It was jarring. “Stop it.”

“Why? It’s what you’re best at, darling.” He sneers, continuing to ruthlessly attack you. “You judged me before you even knew me and went about treating me like a feeble predator because that’s what you decided that I am. And now you want me to take responsibility for your actions and stand up for you when other people treat you the way you’ve been treating them? But here’s the thing, baby; maybe if you had actually been a decent person and treated others with respect, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now. Hell if you'd been a decent person, you wouldn't be having such a hard time anywhere, not with me, not with school, not--"

"No, fuck you, chan. Don't you dare tell me this is all my fault. You know nothing about my life! I can't believe I actually--never mind.”

“No say it. You actually what? Liked me? Cared for me? Don’t make me laugh, fox. You don't give a shit about me. Every time I try to get close to you, you pull back like I make you sick. If it weren’t for me offering you a place to stay, you wouldn’t even be talking to me right now. You only care now because I have something to give you, but the second you’re done with me, you’ll throw me in the trash like you do everyone else. And I’m not going to sacrifice all that I’ve worked for to entertain you until you’re bored.”

“You may be right. I may be as awful as you all say I am.” You smile, tears falling down your face. “But at least I'm honest with myself. You on the other hand? Under all your pretense, you're just as fucked up as I am. And one day, everyone will see you for how ugly you really are. ”

_______________________________

A/N: sorry guys she (me) had to do it to you. leave your feedback uwu

#bangchan smut #chan smut #stray kids smut #bangchan angst #stray kids angst

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lantsovsupremacist · 4 years ago

Text

tiberias (cal) calore vii: illicit affairs

i’m only on the 3rd book so a) pls don’t spoil you’ll break my heart and b) my perception of the characters has only been developed to this point so if you come for me do it with the correct context lmao!!!

you knew what it was.

leaning your forehead against the cool metal post of your bed frame, a shaky exhale escaped from your lips. you wished just like that lost breath, you too could leave behind your body and with it, mind. a few minutes was all you needed, really; some semblance of relief.

even with your door shut tight with a deadbolt, the danger contaminating the palace lingered outside of it. you were not foolish enough to deny the cracks it could slip through. you would give any adversary a worthy fight, though. you could not afford not to, especially now.

for the first time in your life, you had truly encountered a problem that you could not use your abilities to maneuver out of. as much as your lungs screamed and your legs ached to run, you could not. being a swift, your first instinct was always to run. your speed always gave you the advantage in pursuit.

a familiar knock at the door broke you from your trance of pity. you stood up, sniffling as you ran the back of your hand across your nose and mouth. the action of clearing your throat sounded more like a whimper, but you managed as you gathered your skirts and headed for the door. you pushed down the nausea and wrung your hands to settle yourself.

your fingers shook on the deadlock before you pried the door open. the amount of weight on the wood, the length of the echo, and the momentary pause before the second, lighter knock gave away the identity of the person on the other side. you were in his arms before you could take another breath.

despite offering you the comfort you had craved all morning, his touch triggered the sobs caged in your chest. perhaps, it was because your heart was only safe in his hands. but, without the key to let them out, they messily tore through and paved their own path.

a year ago, your greatest worry would be the shame brought to your family on account of conceiving a child out of wedlock, let alone to the crowned prince. now, it seemed the impending war took precedence. you could have laughed; a red threatened your livelihood. a girl, really.

you were always careful, and it did not even happen very often. both you and the prince were very busy people, after all. send offs and reunions.

“we can fix this,” cal murmured into your hair.

“no, you don’t get it,” you broke out with a defiant shake of your head, “there’s nothing to fix.”

he pulled back, stroking your hair and pushing it behind your ears. your golden strategist was at a loss. your heart fell further into the pit of your stomach. you chewed on the inside of your lip, desperate to look anywhere but his eyes. yet, in the space of the same moment, you never wanted your gaze to leave his.

“i won’t leave you,” his warm hands ran up your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, “and i won’t let my father have a say in any of it.”

“it’s not the king i am frightened of,” you admitted with a sour taste in your mouth.

cal nodded with a grimace, “then i’ll be sure she is controlled until the end of the month.”

but who could control the queen who could twist minds? you chewed on the thought to avoid choking on it, forcing it down in distaste. both cal and yourself needed time neither of you had the privilege to claim.

cal communicated the importance of waiting until the traditional queenstrial to propose publicly. while the larger part of you agreed with this position, a small piece of your heart reserved for crippling doubt and senseless paranoia wondered if he was stalling for a different reason. if you could at any time expect desertion, it would be now but true to his word, cal had done no such thing—a loyal soldier until the end.

“and if they don’t chose me?” the secret fear you had harbored far before you had even become aware of your current condition felt a traitor to expose to the boy who had given you everything, kept every promise he could.

he studied your face carefully to ensure he held your full attention (though he was foolish to ever think otherwise), “make them, my dear.”

despite the event’s purpose of selecting a bride for the princes themselves, all of the noble houses knew the eldest had little choice in the matter. while your relationship with cal was not overt due to the inherently illicit nature of the affair, servants were known to talk. even in your deepest frustrations, you could not necessarily blame them.

his confidence in you was endearing but what other choice did you truly have?

you pulled away from his arms and lingering stare, wrapping your arms around your middle. pacing the length of the room, you suppressed a bitter laugh, “and then what? when a baby is born after less than eight months? and that’s to say we can persuade your father to rush a royal marriage.”

“let them talk,” his fingers twitched at his sides and you caught the scent of smoke, “nobody will be able to do anything.”

he thought he could protect from anything. sure, there would be little opportunity for any political action after a marriage was solidified but rumors would swirl. born into the pressures of eyes always watching you, they did not cut deep, but a queen needed a reputation demanding of respect. you did not want to be cruel but you decided that if need be, you could.

you wanted so terribly not to cry but willing it away only drew your focus to it more. you did not think the act made you weak but you would rather avoid the complete exhaustion it often caused. you were already so tired. but, some things were inevitable.

cal caught on before you did, “baby,” his voice was croaky, maybe laced his emotion of his own, “please don’t cry.”

you giggled at the irony. it was watery and your voice was nearly gone but it was there. confusion spread across cal’s features. you studied his face as he began to understand. a slow, crooked smile spread across his freckles and indicated the transition.

“suppose i could have chosen better words.”

“mhm.”

you had not noticed he was slowly rocking you in his arms. calm rushed into your senses. cal radiated your favorite kind of warmth. he monitored his body temperature around you, never too hot but always comfortable. it reminded you of home. he was your home. he smelled of pine and dying embers.

now nearing nineteen, you met the prince at fourteen. your elder sister married sooner than your parents expected, hastening your introduction into political meetings as a representative of the swift house of nornus.

who could blame a young and inexperienced teenage girl for falling in with a powerful, older boy who dared throw her an extra glance. what began as a benefit to palace life at fifteen soon turned into a vice. it was easy to tell yourself that you could stop any time you desired but you were addicted to the way he touched you, the way he tasted, the way he spoke your name.

for a while, you were foolish enough to believe he maybe even loved you. when you turned sixteen, you understood you were a pastime for the prince. so when at seventeen he told you he loved you, you did not believe him. he was gone for service quite a bit and your training schedule stole away any time for secret meetings when he was home. you began to purposefully avoid him but the withdrawal from the high that was cal left you dizzy.

when he did not make a move to find you, you tried even harder to move on. you had both made a mess of your hearts, left bleeding and shattered on the floors of the palace. you watched him escape the palace more often, always finding another place to be. one night, however, you followed him. you told yourself it was curiosity that caused you to slip out of your covers and into a warm coat, a coat you would not have needed if you left with him.

you caught up easily with your inhuman perception and speed and yet, he still saw you coming. he always did. that night, you wandered through a village and blended in. that night, you could be normal. he helped you clean up the mess between the two of you and things were different but the same again. they were better. you still took the long way to his room and pulled him into hidden corridors but the longing stares across meetings reignited.

you cleared your throat, “when you returned from delphie.” you tone held the pace of a simple comment, not the answer to the unspoken question pressing down on both of your minds.

cal turned his lips into his mouth and nodded, taking a deep breath, “i remember.”

it was a good memory, a good time. slow and gentle and loving. rane had worn you ragged sparring evangeline from sun up to sun down. you enjoyed the younger classes attending for the exposition but your muscles felt like weights lodged into your body and your breath had not yet fully returned after running circles around evangeline.

usually when one of you returned from an excursion outside of the palace, you wasted little time in attaching to every piece of each other. but, you were both exhausted—exhausted but greedy for the attention of the other. it had been a month ago, nearly to the day.

you and cal never discussed the prospect of children. even if one of you did not favor the idea, there was no choice in the matter. cal, as a future king, needed heirs, and if you wanted to be queen, you would have to bear them. but, you did want them and secretly, you knew cal did, too. it was more than a superficial requirement.

cal always looked at you, found you in a crowd, so it was hard to study him in secret. when he was with children, however, all attention transferred to those at his feet. it was then you saw him fully relax, the weight of his crown falling off his back. he loved them. you loved him more for it.

“and i don’t regret it,” he continued, dipping his head to place it gently on your shoulder. he kissed you neck once, twice, and then dropped his head back down.

#red queen series #red queen #cal calore #tiberias vii #tiberias calore #mare barrow #maven calore #cal x reader #kings cage #glass sword

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something-tofightfor · 4 years ago

Text

The ABC’s of Ezra (Prospect)

I am absolutely terrified to post this, first of all. But @the-blind-assassin-12 has been absolutely enabling me the entire time that I’ve been working on it.

It’s long. It’s explicit. It’s thorough. It’s Ezra. The emotions that I feel for this man are overwhelming, and I wanted to do right by him and expand his backstory and my take on the character before I even begin to work on the accompanying story ... but this is the Ezra you’ll get to know when you read the series “Starlight” that I’m working on currently. Please enjoy. Start to fall in love with him the same way I did the first time I saw his smirk through that suit’s helmet, or the first time Reader did when she watched him take the podium in her lecture.

You won’t regret it.

** I’m working on a playlist that will accompany this and Starlight. Look for it within the next couple days. ** (always accepting songs to add. Just let me know if you have any suggestions!)

Rating: NSFW. This is not for anyone under 18.

Pairing: Ezra x Reader-insert character (Starlight Universe; female)

Word Count: 12,892 (And I won’t apologize for a single one of them.)

Author’s Note: A lot of these will be two part answers - before the Green Moon, and after the time Ezra spent away from his ‘home’ planet.

I HC that while he isn’t from the Ephrate, that’s where he spent the majority of his adult life - and where he met you, at a university on-planet… so he considers it home, and it was always his goal to return when he was done with his prospecting years.

I know that after reading this, you’ll probably have a lot more questions about my version of Ezra that weren’t answered here - hopefully, I’ll be able to answer them moving forward. Send away if you want to know!

Most of these tend to lean on the highly smutty side, but there are a few that include much more generalized personality traits.

(shitty blonde streak editing and enhancement done to this picture by me, myself and I)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Just looking at him, you’d think that Ezra wouldn’t like hanging around after sex, but the exact opposite is true.

Ezra loves to lay with you. Sometimes, he’ll wrap an arm around you,lips traveling over any area of exposed skin he can find with them. He’s partial to your shoulders, no matter whether he’s got his chest pressed to your back, or you’re facing each other. Ezra’s a very tactile man, and loves to keep the connection going even after the actual act is done. You quickly learned that for him, sex was not the most important aspect of the relationship, even though it was one of his favorites.

One of the things that kept you company - even while he was gone - was the memory of the hours you spent in bed together; day or night, winter or summer - with him right there, skin warm against yours, the sheets tinged with the scent of the two of you together and the sound of your voices mixing together as you spoke.

But it wasn’t just the man’s lingering presence that you enjoyed, it was the things you talked about after sex that made you realize that you loved him. He’d take care of you, and then ensure that the two of you were cleaned up “to his satisfaction” (the line always delivered with a smirk and one raised eyebrow) and then you’d lay with each other until you fell asleep, talking about everything but your relationship. He wanted to learn about you - and wanted you to learn about him, to find out about the things that you had in common, and even though he tried to hide it a lot of the time, Ezra was downright vulnerable in bed, and unafraid to show that side of himself to you, even after he returned home for the last time.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Ezra’s favorite thing about himself is the way he thinks, so… his mind. And it’s been that way for as long as he can remember. Does that sound conceited? Yes. Does he care? No.

Education is appealing to him - he likes knowing things. He likes knowing that he’s the smartest person in the room (as long as you’re not there) and knowing that if there’s an answer for it (whatever it is)… he can find it. And he will. Education - being capable and understanding things - was always the most important task to him, even growing up, and he doesn’t take the opportunity to learn for granted. He retains information very well - and not just academic information, either. He knows what to look for when it comes to your body, what each facial expression you make means, what you’re going to do when you put your hands on him… and even sometimes before, too.

His favorite part of you? Your mouth. Specifically, your lips and the way they look when you’re smiling at him. You could be smiling at anyone, saying their name, teeth digging into the corner of your lip while you listen to them … and yet you’re choosing to look at him.

He remembers the way they felt the first time you kissed him, remembers the way they moved the first time you told him that you loved him, and the way that they parted - your jaw dropping as you saw him standing in front of you all those years later is burned into his brain forever. And he also doesn’t mind one bit when they’re wrapped around him or exploring the scarred skin of his body, giving every inch of him the attention that he deserves - and everything that he craved while stranded on The Green Moon.

(No one asked for this but I’m also going to talk about what your favorite part of him is)

It’s his eyes, and the way they catch the light. The way that you can see him in them, even when he’s looking at or talking to someone else. It’s the way that no matter how hard he tries to keep his expression even, he can’t keep the emotion out of his eyes - so dark and emotivr that it’s hard to believe they’re natural. You always know whether or not he’s lying based on the look in them, and it was one of the first things you told him that truly surprised him. Why?

Ezra’s a smooth talker - and because he’s so used to being able to talk his way into and out of everything, people are much more focused on what he’s saying than how he looks or what he’s doing while he’s saying it - and that’s what he counts on. He isn’t used to people taking him seriously right off the bat, or paying close attention to anything but what they hear - and Kevva knows that it scared the shit out of you to be so bold with him, especially when you didn’t know him well.

But you did. And it earned you his respect immediately. So whenever Ezra has something important to tell you, he does so while looking directly at you. He doesn’t give a fuck what other people see or think, but he needs you to know that he’s telling you the truth - or at least as much of the truth as he can.

You’re also very partial to the streak of blonde in his hair; and when you’re relaxing with him, your fingers - particularly your thumb - always seem to find it. In fact, when you saw him again, it was what convinced you that it was actually him in the first place, and not your mind playing tricks on you with a lookalike (as if there could be anyone else in the galaxy that looked like Ezra.

… and, you love his hands. Both of them, one of them - doesn’t matter, because you know that as long as it’s possible, when they’re on your body? Ezra’s going to use them well.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

When you first started seeing (and sleeping with) Ezra, things weren’t messy, because you used protection. If you ask him, Ezra liked those days a lot, because it meant that as soon as you finished, the two of you could stay in bed instead of one or both of you needing to get up and head into the bathroom. You were both “safe”, choosing to rely on the implant provided to all students at the University if they asked for it, but since there was no expectation of a long term relationship when you went to bed together, you opted for an additional safeguard in the beginning - at Ezra’s suggestion.

‘I do believe that it would be in both of our best interests to…” He trailed off, gesturing to the on-campus pharmacy. “... ensure a certain level of additional protection.”

“You don’t trust me?” His eyebrows shot up, a look of worry filling his eyes. “No, you know what? That shouldn’t even be my first question to you, Ezra.” You chewed on your lip, fighting back a grin. It was usually you urging your partners in that direction, and Ezra’s solution had been a surprise. “What makes you think that we’re going to end up in bed together? Why would we need -”

He stepped closer, reaching up with his hand - the one that had the tattoo inked into the webbing between his thumb and first finger - to brush the hair away from your brow, eyes never leaving yours. “You will need to learn something about me.” He tilted his head slightly to the side, leaning in. “I am always prepared. And with you?” He paused, the sunlight turning his eyes into molten amber; flecks of gold visible in their depths. “It is an ineluctable fact that your bed is where I want to end up. I’m just … getting to the point.”

But later, after you’d been together for long enough to truly trust the implants and their success rate, that wasn’t the case anymore. While neither of you have an issue or any real complaints about remaining in bed, damp and sticky against the sheets when you’ve finished with each other, Ezra relishes the time he gets to spend eyeing every inch of you, running a damp cloth over your skin or between your legs - and enjoys when you clean him up just as much.

However. The times you use your mouth to do so? Ezra’s eyes roll back, and he thanks Kevva over and over the entire time.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ezra’s secret is the same both before and after the Green, and while he thinks about it often, it’s most prevalently on his mind when you’re laying next to him, hair spread out on the pillows in the low light. He doesn’t believe he’s good enough for you. Before, it was because he couldn’t provide for you in a way that he believes he should be able to, but after? It’s because without his arm, this is still the case - but it’s coupled with the memories of everything he did on the Green - and why he did it. Technically, this has nothing to do with sex… and yet everything to do with sex at the same time. There’s nothing that makes him feel better - more alive, more present than being with you physically, seeing and feeling your hands on each other … and yet it’s tainted in a way that he can’t explain. As much as Ezra talks out loud, he gets lost in his head, too, and when that happens? It’s hard to bring himself back.

He wanted to do right by you, and after taking the opportunity - going to the Green, spending years apart from you and then coming back and finding you again, part of him thinks that it was the wrong call. And yet he still can’t tell himself no when you give him that smile or say his name quietly, the a catching on your lips and making his heart thump in his chest in a way that it never has for anyone else before.

And he hates himself for being so weak. For all of the terrible things that Ezra’s done in his life - all of the strength he showed while prospecting, all of his common sense, all of his experience? When it comes to you (and, in a way, to Cee) he feels as weak and helpless as he did the moment he realized he’d need to lose an arm to have any hope of surviving.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Ezra’s had his fair share of partners, but only one or two of them were actual relationships. There was the experimentation as a teenager - kisses shared behind closed doors, hands fumbling with clothing (over and beneath it), promises made … the usual.

But after leaving home to go to school, Ezra really hit his stride with women. He always considered himself average - average height, average build, average looks - but it didn’t take him long to realize that that wasn’t what others saw him as - and he’s made the most of it. Learning is important to Ezra, and that doesn’t just mean when it comes to books or artifacts. He focused on studying, focused on getting an education so that he could get a good job after graduating, but he always made time for extracurricular activity, and had plenty of partners to choose from.

With women from all over the galaxy, Ezra was a willing student, patient and focused, taking mental notes - showing off what he’d learned previously and finding the best possible uses for his knowledge. He likes to show off, likes to boast about what he’s learned in the past… and opportunities for practical use of his bedroom skills? He’ll take them.

But don’t confuse his eagerness to learn with him being sleazy; he respected every partner he ever had, and never made them feel like he was using them or didn’t appreciate them when he was with them. Ezra doesn’t like making promises that he can’t keep, and that extends even to one night stands.

The more he knew and learned, the better, but that all stopped the first time he took you to bed, because he quickly realized that there was little - if anything - that could be better than what you’d showed him. It wasn’t you that asked him to stay for the first time - it was him making the request of you, and as the words - haltingly - came out of his mouth, his fingertips moving slowly over your brow and temple as he faced you in bed, he knew that he was absolutely fucked in every sense of the word.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

As with everything else, Ezra likes to prolong sex. This means finding ways to ensure that when the two of you are together, it lasts.

Both before and after the Green, he likes you on top; likes to see what you’re doing, and let you control the pace. Whether you’re kneeling and in an upright position so that he can reach out and touch you, or you’re leaning forward, chests pressed together as you hold onto his shoulders or grip the pillows, this is a favorite for him. This position is much easier for him with one arm, too, since it doesn’t require balance or him supporting himself above you.

Another favorite position for both of you also allows him to give you what you need without the risk of him toppling over. Even though he likes to look at you, you and Ezra have a lot of lazy, slow sex, both of you laying on your sides. Your back pressed to his chest, one leg raised, your foot resting on his ankle to open yourself up to him just enough - he loves it, because you give him the freedom to set the pace, even if he can’t move as deeply within you as he could from another angle.

Ezra likes holding you close - and this allows him to do just that; an arm wrapped tightly around your body, hand on your chest, or his fingers working their magic where you need him most. He can feel the sounds you make from his angle, every inch of your body responding to his touch or his words, and this gives him another opportunity to put his mouth on the skin of your shoulders - as well as easy access to your ear, should he choose to talk. (And he does… but you do, too.) The first time you were together in this position after he came home was also the first time he made an outright joke about losing his arm. For anyone else, it would have ruined the moment, but coming from him? You knew that it was his way of telling you that it was OK to talk about it, that he knew that it was changing the way you were when you were in bed together, but that it was something you’d both have to get used to. What did he say? “I have had an epiphany, just now.” He paused, nuzzling his face into your shoulder from behind, forehead pressed to the back of your neck. “I don’t have to worry about the arm underneath us going numb, no matter how long we remain in this position.”

There was another pause - and then Ezra kissed your shoulder, lips lingering. You didn’t know how to reply, but with shock, realized that you could feel his smile against your skin, though you couldn’t see it. Before you made your choice, you heard him speak again, voice low. “It’s perfectly alright to laugh with me about it, Starlight. I don’t mind.”

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

A lot of people consider Ezra goofy as it is. The way he speaks, the exaggerated movement of his hands and arms, the way that he stands - one hip popped, head cocked to the side … it’s what they see, so they believe that that’s what he is. And he’s worked hard to establish his personality, but there’s so much more to Ezra than 90% of the world sees.

His family is small - the only ones left alive are his brother and sister-in-law, and you’ve met them multiple times - before, during and after Ezra’s time away. With the three of you, and a few select other people, he’s free to be entirely himself - but the most open Ezra is is when it’s just the two of you.

When he’s in bed with you, it fluctuates between serious and relaxed, depending on the circumstances that led up to the two of you in that position. There are times when he is absolutely, positively laser focused on you and getting his hands and mouth on you, but there are just as many times as him joking around with you while you’re watching movies or listening to music, or just hanging around the house has led to more. And you love both sides of him, but you like casual, relaxed Ezra much more… and he knows it. Of course, since Ezra’s vocabulary is a lot different than the other people you’ve been to bed with, there are a lot of times when he sounds serious, and he’s not trying to - but you definitely don’t mind that.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

The first time you saw Ezra, he was dressed to impress - but you very quickly realized that that wasn’t typical for him. Hair styled - slightly longer than most of the other men in your lecture, or the other students - but that bright blonde streak? Everything stood out to you, that included. You wanted to know what it felt like to run your fingers through his hair; even combed back, you could tell that it was soft, the ends curling slightly over the back of his neck.

But you’d noticed that you weren’t the only one intrigued by him - hanging on the words he said as he described the history of a faraway planet - the one he’d focused his entire educational career on - and its eventual downfall, leading to humans scattering throughout the stars. No, most of the other women in the room were of the same mindset as you, along with some of the men, too.

You’d made eye contact with him on your way out of the lecture hall, Ezra’s eyes widening, cheeks going round as he offered you a smile that you knew you wouldn’t forget before he turned his attention to the other people attempting to talk with him, asking him questions about his research. Since there’d been so many people between the two of you, the only thing you could do was grin back, and then write it off as a chance encounter - committing his smile and his voice to memory - but not thinking anything else would come from it… unfortunately. He’d cut his hair shorter before you saw him again, nearly two weeks later, but the streak was still there, and all of it still looked impossibly soft - especially messy and moving in the breeze. He’d reintroduced himself immediately, sticking his hand out and asking for your name, the basic pleasantries only lasting for a few seconds before he switched tactics on you without hesitation.

Ezra was right in the middle of flirting with you on the quad - telling a story to try and convince you to come out with him to a restaurant that he loved without outright asking - and you cut him off, straightening the hem of your shirt as a way to gain confidence - even though it only worked partially and you knew that he knew it.

“Ezra.” Lips pressed tightly together, you lifted an eyebrow, waiting a few seconds as the main trailed off, looking shocked that you’d interrupted him. “You don’t need to tell me everything about the menu.” He was truly surprised, you could see it in his eyes, in the way that he shifted his weight, one hand going to his hip as he watched you, head tilted. “I believe you.” “Then why are we still standing in this same, unbelievably noisy and heavily traversed location?” You couldn’t hold back the smile, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “If my description of the plentiful mealtime offerings hasn’t motivated you to -”

“Ezra.” You liked saying his name almost as much as he liked hearing it, and made a mental note to speak it as often as possible. “You haven’t asked me to go anywhere with you yet.” He laughed at that, fine lines at the corners of his eyes deepening, teeth bared as he grinned at you. You also decided that you liked that sound - very much.

“Well, that is my mistake.” He gestured with one hand in your direction, still smiling broadly. “Do let me rectify that by requesting the honor of your presence tonight for dinner.” You’d thought the way he spoke was strange - though endearing - and even though you weren’t used to it, you also decided that you liked it, too. But I won’t make it easy for him.

“How do you know that I’m not seeing someone, Ezra?” Cocking your head to one side, too, you met his eyes, unblinking. “How do you know that I’m not just letting you dig yourself into a -”

“A woman like you wouldn’t be staring at a man like me the way that you have been since we began this conversation if she were otherwise involved.” Simple. Direct. To the point. You appreciated it more than you were willing to admit, and it was a refreshing change of pace from the other men you’d dated - but even from only a few minutes of conversation and watching him give one lecture, you knew that Ezra wasn’t like other men.

“You’re right.” Biting down on your lower lip, you studied his reaction for a few more seconds before you ran your tongue over it - a movement that he followed with both eyes, not even bothering to hide it. “But you know what else a woman like me wouldn’t be doing if she had someone else?” He quirked an eyebrow, the smile returning. “No, I do not. Enlighten me.” Taking a step closer, you crossed both arms over your chest, looking up and meeting his eyes. “She wouldn’t be staring at you and wondering whether or not that blonde streak of hair is the only one you’ve got.” That got him, the man’s expression changing into one of total surprise, mouth falling open before he let out a quiet whistle and then stepped closer to you, one hand reaching out and settling against the bare skin of your arm, his thumb moving over it slowly - deliberately.

“I’m more than happy to give you the opportunity to find out for yourself.” It wasn’t what he said, but the way he said it, eyes focused on your face, one side of his mouth quirking up into the barest hint of a smile. “Either way, I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”

You made your decision in a split second, appreciating how direct he was, how brazen the man was in his flirtation with you, and cocked your head to the opposite side, the tip of your tongue poking into the corner of your mouth. “Let’s start with dinner, Ezra. I believe you said you knew a good place?”

Of all the expressions that you ever saw on his face, the smile he gave you in return was in your top three - and it was the beginning of everything.

…. Also? There’s no other blonde streak, but for a man that carries himself in as casual and rugged a way as Ezra? He’s especially well groomed everywhere, and cares a lot about hygiene - even with only one arm. (The only exception is his beard, which you like a lot scruffier than well-trimmed, and he is more than happy to oblige that simple request.)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

When you met Ezra, he was a typical late 20’s student. (Started school late, and was in his second year of the Ephrate’s equivalent of grad school, so roughly 27 Earth years when you meet him, but probably a little older, since time passes differently on different planets.) His good looks, quick wit and that look he gave women when they were speaking to him? He was trouble. You knew it, he knew it, and the rest of the student body knew it, too. He was charming, he was different, because of the way he spoke … but there was one thing that you knew right off the bat, even before you found yourself in bed with him: Ezra. Is. Incredibly. Intimate.

Yeah, he can turn it off and have just sex, but with him, there’s no point to letting him do that. You don’t go to bed with someone like him for it to be just sex, you want everything. But intimacy to Ezra isn’t just the physical act. No… it’s everything that gets you into bed, and everything that comes after.

With his vocabulary, he can go from quoting plays and books - even old movies - to whispering the absolute filthiest things imaginable into your ear in the same breath. And he’s done it, multiple times.

Ezra has a way about him that makes it even so when you don’t know him, it’s like you do, because he’s so observant. He pulls in details from the tiniest things - the way you look in the starlight, the brightness in your eyes when you laugh at something, how one corner of your lips twitches slightly when you’re listening to someone, but don’t quite believe them, or how you tend to dig your teeth in when you’re about to make a point. He sees it all, and he comments on it all, and it goes a hell of a long way to keeping you in the moment with him, strengthening the connection you have.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

On the Ephrate, Ezra didn’t need to resort to this as much as he did before going to school. Yes, there were women at home, but he grew up in a relatively quiet place - so he only had so many options. He was a typical teenager, but even though it felt good, he always knew there was more out there for him - somewhere.

While in school (both times), Ezra had his pick. Thousands of female students from all over the galaxy? Some of them shared his bed. Many of them were the subject of his fantasies. All of them are fond memories, until they’re just not important anymore.

Enter you.

While Ezra’s on the Green, you’re all he thinks about 90% of the time in private. It’s only natural, right? You’re the one he’s planning on going home to, you’re the one he wants to be with - you’re the one he wants to imagine when he’s got a few minutes to himself in his bunk or in the shower. Like with everything, he prefers to take his time, drawing things out and giving himself a chance to get lost in memories… but that’s not the Green.

No. There, he has to be quick, be quiet… and quiet isn’t something that comes easily to Ezra, especially at first. For the first few months he’s gone, the knuckle of his left pointer finger is almost consistently bruised from him biting down on it to muffle the noises he makes. But as time passes, that stops - and instead, Ezra’s able to focus on the small black circles inked in the space between his thumb and forefinger, remembering what it felt like to have your thumb pressed to it when you held hands, or the way your lips looked against it when you’d turn your head and find his hand caressing your cheek. After losing his arm? After losing his dominant hand? Getting himself off was a struggle. He didn’t think about it for the first few weeks, of course, because he was recovering from the amputation and the wound to his chest, but as soon as he was up to it, and he realized that there was a real chance he’d have an actual life - maybe with you again? It was overwhelming. Yes, as soon as he felt well enough, one of the first things Ezra did - in the privacy of a well lit, comfortable bedroom in his recovery room at the Med Center on Central - was get himself off.

But his fingers felt foreign wrapped around his length, thoughts running wild - and not in a good way. Even thinking of you - and of his favorite memory of you - wasn’t enough to help him finish at first. And that is something that shocked him (But it didn’t last long.)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

One of Ezra’s biggest kinks is blindfolding you. One, because it gives him a chance to appeal to the senses that aren’t sight - it means that he knows you’re into him and responding to him for more than what you can see … and two, it allows him to stare at you without shame or restraint - and it’s one of his favorite things in the universe to do (clothed and unclothed, but he prefers the moments when you’re bared to him. It’s a trust thing again.)

This is true before and after the Green, and after, it makes him feel more confident, because he knows you’re not looking at him - the lost arm, the scars, his weakened body from losing a great deal of weight on decreased rations. It makes him feel more confident, even though deep down, he knows you’re not focusing on any of those things when you look at him.

Two specific instances?

Prior to leaving for the aurelac rush, you were the one that suggested Ezra blindfolding you for the first time. You hadn’t wanted to bring it up, because the truth was that you relished the moments that you got to watch him while you were in bed (or in any number of other places) with each other, but one of your friends had mentioned that she’d tried it on her husband on a whim, and you’d been intrigued. “You want me to forfeit my eyesight, Starlight?” He blinked at you slowly, the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “When looking at you is absolutely all I ruminate about when we’re apart?” “No. Ezra, I want you to…” You paused, nervously chewing on your lip. “I want you to cover my eyes.” Mouth falling open with a quiet laugh, Ezra stepped toward you, reaching out to wind an arm around your waist and pull you into his chest. “You’re distracting.” You lifted a hand, tugging gently on the blonde streak in his hair, your eyes locked. “I don’t want to see what’s coming next, I just want to feel it.” You paused, winking. “And hear you.”

“That is surely … something for me to ponder.” He leaned down, kissing you quiet, and for long moments you let him, grip on his hair relaxing, even though his hand wandered beneath the hem of your shirt, fingertips stroking your lower back. “I am enthralled by this idea,” he murmured into your ear before grazing the lobe with his teeth. “Maybe too much, to be truthful.”

“I’ll tell you if it’s too much, Ezra.” You kissed his cheek, lips pressing to the raised edges of the silvery scar there. “I trust you.”

That was all it took - those three words - and Ezra discovered a new and very fulfilling kink. Eventually, he worked up to asking you to blindfold him, too - and it didn’t take long for the two of you to find and choose a favorite piece of material to use to block your vision; a strip of fabric from the shirt you’d worn on your second date - and the first night you’d gone to bed with him - that had *somehow* gotten torn.

After the Green, you’d been the one to suggest it again, after seeing - and feeling - that he was hesitant to truly let himself go with you. He’d been back in your life for a few weeks, both of his serious wounds well on their way to healing, and you’d been intimate a few times, but it wasn’t like it had been before - and you both knew it.

“Ezra?” You came out of your bedroom and down the stairs, calling out his name before you’d reached the bottom floor of the house. “How do you feel about staying in tonight? I can order dinner, and we can …” You paused in front of where he sat on the couch, gesturing with one hand. “Just relax. I know the last few weeks have been a lot for you.”

“I’d like that.” He tilted his head up and toward you, nodding. “What did you have in mind?” He watched as you moved to sit down next to him, and before he thought about it, reached for you with his right arm, swearing quietly as he corrected the action and tugged you onto his lap with his left. You eased against his body, careful not to knock into the still healing wound on his chest with your shoulder or elbow, and tucked your forehead in against his neck, arm disappearing behind his back and the other hand resting on his knee.

“I’m not sure. Whatever you want. That one place you liked? The one with the noodles? They closed. So I guess… anything but that?” He laughed, glancing down at the way you nestled even closer to him at the sound, breath hitting the skin at the base of his throat, where the collar of his shirt wasn’t covering it.

“It’s a very good thing I happen to be adaptable, then.” It was your turn to laugh, the sound more of a snort, and Ezra felt his chest grow tight - the feeling having nothing to do with the fresh scar tissue there. But neither of you made any move toward the kitchen, where a stack of menus sat in a drawer, or for your tablet, to place an order. I like this feeling. He closed his eyes, tightening his hold on your hip, and heard you clear your throat.

“Reach into my back pocket.” He paused, but did as you asked, you shifting to lift so that he could get his hand where you’d told him to. Sucking in a breath as his fingers closed around the familiar material, Ezra whispered your name. “Couldn’t get rid of it. Not even when I moved.” He lifted the length of blue fabric and held it up in front of your faces, the memories of using it with you flooding back. “I’m sure you haven’t thought of it in -”

“Years?” He kissed the top of your head, closing his eyes. “That is false.” He took a few seconds to consider his words, deciding to cut straight to the chase - for once. “You put a piece of it into my pack before I left, and that small square of fabric brought me comfort nearly the entire time I was on that Kevva-forsaken moon.” You said his name, sitting up and twisting to look at him, the man gesturing for you to take the blindfold from him. “I lost it when I was forced to abandon my pack during the altercation with my crew, and no matter how long I looked, I couldn’t find it.”

You winced at that, using both hands to twist the fabric, though your eyes were locked with his. “I’m sorry, Ezra.” Swallowing hard, you finally closed your eyes. “But there’s another reason I want to stay in tonight.” His heartbeat quickened, and though he knew it was coming, he was still surprised at your next words. “Blindfold me, Ezra. I know you’re still working through a lot, but maybe it -” “I can’t tie a knot anymore.” The words came out bitter, but you didn’t let him dwell on that, the blindfold dropping from your hands and into your lap, palms on his cheeks and forcing him to look at you again. “You can help me tie it, Ezra.” Leaning in, you pressed your forehead to his, breath catching. “Or we don’t have to use it, but I just thought … I see how you try to hide. You tell me not to look at you, and this way?” You kissed him gently, lips once again easily finding the scarred skin of his cheek, the familiarity of it striking him as much as it had each time you did it before - and then continued. “This way I can’t. You’ve got all the control, it’s all up to you.” Pulling back just enough, you met his eyes again, and he saw the anguish in yours, the desperation to help him. “It’s all up to you.”

“D’you still…” He swallowed, the words sticking in his throat. “Trust me, Starlight?” There wasn’t even a breath between his question and your response. “Always.”

For once, Ezra was unable to find the words to express his gratitude to you, but he also knew that you didn’t need to hear them - he’d seen it on your face at his reaction to your assertion, and you wouldn’t ever force him to speak it out loud. Another? Alright.

After the Green? Ezra develops an absolute love for sensation play. Since there was so little room or time for him to enjoy the feeling of anything that wasn’t his suit, his hands or the sparse amounts of water available on his skin for so long, every single thing that he feels - and enjoys - turns him on in the moment.

The feeling of your fingers against his skin, whether you’re warm or cold? The way the soft, silky material of your clothes slides over his back or chest before one of you removes it? The feeling of the grass, or the sand or even water - from a lake or an ocean, or the tub? The way the sunlight feels when it warms his skin or the cool breeze from the ventilation fans in your house? Every one of them is a new miracle to Ezra.

All of it is overwhelming to him, but he loves it. He even likes the slightly uncomfortable situations; the cramped backseat of your transport vehicle, the grittiness of the bricks that make up a building’s walls against his palm as he kisses you senseless outside of a restaurant that you go to to celebrate his birthday. Everything he feels now is making up for what he couldn’t feel then, and he won’t ever take any of it for granted.

But his absolute favorite thing was the way you tasted when he kissed you in the middle of dessert one night, a spoonful of ice cream melting against both of your tongues and dripping slowly over your lips. Ezra got used to being uncomfortably warm on the Green, and so he truly appreciates any excuse to be chilled - in any way … but especially when it involves your mouths and skin.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Ezra’s adventurous, and if you’re game for it, he’ll have you just about anywhere. The two of you like being outside, under the stars (which is where and how you got your nickname - more on that in a separate piece). He likes the way his skin looks against yours, likes the soft sounds of the grass and the wind, the sound of the crickets … he’s a very outdoorsy man, and even though you’re always somewhat worried that someone will stumble upon you, he’s very reassuring - and it doesn’t take long for your entire focus to be on him, no matter where the two of you are. Ezra is also partial to the two of you being inside, because it means that he can prolong things - slowly removing his clothes and yours, taking his time working you up - with words or his hands or his mouth or even just with a look. Floor, bed, couch, counter, shower … it doesn’t matter to him. Your safety and comfort are very important to him, and he knows that even though you like the fresh air, you’re much more likely to let yourself get lost in him and what you’re doing from the get-go if you’re inside and can lock a door.

Fact: After Ezra’s return to the Ephrate from Central after the Green, and after he’d been released from the second Med Center and cleared to begin a “normal” routine, the first place the two of you had sex was in your shower. (More on that in a separate piece, too)

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

This is a good question, and depending on the day you ask him, Ezra’s answers might be very different.

He’s turned on by touch - you squeezing his hand, putting your hand on his knee, running your fingers through his hair.

He’s turned on by the way you speak to people - confident, without talking down to others. He loves that you don’t need him to speak for you, but are absolutely willing to let him in some cases. He also likes the way you talk to him, never hesitating to make a joke, or say exactly what’s on your mind.

He knows that you still want to impress him, but aren’t focused on doing that every time you open your mouth.

Ezra loves when you listen to him, bringing up some obscure fact that he mentioned in passing weeks or months prior. He knows that it means that you’re truly paying attention to him, that you listen when he speaks, and that what he says is very important to you - like it is to him. He also likes it when you take the lead - not always in bed, but he likes when you’re the one that gets things started; slipping your hand beneath the waistband of his pants if you’re just lounging, kissing his jaw, or letting your lips linger on the tattoo on his hand and then pulling it toward your body in the middle of a conversation. There’s a lot that turns Ezra on, let’s be honest.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Ezra won’t hurt you. He hates indecisiveness. He hates being talked down to, or made to feel less than - but he also doesn’t like someone trying to talk him up beyond his actual capabilities, even if they mean well.

Ezra won’t go to bed with anyone after they’ve been drinking heavily - and that includes himself. He doesn’t drink much, but he’s not a big guy, so it doesn’t take much to make him tipsy - especially since his liquor of choice is whiskey, and he prefers dark, strong beer.

You learn very quickly that Ezra’s not the type of man to take someone out and feed them drinks to speed along the process. Yes, you drink together, but even when it leads to you in bed, it doesn’t progress past wandering hands and kisses - at least until you’ve both sobered up. He also will not discuss his sex life in detail with anyone. Vague responses, yes. But the first time someone made a comment about the two of you that he didn’t like… you didn’t think you’d ever seen someone go so still. Ezra’s a gentleman, through and though, and even though he’s had to make a lot of difficult decisions and experienced lot of difficult situations in his life, he won’t compromise when it comes to the woman he’s with (you) and their reputation or honor. It’s old fashioned, but it’s one of the many things that you love about him.

It wasn’t something that the two of you did before the Green, but when he comes back, Ezra makes it very clear that he’s not interested at all in breath play of any kind. He knows what it’s like to feel like he can’t breathe; oxygen available but not flowing into his lungs, and has no interest in ever reliving that situation in his life, or encouraging it for someone else, even only briefly.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

A man of very simple tastes, if you want him in your mouth, he won’t ever tell you no. For a lot of men, receiving this type of attention is a chance to zone out, only focusing on how good it feels… but not for Ezra. He pays attention to everything, no matter what it is you’re doing - the way your lips feel, what you’re doing with your tongue, the way your hands clutch at his thighs or his ass, whether or not you’re paying attention to all of him, or only the tip … every single second of it is pleasure to Ezra, but it’s only because of the person giving it to him.

He’s had some pretty underwhelming blowjobs in his time, and even worse sex, so finding out that you wouldn’t be lumped into either of those categories was a very welcome revelation. When you’re going down on him, he likes either using it as an opportunity to finish in your mouth - only with your permission - or at the very last second, pulling out and finishing in you.

However. As much as he likes being on the receiving end, Ezra is very, very giving.

That tongue of his isn’t only good for speaking, and even though it took you some time to feel comfortable enough to let him go down on you, once you had, you never turned him down again. Like with everything else, Ezra takes the time to do it right. And even though you can’t explain it, the fact that he pauses long enough to check in with you, making sure that you like what he’s doing doesn’t take you out of the moment in the way that it would with anyone else. He’s not trying to inflate his own ego, and doesn’t need constant reassurance - he’s legitimately trying to figure out what he’s doing right - and what he can do better next time.

As the two of you got to know each other more and you realized how competitive he was (More on that in the Wild Card section), you bet him that he couldn’t get you off in under five minutes with his mouth - which, to be honest, wouldn’t have upset you much, even if he’d lost the bet. Ezra did it in less than three, with the use of two fingers and a side-to-side movement with his tongue that you were not expecting. Even though it felt incredible, you made him promise not to make that his go to, because… well.

“Don’t you worry, Starlight. I was just proving a point.” He sat up, using one thumb to wipe at his lips, an eyebrow raised. “You underestimate my usual restraint when it comes to your pleasure.” You couldn’t help it; leaning forward and grabbing a handful of his hair, pulling him close enough to press your lips to his, the action surprising him. “No, Ezra. I know better than to ever do that. I just know how much you like a challenge.”

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He isn’t overly rough, but he doesn’t treat you like you’re made of glass, either. Ezra knows what you can handle, and while he won’t give you more than that, he likes to push limits - and so do you. You always know when he’s got something on his mind and how it’s impacting him by the way he is in bed with you.

Hard and fast = and something’s bothering him.

Slower and focused = You’ve got his full attention. You can always coax him into a different pace, but as the two of you got closer, you didn’t need to as much. It only takes a few words, a hand gliding across his back or a palm against his cheek, and you’ve got his attention. The times you have to pull him out of his thoughts, you know that the after will likely include him filling you in on whatever’s bugging him, but as you remind him all the time, that’s what you’re there for - and you have no problem with that. You want it from him.

But the one thing to remember: Ezra’s always thorough. Always. He takes his responsibilities very seriously when it comes to the way he is in bed, and even if he’s not being serious, he will absolutely not let you leave the bed (or the couch, or the blanket or the shower) unless he knows that you’re well-fucked and completely taken care of.

He’s a gentleman like that.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Ezra will have you anywhere, and at any time that you allow him to do so.

Before, he prefers to take his time with you, making sure that both of you enjoy every second, but neither of you are strangers to being in a rush - between classes, before work or an event, that one time at your parents’ house before your birthday dinner … He’s an opportunist, and you love him for it, because when he gets that look in his eye, you know you’re going to like what’s coming.

After? He means to go slow, but in the weeks that follow his arrival back to the Ephrate, it’s fast more often than not. After so long apart, he can’t help it, and no matter how many times he tells himself he needs to slow down, tells you you need to slow down and just enjoy it, ease back into things, giving both of you time to readjust, it’s nearly impossible.

There’s also a short period of time where he tries to take things quickly with you, because he’s very self conscious about his arm - and he believes that forcing you to look at it is additional punishment on top of what he’s already put you through by disappearing for so long. Basically? He wants to get off, and get you off, but give you a quick out if you want it. (You do not.)

But no matter how many times Cee tells him that what happened on the Green to his chest and to his arm is just a part of life in the Fringe, and anyone that loves him won’t let it matter, it takes a long conversation late at night with you for it to really stick - and for him to go into more detail about what happened on the Green and what led to him losing that arm in the first place.

After that happens, he’s very excited to find that you initiate quickies often just to show him that it doesn’t matter how long it lasts, you’re just happy to be with him again.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Look at him and tell me that he doesn’t take risks - I dare you. Ezra’s life has been one risk after another. Leaving home - and a relatively lucrative career with his brother - to study. Making a home on a new planet. Falling in love with you. Leaving you to go to the Green? It’s all risky, and even though in many cases, the reward was worth it, he knows all too well what happens if he fails, even partially.

But when it comes to sex with Ezra, nearly everything’s on the table there, too.

It’s easier, before, to try new things and new places, to thoroughly take care of you, to make sure that you’re satisfied, and Ezra does that without hesitation whenever he possibly can.

After? After he’s lost an arm, after he’s spent years on the Green with no one and nothing but the people he could never fully trust? Risk to him means something different. He indulges your whims - and some of his own, but there’s always a pause, always a moment of hesitation where he weighs options in a way that he didn’t ever before.

Before, a calculated risk to Ezra meant making sure that neither of you would be caught … and now, it means ensuring that you won’t be hurt, even in simple, harmless situations. He knows it’s unnecessary - knows that he needs to shake it, but he can’t do that right away, and is very thankful that you’re willing to work through it with him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

I said before that Ezra likes to prolong sex, and when both of you are in no hurry, it’s not uncommon to spend an hour wrapped up in each other. The entire time isn’t spent on the actual act of sex - both you and Ezra love foreplay, too. Teasing is important for both of you; getting right to the edge with hands or mouths and then pulling back - you know each other well, and you make the most of it.

Fun fact: Ezra was the first guy you’d been with that didn’t get outright offended when you didn’t get off during sex and he did. Instead of being upset, he looked at it as a challenge.

“You do understand that there are innumerable ways for me to make you come?” His voice quiet in the darkness had startled you, the feeling of him pulling out from between your legs making you let out a sound - a low whine that you barely recognized. “Let’s start trying to figure them all out.”

The weight of him disappeared from your body, and then before you could react, or tell him that it was fine, you felt his chin against your abdomen, the hair from his beard gently scratching along your skin, followed by his lips at your navel. He cleared his throat as you reached for him with one hand, fingers brushing against the tangled locks at the crown of his head, and then pressed another kiss to the inside of your thigh before he spoke again, amusement - and determination - in his voice, warm breath spreading out over your slick skin. “One.”

---

On a good night - and there are a lot of good nights - Ezra’s good for at least three rounds (with time between, of course) - but he always makes sure that you come at least once more than he does before he’s satisfied. This is unless, of course, you wear each other out to the point where you’re unable to do anything but fall asleep, and you almost like those times better, because you know that the next morning (or afternoon, or whenever it is that you come to) you’ll be woken up by Ezra’s low voice in your ear, hand (or hands, prior to the Green) roaming your body.

For whatever reason, whenever you and Ezra have slow, sleepy sex, neither of you last as long, and both of you have no idea why. (But neither of you will ever complain, and it’s your favorite way to start the day.)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You had a small collection before you met him, something that you were very open to sharing with him. They were holiday gifts from your friends, favors from bachelorette parties - typical for someone your age. And you’d used them, especially in the times between relationships, when it was simpler to pick one than find someone short term. The men you’d been with previously had liked bringing them into bed with you, too, because it meant that they could pause and just watch you, but Ezra?

It is a personal mission of his to make sure that you do not ever *need* to turn to something else when he’s in bed with you. If you really wanted to use one of them, he wouldn’t outright tell you no (and this happens after he comes home - which, at first seems unreasonable to him, until you explain it in a way that doesn’t make him feel like less of a man) but before?

The first time you opened the small box, Ezra sucked in a breath that turned into a low hum, both of his hands reaching for yours and squeezing. “Your very own treasure chest, hmm?” Even in the low light, you saw the gleam in his eyes, the smirk on his face. “These are what you like?” You hadn’t known it at the time, but he wasn’t making fun of you, instead wanting to get an idea of what he could expect in the future. “These are what you need?”

Staying silent, you eyed him, listening to the change in the tone of his voice, his accent becoming thicker. “They’re just options, Ezra.” Barely above a whisper, you finally spoke as he kissed your jaw, his eyelashes fluttering against your cheek when he closed his eyes. “I -” He pushed you backwards, and just as smoothly as the man had entered your life in the first place, he was hovering over your body, using both hands to pin your wrists, knees bent on either side of your hips. “Ezra.”

He smiled, waiting an extra breath and then spoke again, slowly bringing his face back toward yours and his lips to your ear. “I have learned in my lifetime that anything worth doing well is worth doing by hand.” He kissed you then, teeth grazing your earlobe as you arched your back beneath him, your fingers closing into fists - even though you didn’t try to pull your wrists free. “But.” His lips moved down your neck and then over your throat, his name spilling from your mouth before you could stop it. “Talk to me, Starlight. Tell me what -”

“Don’t need them, Ezra.” You were struggling at that point, just to give yourself something to do, shoulders pushed back and into the mattress as you moved beneath him, your breath coming out in short spurts though he’d barely touched you. “They’re just…” You moaned as you felt him bite down on your collarbone, and then he let you go, moving his hands to the pillows, yours going to his face and pulling it back up. His gaze was calm, but you could feel that it was just cover; the man waiting for your response. Shaking your head back and forth slowly, you locked eyes with him, using one fingertip to trace over the curved scar on his cheek. “For when you’re not around.”

He groaned, bending his arms and letting his weight settle against you; the length of him pressed along the inside of your thigh the best - and only - reminder that you needed that when Ezra was there, the warmth of him was all you needed.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Ezra’s a damn tease, especially in the bedroom, but you know that whenever he gets going, the payout is well worth it. He never denies you anything, unless there’s a reason. He never outright ignores you - or what you want or need … but he doesn’t always make it easy. And that’s another one of the things that you love about him. Ezra’s caring and considerate, but he’s set in his ways. He’s very particular about the way he carries himself, and the beliefs he has, which makes a lot of others question him. But when they really get to know him, they understand that how he is is a big part of what he is, and he’s a welcome change from the people that you grew up with, from the people that you’d been around for long stretches of your life.

For Ezra, it’s all about the build up. The two of you went to bed together for the first time with very little hesitation - it wasn’t the first date… but it also didn’t take until the third. So, after that, both of you decided that it would be fun to get to know each other by seeing how far you could go riling each other up.

It usually starts when you’re nowhere near a private area. Ezra loves just barely touching you - his fingers brushing against your arm, a slight push on your back, the nail of his thumb dragging over your palm … it all drives you wild, and he knows it.

When you first started seeing each other exclusively, you were both still taking classes - and had very different schedules… let’s just say that the biggest tease of all was the way he kissed you before saying goodbye in the morning, or before going your separate ways after meeting for lunch. They were just kisses, yes, but they were also an indication of what you had waiting at the end of the day and behind closed doors. He didn’t even have to say anything (although he often did); all it took was that kiss and one look - a wink, the slight twitch of his lips, the appearance of that dimple in his cheek - and he was all you could think about for the rest of the day.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Ezra is a talker - before and after the Green. However, for the most part, when he’s in bed, he’s content to rein it in and let you be the one to speak.

But when he does get caught up in the moment, when he does let himself go, it pushes you over the edge too quickly for you to even think about it much. It’s not that he says filthy things, but the way he speaks? He could be talking about the weather, and as long as he’s murmuring into your ear, his beard rubbing against your cheek, hands roaming your body? It doesn’t matter.

It never mattered, and he knows it.

Ezra’s vocabulary is much larger than anyone else you’ve ever met, and even though there was a short period of time where it was almost too much for you because you thought it was an act, you quickly realized that he didn’t speak just to speak - it isn’t because he likes hearing himself talk, even though that’s what so many other people believe about him.

Hearing the man speak - and speak to you in the way that he does, praising you, giving you directions, begging you - dreaming about it was enough to get you through the years he was missing. Countless nights, you woke up to an empty and silent room, straining your ears to catch the fading remnants of your dreams - his voice filling the dark corners, spreading through the spaces between the sheets. When that happened, you wondered if the same ever happened to him - on the Green Moon, surrounded by strangers.

Hearing it again for the first time? It didn’t matter that you were both fully clothed and flanked by other people - it brought every memory of him back all at once, and if you thought that you had to contain yourself from lunging at him, it’s nothing compared to what Ezra felt.

That first night back with you? After the first time you said his name, you didn’t get another word in.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Ezra is competitive. You knew it from the get go - watched the way that his eyes would take on that distinctive gleam when he was interested in making a wager with someone, or when he put his mind to doing something that he said he was going to do. You knew that when he was younger, he’d been competitive with his brother - both at home and on jobs - and his uncle, though that was more just because Ezra liked proving people wrong - and surprising them. He’s not scrawny now (at least not after a few months of recovery from the Green), but he was a scrawny teenager with some hidden arm strength, and he ended up surprising everyone more than a few times when it came to being able to hoist himself up and onto ledges, or to lift stones, wooden beams, machinery etc.

But when it comes to being competitive with you, things like proving you wrong about how long it’ll take him to get you off, how well he can read people, or just the way that it seems like he can guess your thoughts sometimes? You don’t understand it fully, and you wouldn’t ever bet against him in a public way because he’s right more often than not … but privately? You goad him on, and he knows it, but he’s more than happy to play the game, because it’s fun for him - and for you.

There are things he won’t ever be able to beat you in, just because you were raised differently and had more leisure time and exposure to things than him - but both of you know your limits, though he’s much more willing to test them than you. Ezra’s greatest challenge for himself when it comes to you is finding ways to surprise you. This is true before, during and after his time on the Green - and you don’t know it until much later on, but Ezra truly played the long game when it counted most.

When it comes to being competitive, and testing limits, Ezra’s very careful to never let you put yourself in harm’s way. This probably sounds stupid - you don’t need a man to look out for you like that, you’re perfectly capable of setting your own limits and knowing when you’re approaching them - but with Ezra, the idea of turning things into a game ends as soon as he begins to worry.

You thought it was unnecessary at first, but as you got to know him, you began to understand that like so many things pertaining to the man, this was just another Ezra quirk; he was a lot of things - many of them you wouldn’t learn until well into your relationship, and even more that you wouldn’t learn until after his time on the Green - but at his core, Ezra was a gentleman. Especially when it came to you, and the other people that he loves: like Cee.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

So, earlier I said that Ezra sees himself as “average” - and that applies to his body type, too. He’s an average height. He’s of an average build with arms that are slightly stronger than they look, due to years of hard, physical work both on and off planet. He’s never been what women would call muscular, but he takes care of himself - when he can. Admittedly, on the Green, things changed quite a bit about his build; he lost weight due to a very limited diet, his posture changed slightly due to the weight of the suit and the pack he carried for so long. His face hollowed out a little - everywhere except his cheeks.

The hair on his body is dark - like most of the hair on his head, but that’s the only place it’s thick. Arms and legs - average to below average amount of hair, no chest hair to speak of - all of that smooth, golden skin on display for you to look at and touch whenever given the opportunity.

He had scars before the Green - sure. The one on his face, small ones on his forearms, even a few on his back, each of them healed to a various shade of silvery white, skin stippled and raised -standing out. But when he came home, there was another large scar added to the fray, one that he was very candid about. Roughly two and a half inches in length and one wide, Ezra walked you through the second wound from the Green that had almost killed him; Cee’s quick thinking stabilizing the punctured flesh just long enough to get them back to a qualified medical facility on a starship, then to the real Med Center on Central where they fully scraped it clean, and then by the time he was back on the Ephrate, the wound had begun to fully heal, though it would never be gone. It was large, and it was present, but it still wasn’t enough to distract you from the coarse, dark trail of hair that began a few inches to the right of it just beneath his navel, extending downward and past the waistband of his pants. That stayed the same, and though you’d made a joke the first time you’d seen it, remarking that you’d thought it would be blonde, too, fingers trailing through it as he laid in your bed, shirt off and belt unbuckled, pants pushed down just enough, there was nothing to joke about when it came to where it led. If you asked Ezra, his averageness extended below the belt, too, and while it was true that there wasn’t anything significantly exaggerated - one way or another - when it came to what he had to offer, you wouldn’t have described it as average. It was just Ezra, the same way you came to know every other part of him; inch by inch, the smooth length fitting well against your palm and between your curved fingers; the head slipping past your lips for the first time and settling heavily against your tongue.

What was so special about Ezra wasn’t his physical attributes, though you reminded him often of how handsome you thought he was - both verbally and based on the way you touched him - if he behaved like he couldn’t get enough of you and your body, you responded in kind, never holding back when it came to indulging in his form, or in the things you loved about him. (And let me be clear - you love everything about him physically, and wouldn’t want him to change a thing, both before and after the Green.)

It was the way he presented himself, the way he utilized what he had been given. He never outright apologized for what he presumed to lack, but the way he moved - the way he held your body against his; the practiced movement of his hips and hands, the controlled thrusts that never failed to drive you wild - was all the proof you needed that Ezra wasn’t a man that felt he could rely on his looks or a woman being overwhelmed by what she was presented with. He’d accepted what he had to offer the world, and made it work for him.

It made you respect him more.

In your opinion, Ezra drew the attention of everyone that laid eyes on him, but he never let that kernel of truth sink in and take root, and despite the way he presented himself - confident, competent, unconcerned - he had plenty of insecurities.

In an attempt to make him laugh one night after his return to you, when you were talking about your pasts - prior partners and failed relationships, the years you’d spent apart, how you’d kept busy - Ezra’s mood soured, and you could tell by the look in his eyes that he was going to default to downplaying his worth and place in your life. Instead of letting him sink, you looked him dead in the eyes and told him exactly what you thought of him - reminding him of something he’d said to you early on in your relationship about how he approached life.

“It’s not about the size of the gun, Ezra. It’s all about how you use it, right?” You could have been talking about anything - His remaining arm, the scars, his trauma, his experience, his build, his upbringing - but in that moment, you were talking about him, and everything he meant to you. “I’ve never been disappointed in that.” He was silent, which you weren’t surprised by, and instead of pulling back from him, you leaned in, your fingers combing through his hair, his head turned toward you on the pillow, deep brown eyes wide. “And I never will be.”

Everything that Ezra was - you readily accepted, especially physically - and you knew that sometimes, he just needed to hear it again.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He’s got a high sex drive, but isn’t all that motivates him. Throughout his prospecting (and mining, and exploration, and educational) careers, he got used to not having sex for months (years) at a time. And it sucked, but that was the life he chose. So when he was on-planet, he made the most of his time and the people that he was with.

For Ezra, sex isn’t just about the physical aspect of things - it’s the lead up and the follow through. It’s the whole process, and it’s what it means. Not that all sex for him is meaningful in the same way - but no matter who he’s with, he gets something out of it, even if it’s only a memory, or a release or a way to pass a night or two.

But when he comes back home, and realizes that he’s got the option to be with you again? That you still want him as much as he wants you - as he always wanted you? He’s insatiable, even though he’s very hesitant to just pick up where you left off.

The two of you had a lot of time to make up for, and even though you needed to take things slowly - he was still healing, after all - he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. You took time off of work so that you could spend it with him and Cee, getting to know her (and Ezra, all over again), and it was almost painful for him to have to wait to be alone with you until Cee was sleeping or in school, or he’d been cleared by the medical team, or until he’d found it in himself to begin telling you about his time on the Green. Since it meant, though, that he was back with you? He was willing to wait as long as it took. … just not very patiently. (But that’s fine, you were just as anxious to have him in your bed again as he was to get there.)

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Ezra tends to relax very quickly when he’s spent, but that doesn’t mean that he goes to sleep right away. You might not move a lot, but there are nights where you spend hours together in bed, quietly talking or just touching each other, both of you unwilling to let your eyes close. It’s another challenge for him; keeping the two of you talking, even if they’re only quiet words, murmurs and half sentences.

This is especially true right before he leaves; you know why he’s going, what he hopes to prove, and even though deep down, you know he knows that it’s just as unnecessary as you’ve told him it is, you also know that you won’t deter him from the decision he’s made. So you both force yourselves to stay awake as long as possible, filling yourselves with each other for as long as possible. Yes, there are nights when you do fall asleep immediately - you can’t help it - but that’s not the norm. Just like with any other topic, Ezra craves knowledge about you, and knows that the minutes you spend next to him after you’ve finished with each other tend to lead to you be more open, more honest - more candid - and he takes advantage of them; soaking everything he can get of you up.

The sheets and pillowcases smell like the two of you, and your skin is damp, slick with sweat, but he’s focused on you, making the most of every moment, because he knows that like with everything in life, there are a finite number of these, and he doesn’t intend to waste them. (You’re the same with him, and if you didn’t have a grasp on just how deeply you loved him, it would have concerned you to be so wrapped up in someone else that you’d willingly lose hours of sleep over them.)

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