#so I end up spending all night just running from my brain and scarring myself to death | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

plutoswritingplanet · 2 years

Note

Hi! Woul you be okay with writing a rough creepy stalker like cnc smut with 001? If do please do thank you, and if not that's okay thank you

My dude, that is literally all I write these days lmao (also, thank you so much for leaving a request, sorry it took so long)

The Skin (Peter Ballard x AFAB!Reader)

a/n: I took that request and ran with it. Idk if that is what you’ve envisioned, but I really wanted to write some Haunted House type thing, so, here we go!

Warnings: NON-CON (i won’t even try to explain myself on this one guys), AU-ish, Haunted House donging, like...kind of body worship? idk man

Summary: You should’ve kept your mouth shut, when your friends told you the legend of the Creel House. Now, here you are, all on your own, it’s dark, and the creaking of the wood sounds suspiciously a lot like laughter.

In your opinion, houses were a lot like people. They could retain memories, etched into the floor boards like grooves on brain matter. They could also bear scars, deep and traumatizing, never to be healed. There is hurt enchanted into the walls of every house, just like a human being's skin.

Despite knowing all of this, here you stand. A small silhouette in front of a towering building. Blackened windows stare back at you, daring you to come closer. There is a deceptively sweet stained-glass rose, overlooking the courtyard from the top of the front door, seemingly untouched by the passing of time.

The Creel House.

One, that has seen so much tragedy, it's been completely left to rot by the entire town of Hawkins. The memory of past events was enough to put an aura of hopelessness around the building, making it forever empty. Tales of that one faithful night are passed through generations, scaring both children and adults alike. The stories varied from completely impossible, to logically sound, but all of them had one thing in common. The ending.

- They say Creel's family ghosts still haunt this house to this day - your friend whispered into your ear one day.

You were doomed the moment you decided to play it cool, pretend those stories didn't do anything to you. You'd shrug, keep the stoic facade of a sceptic. Ghosts aren't real, and you are not a child anymore, believing every tale told with a gravely voice. Now, you were an adult, semi-responsible and collected.

Which is why you're in this situation in the first place. Stupid illusion of bravery, and now here you stand, bag in hand, about to spend the night in an abandoned house. Your friends are perhaps just a bit cruel, leaving you off the side of the road, their laughter echoing, as you take your first steps towards the porch. The warm light of the setting sun lulls you into a false sense of security. For now, there's no reason for you to question, whether 20 bucks is an appropriate payment for this little endeavor.

And honestly, what's the worst thing that could happen? You'd probably find some homeless man, sleeping off the tiredness of the day, happy to have a roof over his head. Even if said roof has seen unbelievable tragedy. Your thumb swipes over an outline of a pepper spray can, tucked into the front pocket of your jeans. For safety.

The wood creaks mercilessly, as you climb the few steps leading to the front door. Chills run up your back in tandems, as you enter, pushing the wooden door. It gives in rather easily, and soon you're hit with a suffocating smell of rot and dust from decades ago. It swirls inside your nose, and before you know it, a loud sneeze resounds through those aged halls.

Now, the ghosts surely know they have a visitor.

Scratching your nostril, you make your way inside, the door closing after you with a barely audible click. Dust and wood, wherever your sight can reach. The inside of the house doesn't look as dilapidated as you would've anticipated. Sure, there are heavy cobwebs basically everywhere, and your feet make marks on the dirty floor, but beside that, the house looks decent. No window seems to be broken, a trait uncommon amongst abandoned buildings.

With a small smile of wonder, you walk through the corridors, growing darker by the minute, as the sun begins to disappear into the nearby woods. It's much colder inside, than outside, you note with a shiver. You're not the most informed in the topic of temperature changes inside old architecture, but you are pretty sure, that big of a difference could be considered abnormal.

There are holes in the two armchairs inside the living room. Possibly chewed by mice and other critters, searching for warmth. The sofa stands surprisingly unmoved, there are flowers on the cushions, quilted with metallic string, which shines lightly in the dying light of the day. It looks cozy enough to sleep on, and you take a mental note to set camp here, for the night, after you stop exploring.

Soon, you have to take out your metal flashlight. A long pole of light cuts through the growing darkness, as you exit the living room and make your way towards the large staircase. From the corner, a dilapidated grandfathers clock watches you intently. Its arms are long dead and unmoving, but the soul remains, stirred to life by an intruder.

Every step of the way is creaking ungodly loud. And by the time you actually reach the first floor, you start to feel quite ridiculous, haunted house or not. Just as you reach for the handle to, what you assume, are bedroom doors, there's a creak somewhere below.

You freeze, body taut, ears straining to hear more, fighting with all their might against the silence.

Nothing. Just the quickened beating of your heart, your hard breathing. With a shrug meant to conceal your growing anxiety, you turn your back towards the staircase.

Ghosts don't exist, old, dying buildings do. And, just like people, those old buildings tend to settle for the night.

The room you enter looks to have been a bedroom at some point in time. It's spacious and holds two single beds. Perhaps it was the children's room. You could imagine young Creel's running around the empty halls, all smiles and laughter. You wonder, what did they play with back in their day. Did they have favorite toys, before their lives were so cruelly snuffed out?

You wander further inside, taking note of the pink, frilly covers on one of the beds. There is a doll, old fashioned one, with porcelain face, stuffed between the pillows. It would be creepy if you believed on ghosts. But you don't, so you're fine.

A voice, akin to child's scream of joy, nearly makes you trip over your feet. It's vague and barely audible, and not long after, you realize, it's just a sudden gust of wind, blowing through a gap in the window. With a huff, you shake your head.

The second bed looks much more mature in a sense. The covers are white and strangely pristine for such old age. Without giving it much of a thought, you reach out to touch the thick fabric. But, just as your fingers brush the coarse bed covers, something large and black skitters from one side of the bed, to the other.

You yelp, jumping back, as a fat spider dissapears under the pillow. A red pattern on it's back telling you exactly what you're dealing with. Black Widow. Wonderful. For a second you wonder if sleeping outside on the porch would be considered cheating. With a heavy exhale, you swipe your hair back from your face, a slow feeling of exhaustion entering your system.

There were no ghosts, no one was haunting these empty halls. Just memories, distorted by years of rumors and gossip. And you're better than this, smarter than some stupid story.

At least that's what you think. That is, until your flashlight starts to flicker. Your heart jumps into your throat, as your only source of light slowly, treacherously, dies in your hands. You try to smack the thing, frustration growing inside you, but it won't budge.

- Fantastic, absolutely fucking fantastic - you mutter under your breath, sticking the offending tool into the back pocket of your jeans.

Now, surrounded by complete and utter darkness, everything seems so much more terrifying. It's like you can feel every particle of dust settling in your hair, like you can hear every breath the house takes. It's maddening, and for a moment you stay planted in your place, screwing your eyes shut. Trying to calm yourself down, slow the rapid beating of your heart.

- Cool, cool, cool, cool - you chant quietly under your nose, like a grounding mantra.

The sound of your voice, arguably, does calm you down, and soon you gain enough confidence to open your eyes again. The room looks the same as it did before, no crazy hallucinations, no specters flying around your head.

You huff a laugh, shake your head, and take the first step towards the door, fully intending to make camp downstairs in the living room.

And that's when you feel something brush against your back. It feels real, tangible, as it slides up your spine, towards the base of your neck, before ruffling your hair.

You gasp, turning back on your heel, panic settling into the very core of your bones.

Nothing. The flowery wallpaper of the room stares back at you, as if it's mocking your current disheveled state. Your hand flies towards your neck, scratching lightly at the base, as if trying to scratch the weird feeling from under your skin.

Another creak from downstairs. Your head whips around, and you run up to the door, pushed by adrenaline alone.

There is no way this place is actually haunted. Because if it was, you'd have to get out of here as soon as possible. Which meant loosing those 20 dollars your friends put on your courage. 20 dollars you already knew how to spend. So, with a calming breath, you steel your nerves.

You raise your flashlight just a little bit, in case you need to whack someone over the head with it. You didn't know if the metal handle would do anything against a possible ghost, but you were sure, should the cause of your distress be of human origin, it will hurt as shit.

There's not a soul downstairs, and as you overlook the ground floor from the top of the stairs, you feel another shiver climbing up your back, causing the hair at the back of your neck to stand on guard. You take a step forward, fully intending to go down the stairs, but, as if pushed by an invisible force, your foot lands a bit too far. The rubber sole of your shoe slips past the wooden step, and with a scream you feel yourself fall.

The house is momentarily filled with a dull noise, as you tumble down the stairs, landing on the floor beneath them. The flashlight slips past your grasp, rolling on the floor, before hitting a wall.

- Ugh... - you can't move for quite a while, writhing in pain on the wooden floor.

There's a dull ache basically everywhere on your body, and you can already feel bruises forming on your skin. This was definitely not worth 20 dollars.

And as you lay there, gathering dust on your clothes and hair, you can clearly hear a sound, which makes your blood freeze on the spot.

A laugh. Small chuckle, barely audible, but loud enough for you to be sure. Despite the pain, you shoot up into a sitting position. Your vision swirls around you, and instinctively, you grab the side of your temple.

- Christ, what the fuck? - you mutter, starting to get up.

That's when you feel some invisible force push down on your arm, causing you to fall back on your ass. Your heart jumps to your throat, because that most definitely was not your imagination. Frozen in spot, you eyes zero in on the front door, the glass rose mocking you from above.

They're close, so close, running seems possible. So, gathering all your strength, you count in your head. And as you hit three, using every bit of power you still have left, you push yourself up and forward. Floorboards creak and splinters jab into your palm, as you throw yourself towards the front door. Your hand wraps around the handle, pushing with all you've got and...

Nothing.

The door doesn't even budge, and you try again, this time adding a shoulder to the mix. The third time you basically throw your entire body onto the door, but it doesn't as much as creak under this assault. Panic, sheer, bloody panic rises in your gut, fingers shaking as you keep fighting with the door handle. Then, something brushes past your neck, a sigh and a gust of cold air. You can feel it, a presence of something, standing right behind you, so close, it's nearly touching your skin.

- Who are you? - your whisper comes out in a huff of steam, and that's when you notice how cold it's gotten around you.

- Unimportant - the word solidifies your every fear, heart jumping right to your throat, as your knuckles whiten from the bone breaking grip you have on the handle.

It's a big house, and an old one. Houses like these had to have another entrance, right? You count to three yet again, taking a quick breath and bolting to the side. You manage to take three steps, before something drags you back, your feet lifting up from the floor. Then, the force tugs at your helpless body and you go flying through the corridor, colliding painfully with the floor.

Fearful eyes flicker through the empty room, searching for your attacker, as a sharp pain blooms where you've hit the wall. Then, something flickers in the corner of your eye. An image in the dust covered surface of a mirror. A scream bubbles up in your throat, as you spot a silhouette of a man, staring at you with an unreadable expression. He knows you've noticed him, pink lips stretching into a mocking smile.

Beautiful, the man from the mirror looked absolutely angelic, as he raised his hand, fingers outstretched towards you, a sinister glint in his eye. Then, you felt it again, a foreign force tugging at you ankle, and before you had the chance to react, a yank sent you sliding on the floor.

Rolling onto your stomach with a loud scream, you tried to stop your body from moving, fingernails digging into the wood, splinters cutting through your skin. Before you know it, you land at the center of the room, feet suddenly locked, as you upper half is dragged upwards. Your eyes flicker desperately, as your whole body rotates slowly, unmoving, hanging in the air like a piece of meat on a hook. Then, it stops, your eyes catch a glint of his blue ones in the mirror, and the wickedness encapsulated in them sends shivers down your spine.

This is it, this is where you are going to die. All for a 20 dollar bet, that was absolutely not worth it.

- Please, please, please... - your mouth mumbles involuntarily, as tears spring in your eyes.

The man smiles a gentle smile, one, that looks almost grotesque in given situation. And then, he stops. His hand drops to his side and you alongside it, your head hitting forcefully against the floor. The world swims around you, as a small gasp leaves your lips. The pulsing pain at the back of your head is like a rythmn, to which small specs of black dance in front of your eyes.

You must've hit your head really hard, because as you stare around the floating room, you can see the man slowly slide out of the mirror. His arm first, a pristine, white shirt covering his lean torso. Then, his legs, dressed in similar, white trousers. Lastly, his head. Blonde locks so soft and shiny even in this oppressing darkness, they almost seem unreal. And in a way, they are.

He takes a couple of steps towards you, kneeling down next to your head. Then, he reaches down and you flinch as his slender fingers touch your cheek. Too real, they feel too real, as they slide up, towards your temple, thumb caressing your brow in such a caring manner you almost fall for it. Almost.

- What are you doing? - your voice is rough and barely audible.

Again, he smiles, and his hand dips behind your head, finding the bleeding wound at the back. He observes with fascination, as your face contorts in pain, when his fingers press down onto the gash.

- I haven't had a visitor in such a long time - he muses, and you instantly notice how good his voice sounds, like a soothing balm to your ears. - It's gotten so lonely here, I'm so glad you came.

A shiver wracks your immobile body, and you clench your teeth, trying to surpress it. He notices, you can guess it by the way his eyebrows raise.

- Pretty, pretty, pretty - he muses with a smile, his wondering hand dragging your own blood down your neck, until it reaches the dip between your collarbones - Your pain looked so pretty.

You can't move, even if you try, and you do, you truly do. There's this invisible force holding you down again. The man shifts his position, bringing his face close to yours, so close, you should feel his breathing, but you don't. His nose drags along your neck, stopping behind your ear, where he inhales your scent with a hum of approval.

- Such pretty skin - he whispers, while his other hand starts to caress your stomach, slowly lifting the shirt up.

Liar.

There are acne scars on your cheeks. Moles and freckles litter your shoulders and chest. Scars from all the years of being an unruly child. A razor burn on your leg, where you tried to shave just a bit too quickly. Yet, despite all that, he seems to be enchanted, as his finger encircles you belly button, scratching the soft hair there, before sliding further down.

- Wait - you mutter, finally regaining some resemblance of consciousness.

- I miss having skin like this - theres a bitter chuckle he tried to surpress, and before you know it, he slides off of you.

You still can't move, chest heaving with effort on the wooden floor. He stands up to his full height. His movements are slow and graceful, like a cat that's circling it's prey. There's something unnerving in his gaze, as he watches you from above, like a hawk ready to strike. You try to move again, fingernails scratching the wooden surface, but beside dragging your nails there is little you can do. This suffocating force keeps you planted firmly on the ground, and you seemingly are powerless to fight it. He notices your struggle, eyes lingering on the muscles moving under your skin. Or, he just likes to watch any expanse of uncovered flesh.

Soon, he reaches the tops of your feet, panic truly settles in. You can't see him as well as you would like to, his silhouette barely in your field of vision. What you can make out, however, is his slender hand rising, figers dainty and delicate, as they spread out in the air above you. Another pull of the unfamiliar force, and you can feel your legs move on their own accord, as if being pulled apart from each other.

- Humans - he sighs, sinking down to his knees in between your legs, his hands coming to rest on your ankles.

Your breath catches in your throat, as you watch him go down, a new feeling of anxiety rising in your throat, one, not entirely unpleasant. You eye him curiously, as his hand traverses the expanse of your calf, your denim shorts giving him quite the reach. There is a long scar on the side of your shin, where, years ago, you fell from the tree and broke your leg, bone sticking out grotesquelly. His fingers poke at it, eyebrows scrunching, as he tests the white, jagged flesh. Then, he inspects the bruises and cuts on your knee. His body moves closer, as he presses his cheek to your leg.

- So fragile, so helpless - he looks at you, blue eyes capturing yours in an iron gaze, and he pushes himself further between your legs.

The spell breaks, the moment his eyes shifts to your belt, the true intention of this strange interaction finally becoming clear to you.

- Wait... - you try to crawl away, muscles tensing on the floor, with no possible escape from the unrelenting force paralyzing your body.

Like a snake, the man slides his body up yours, his torso pressing close to your heaving chest. He's quite beautiful for a ghost, with his sharp features and baby blue eyes. Blonde hair frames his head like a halo, but the smile he offers you, is nothing short of devilish.

- I just want to feel - he whispers it, as if the words should bring you any consolation in this horrible situation, and you try to wiggle yourself from under him, yet again, to no avail.

You watch from the corner of your eye, as his head dips down, nose inhaling the scent of your hair. One, you know smells of cigarettes and some cheap shampoo you picked up at a sale from a drug store. Nothing too exquisite, but the way he downright moans in your ear, makes you feel, like you've used Chanel's new fragrance.

It does something to you, you're ashamed to admit it, but every noise coming from this apparition of a man, makes your stomach flip in the most delicious of ways. So, when his hand finally makes quick work of your zipper, before you feel fear, arousal arises in your gut.

And when his slender fingers cross the threshold of your underwear, falling immediately to your bundle of nerves, as if they were made to find it, your back arches from the floor.

He allows it, this small bit of movements, as he begins to work your body in earnest, fingers dipping lower, testing and prodding the entrance, until you start to beg.

Please fall from your half-open mouth, as his other hand climbs the expanse of your stomach, ghosting touches over your ribs, until it grabs your breast like there's no tomorrow.

He watches your through it all, blue eyes swallowing every scrunch of your brow, every moan, every twitch of your body. You're not sure how someone can look so absolutely fascinated, like he's never done this before, and be this skilled, at the same time.

- Please - you choke out, when he switches the positioning of his palm, to grind into you - Please, don't stop.

- Henry, my name is Henry - he mutters into your ear, and you know exactly, why he fed you this information.

You scream his name, when you come. Your broken voice carrying through the aged corridors, mingling with the sounds of creaking wood, the ticking of the ancient grandfather's clock.

There's barely any time to regain your composure. Your vision swims again, as the man, Henry, removes his fingers from your pants, before standing up again. You watch from the floor, as he rises his hand to the light, observing it for a moment. Then, like a scientist on a mission, he places one finger into his mouth. You can see his jaw work as he tastes you.

Then, just as another fire begins to burn deep in your stomach, you blink.

He's gone, you stare at the ceiling, which is quite closer, than you remember. In fact, your nose almost touches the wooden planks. And just as the realization, that you are actually floating up in the air, hits you, you fall.

Morning light shines on your beaten, tired body. And as you lay on the floor, feeling every bruise and scrape, all you can think of, is the angelic man's spirit, trapped in this tragedy of a house.

And the 20 dollars you've just won.

#my writing #requested #answered #peter ballard x reader #peter ballard #stranger things #vecna x reader #001 x reader #henry creel #enry creel x reader #tw: dark fic #all this build up and for what? for a fingerbang and a concussion?#man's unbelievable #thank you again for leaving a request and yet again so sorry for taking so long

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feanorianethicsdepartment · 4 years

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i find myself a little torn on the matter of elrond’s relationship with maglor

on the one hand, i kind of find it more interesting if their relationship was... complicated. tense, even, on bad days, when elrond was boiling with rage at the world in general and took it out on maglor in particular. elrond was a very angry teenager, and the fact that he had legit reasons to be angry just made it worse. they used to have these conversations that were just sarcastic bile on elrond’s end and dismissive teasing on maglor’s, about all the reasons they had to hate each other, and the imminent end of the world

and yet, and yet, and yet. there were nights when the world shrank to just the three of them in the twins’ room, faint music drifting up to the stars. maglor was always so, so carefully gentle with them, the flat of a spirit forged into a blade softly stroking his hair. there were sudden geniune bursts of laughter and the best lessons on songcraft he ever had and strong arms hugging him to protect him from the dark. elrond knows what maglor was, he remembers sirion, and still...

maglor killed people in front of elrond, sometimes. maglor curled up in a disused hallway and cried, sometimes. everyone else in their ragged band was frightened of maglor, and somehow elrond still knew he would never hurt him. the last time he saw maglor, elrond was still an adolescent. he begged maglor to stay. maglor just smiled sadly, and disappeared into the shadows

the years passed, and elrond has never been able to fit together his feelings on his kidnapper/guardian. there’s just so much, and he was so young when it happened, and even with an adult’s perspective it's all so coloured with his emotions at the time he can never fit a cohesive picture together out of the anger and love and grief. elrond searches for maglor, sometimes, when he’s having an especially bad decade. there are a thousand things he wants to scream at him, chief among them how could you leave us?

... which is all well and good, but then the other side of my brain kicks in, and i’m imagining scenes like this:

there is an intensely creepy elf hanging around one of imladris’ courtyards. dude looks like he’s been dragged through every ditch from here to the grey havens. he’s dressed in mismatched weather-worn travelling clothes, with the messiest hair you’ve seen on a noldo. there’s old scars on his skin and a conspicuous lack of jewelry on his body, and just a general unkempt-ness you associate with spending a month out hunting spiders, not swanning around in one of the great courts of elvendom

more than that, though, there’s a really unpleasant vibe coming off the guy, like a palpable aura of darkness. there’s something in the way his eyes flick around, something in the curl of his smile. you can tell, somehow, that he stopped giving anything resembling a fuck lifetimes ago, and now there’s no terrible thing the gods nor society can stop him from doing. there’s something about him that reeks of death

this is about the point he notices you. as he sizes you up, you can see a dim light shining in his eyes, almost drowned out by the afternoon sunlight. your subconscious immediately starts ringing the alarm bells, but it takes a few seconds for your conscious mind to figure out why. then you remember the stories you weren’t supposed to hear as a child, and oh, shit

you immediately start backing away, but he’s seen your fear and his eyes light up. he paces closer to you, calm and controlled, a vicious grin splitting his face (has he filed his teeth why would you do that.) you are completely unarmed and there’s a sword on his belt and you’re just about to break into a run when one of the doors into the courtyard opens and out comes lord elrond

the kinslayer stops. lord elrond looks more annoyed than anything to see him here. he sighs

‘dad,’ he says to the monster, ‘leave the greenwood envoys alone’

#silmarillion #elrond #maglor #kidnap fam #ish #non dumb headcanon #the first bit anyway #mags knows he is a fairytale villain and is willing to play the role to the hilt if he gets the opportunity #my terrible headcanons #monsterdad days

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yourlocalshittywriter · 3 years

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The Duty of a Hero

Author’s Note: Howdy folks! I’m here with my first proper fic and I really hope that y’all like it! This will be exploring what could’ve happened if the Dabi that Aizawa fought wasn’t one of Twice’s clones. Since this is a fight, I advise the folks that are sensitive to things like that to click off and read another fic. Also, since this story does change scenery and moods a bit, I included some songs that change along with the the stories mood! This is mainly just because I like showing off my music taste and shit. Here’s Part 2!

Songs to Go Along: The Fighter by In This Moment, Acid Bubble by Alice In Chains, The Great Gig In The Sky by Pink Floyd

I felt extremely at peace for once in life. I felt the normal crackling of my joints silence into a warm nothingness. My aching muscles that had been torn to shreds time and time again, the ones that had been strained and stretched beyond the limits of the human body seemed to reform perfectly as they melted into the rest of my numb form. My skin, a forest of calluses, scars, stitches, and open wounds felt as if it was no longer there. I was no longer confined to the space of my body, and instead moved around as freely as water or air. I was a sort of goo, unmoving, stationary, simple, yet free.

With a quirk as self-destructive as mine, becoming a hero was a sort of death wish. My quirk was known as “pain transfer.” Anytime I made eye contact with a person, I could activate my quirk and subject myself to pain only to have them suffer the pain of the injury for as long as I was looking at them. I could also transfer existing pain to my target. Although I may have had a wicked high pain tolerance and quick recovery period, my humanity was bound to catch up to me eventually. Quirks like mine, “villainous quirks” according to most people, should be kept hidden and the people born with them should go on to live normal lives as ordinary civilians. My parents were among these people. When I told them that I was enrolling in the hero course at UA, I was given the choice to either become a hero and be disowned, or ditch my pipe dream and stay their beloved child. I packed my things that night.

It was a miracle that I passed the entrance exam the next day. I was running on little sleep, the loss of my financial support, and the trauma that came with the realization that your parents didn’t love you anymore because you didn’t live in a way that they approved of. I had trained since my will to become a hero first arrived, a sort of passionate drive that crashed into my life so unexpectedly that the impact nearly gave me whiplash.

I supposed that that inferno of, what? Spite? No, not spite, something deeper, hotter, and more righteous than spite. Let’s say ardor. This ardor was what drove me to take out as many robots as I could, despite the fact that my quirk was utterly useless in this situation. I took out a decent amount of robots, at least, decent enough to get into the hero course. A lady by the name of Recovery Girl healed me before I went on my way. I thought that I just had a few scrapes and bruises, but apparently I had a broken wrist. Surprisingly, I wasn’t the worst-off there, some poor kid broke both of his arms and one of his legs.

The time between this moment and when I got into UA seems to have flown by. I came into UA, a semi-blank canvas, and now here I was, bleeding out on the campsite that I planned to spend my summer at with my classmates. Dying feels far less painful than one would assume; you really don’t even realize that you’re dying at first. It’s sort of like that feeling you get after eating a warm meal after starving for so long, sickening at first, but comforting after you grow used to it. It’s like taking a hot bath after spending a day in the snow; it burns at first, but the burning subsides into a comforting numbness. Your senses slowly dull into nothingness but your brain is left to conjure whatever image it pleases. I could have seen dead relatives, met idols, or even pictured an alternate life where my parents still loved me, but I didn’t.

I didn’t want it. Fame, fortune, admiration, acceptance, rebirth, none of it. I wanted none of it. I wanted to live. I wanted to do what I swore to do as soon as I got into UA. I wanted what I signed up for when I packed my bags and left my parents’ house at age fourteen. I wanted what I fought tooth and nail for. I wanted my ambitions and goals fulfilled.

Of course I wanted what I had worked for, that was beyond obvious, however, I also wanted the small things in life. I wanted my afternoon tea with Yaoyorozu, Sato, and Todoroki. I wanted my fashion shows with Aoyama, Ashido, and Hagakure. I wanted my midnight conversations with Shinsou and Tokoyami. I wanted my video game sessions with Kaminari and Sero. I wanted my morning meditation meetings with Shoji, Ojiro, and Koda. I wanted to watch pro-wrestling with Bakugou and Kirishima. I wanted to train with Iida, Uraraka, and Midoriya. I wanted to swim with Asui. I wanted to listen to music with Jiro and Mr. Present Mic. I wanted inappropriate jokes with Ms. Midnight. I wanted to make Mr. Aizawa proud; I wanted to make myself proud. So, with so many incredible things to live for, I opened my eyes, and attempted to move.

Much to my distaste, it turns out that my relief from pain, as well as the disassociation from my body was nothing more than a thin veil that was easily permeated as I rose from near death. The forest was nothing more than a verdant blur, one that was far from easy to navigate. However, all things end eventually, so I decided to run from death and wherever I ended up would be the least of my worries. I sprinted through the disorder and dysfunction, and wound up walking in on my teacher fighting the son of a bitch who had left me to die a lonely death with only the company of insects and whatever plants were to take over my wilting corpse.

As Mr. Aizawa tackled the cremation villain, I rose from the forest, stared at the man in restraints, and activated my quirk. As the pain transferred from me to him, I felt the veil of insensibility slip over me once more. The villain howled out in agony, the very agony that he had inflicted on me only minutes before.

“Whatever you do, don’t break your gaze Eraserhead!” I chimed as I finally straightened my form, not wanting the hero to see me in such a state, “You’ll just have to trust me on this one!” Mr. Aizawa nodded, keeping a steady gaze on his target.

“Tried to kill me off?” I snarled as I made my way towards the sadistic bastard and beloved teacher holding him in place.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” the captive growled through gritted teeth, still under an amount of pain that would knock-out any average human. He looked beyond pissed that I survived, as if he took offense to the fact that I didn’t appreciate his work. I waltzed over to him, just far enough from Mr. Aizawa, but just close enough to the charred villain.

“Surprise, I remain,” I cooed, low enough for only the villain to hear. He bared his teeth at me, looking at me as if he were some sort of rabid animal. I wanted to taunt him. I wanted to make fun of the fact that he had been taken down by a high schooler and their teacher, but I knew that it was never good to brag, because Karma would usually come to bite you in the ass for it.

I stared at the man covered in staples, every blink I took releasing him from the effects of my quirk. Every blink motivated me to continue staring at him, to immobilize him so Mr. Aizawa could use his eye drops or blink, to buy him some time. However, I knew that this game of “pass the villain” could only go on for so long. Something had to be done. Eventually, the patchwork villain would catch both of us off guard and use his quirk, or one of his buddies would come and back him up. Mr. Aizawa and I were miles away from my peers or the rest of the pro-heroes. It was just the two of us up against this villain, and we were growing tired.

Only minutes after the realization had struck me, the villain escaped from Mr. Aizawa’s scarf when the two of us accidentally blinked at the same time. The human crematorium stood before us, and before I could use my quirk to disable him, he shot out a flurry of blue flames my way.

I dodged this attack as Mr. Aizawa ran towards the villain, yelling out the name “Dabi.” Before Mr. Aizawa was able to restrain him, Dabi grabbed the erasure hero and threw him headfirst into a brick wall, effectively knocking him out. I desperately wanted to check on my partner in battle, but I knew that I couldn’t let my guard down, because now Dabi was staring me directly in the eye.

I could attempt to charge at him, but I would be charred to bits, and even if I somehow managed to avoid his flames, I would meet the same fate as Eraserhead, knocked out and at Dabi’s mercy. I was screwed, I had no back up, my teacher was unconscious, and I was face to face with one of Japan’s most notorious criminals. I was dead meat.

That was until I devised a plan, one that would take out the cremation villain for good. One that would end his reign of terror once and for all. However, there was only one downside to this plan, and that was the fact that this plan would result in two casualties, Dabi and me. However, if I went with any other plan, Mr. Aizawa and I were to become the victims while Dabi walked off scot free.

I was destined to become a martyr.

With that realization, I turned to my teacher who was slowly coming to his senses and gave him a gentle smile,

“Eraserhead, it has truly been a pleasure,” I announced as Dabi’s arrogant gaze turned to one of confusion. As Mr. Aizawa slowly faded back into his previously comatose state before he had time to be confused, I focused my gaze back on the blue-flamed bastard. It was time to end it, to end his rule once and for all.

I reached into my pocket, grabbed a tiny weapon that fit perfectly in my hand, locked eyes with the villain, smirked, and painlessly slit my neck. As Dabi grasped his neck and choked on his unseen blood, which was truly my blood, he fell to his knees.

As I took what I knew were my last steps, I came face to face with the first half to my murder-suicide. He glared at me, an amalgam of agony that felt nothing at all, and snarled.

“I’ll see you in hell, you cunt.”

I laughed, of all the things he could’ve chosen to be his final words, he chose to give into the childish desire to have the last word with me. As his oddly-familiar eyes drained of life, I felt the pain I had so carelessly inflicted upon myself finally hit me like a freight train.

I began to choke as I fell to my knees, similarly to how Dabi had fallen only seconds before. I knew that my time was up soon, I would succumb to my injuries and lose the thing I had fought tooth and nail for only moments before. I looked to the horizon to find the sun casting his loving gaze upon my battered body. It was as if Apollo himself was granting me a warrior’s death, like he knew I had made some kind of a righteous sacrifice that warranted a soothing transition from death to afterlife.

The sunrise was something like I had never seen before. The blues burned brighter than the flames I had defeated minutes before, the yellow pooled around my weary being like an evening gown to a death dance, and the red painted a comforting scene in the clouds, as if to distract me from my own red that painted my body and the ground around me. I smiled my final smile as I walked into the loving embrace of the sun.

My duty as a hero had been fulfilled.

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triptuckers · 3 years

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Sunshine - Nikolai Lantsov

Request: yea! “Can you make a Nikolai Lantsov x Reader where the reader has been with the Crows for a year, so when she sees him again, he recognizes her immediately and vice versa.” Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x reader Summary: Someone looks very familiar, and you can’t wrap your head around it Warnings: crooked kingdom spoilers!! Word count: 1.6K A/N: hi! there’s (slight) crooked kingdom spoilers in this one, so don’t read it if you don’t want any spoilers for the book! thanks for requesting this, enjoy reading!

‘The Ravkan king is sending a pirate to go to the auction.’ says Kaz, making you look up in confusion as you’re walking through the halls of the fancy hotel. You are on your way to meet with the Ravkans, but you didn’t know the king would send a pirate to go to the auction.

‘He’s sending a pirate?’ you question. ‘To represent his country?’ ‘He prefers the term ‘privateer’.’ says Kaz, slightly clenching his jaw. ‘Probably because it helps him sleep better at night.’ chuckles Jesper beside you.

You roll your eyes, but chuckle as well. ‘Would it make you feel better if I called you a distance expert, instead of a good shot?’ you say.

‘Oh no, I’m good with flattering, you don’t have to use fancy words for that.’ says Jesper, making you laugh again.

‘Keep it professional, you two.’ says Kaz as you’re approaching the double doors at the end of the hallway.

‘Why?’ you say. ‘You’re intimidating enough for the three of us. Jesper and I can just be your bright side, you know, bring a little sunshine.’

‘We don’t need sunshine.’ says Kaz. ‘We need to bring Van Eck and Rollins down.’

You sigh as you follow Kaz through the doors. ‘Never a bright side with you, is there?’ you say.

Once you enter the room, you immediately look at the three people waiting for you. As you walk up to them, you take all of them in.

On the left is a stunningly gorgeous girl. It’s hard to keep your eyes off of her. She has her arms crossed and looks very sternly at Kaz, Jesper and you as you approach them. You can tell she’d much rather be in Ravka if it was up to her. You weren’t familiar with most grisha’s, but you’re sure Nina would know her.

On the right is a grisha you do recognise. But only because of the eye patch and scars. Genya Safin. Despite her scars, you can see her beauty. She looks a lot nicer than the other girl.

Between them in the middle is a boy, not much older than you are, who you assume must be the pirate. Despite being flanked by two powerful Grisha, he’s the one that catches your attention.

He doesn’t look like a pirate. At least, not like the one’s you’ve met. He’s holding his chin up high and standing up straight, not exactly like a criminal would. He smiles as you approach him and there’s something familiar about him you can’t place.

‘We’re glad you’re here.’ says Kaz, as the three of you stop in front of them.

‘We’re here on business.’ says the grisha on the left. ‘Zoya.’ says the pirate. ‘Be nice.’ But she only scoffs and rolls her eyes at him. Clearly, she didn’t want to be in a city like Ketterdam.

‘Well, this is Zoya.’ says the pirate, motioning to the girl. ‘And this is Genya.’ he says, gesturing to the other girl. ‘And I’m Sturmhond.’

‘I’ve heard that name before.’ says Jesper. ‘Only the good things, I hope.’ says Sturmhond.

‘This is Jesper.’ says Kaz. ‘That’s Y/N.’

Jesper nods at the Ravkans, but you narrow your eyes at Sturmhond. Sturmhond looks at you, waiting for you to say something, but you merely continue to look at him, slightly narrowing your eyes.

‘Why is she looking at me like that?’ he asks.

You don’t say anything, but notice Jesper moving closer to you.

‘Scheming face.’ he says, studying your features. ‘Her brain’s running at top speed right now. Best not to ask anything ‘til she speaks up herself.’

Kaz and Sturmhond start talking business, and you take Sturmhond in once more. There’s something so familiar about him, and you’re going through all the memories you made in Ravka, trying to determine where you could have met him before.

Some time later, Sturmhond turns to you again.

‘I know I’m nice to look at, but you’re over selling it a bit, sunshine.’ he says.

Sunshine.

Suddenly, memories of a summer night flood back to you. It was before you came to Ketterdam, when you were in Ravka. You did all sorts of jobs, because you had certain skills not a lot of Ravkans had. On one night, you had a run in with a few soldiers.

You thought you were done for, but they’d won an important battle that had lasted days, and weren’t in the mood for more fighting. They shared their food and kvas with you, and told you stories. You didn’t want to tell them your name, so one of the soldiers had decided to call you sunshine instead.

He had told you his name was Nikolai, and when you asked him about his family name and he said it was Lantsov, you didn’t believe him. What were the odds you ran into one of the Ravkan princes in the middle of nowhere?

Maybe he had spoken the truth after all.

You smile at Sturmhond and finally speak up. ‘You don’t look like a pirate.’ you say. ‘Privateer.’ he corrects you. ‘Pirate, privateer, all the same. You don’t look like one. You don’t talk like one either. Or act or stand like one.’ you say. ‘Then what do I look like?’ he asks you.

A smile tugs on your lips as you look at him. ‘A royal.’ you say. ‘Why would the Ravkan king send a pirate to such an important auction? If I was king, I’d want to know what was going on. I’d go myself. And have one of the best Tailors in the country help me with my disguise. Turn myself into a pirate named Sturmhond.’

‘That’s an interesting theory.’ he says. ‘Are you implying I’m king Nikolai? It’s a good one, but not the right one, I'm afraid.’

You nod at him but aren’t convinced. Next to you, Kaz pulls his watch out of his pocket, and tells you you need to go. The six of you walk toward the door, you and Sturmhond trailing at the end of the group. Just as you’re about to walk through the doors, he stops you and closes them, leaving the two of you alone.

‘You’re smart.’ he says and you smile at him. ‘I never thought I’d see you again.’ ‘So I’m right?’ you say, very pleased with yourself. ‘Maybe.’ he says. ‘Maybe?’ you say, laughing softly. ‘It’s good to see you, Nikolai.’

‘It’s good to see you too.’ he says. ‘You know, when we met and you told me your family name was Lantsov, I didn’t believe you.’ you say. ‘I wouldn't have believed me either.’ he says. ‘Some soldier claiming they’re a Lantsov? I’d think it was a bad move to try and impress a pretty girl.’

‘Ah.’ you say. ‘So you think I'm pretty now?’ ‘I thought you looked absolutely gorgeous when I first met you. Even in that ridiculous coat that you wore to hide your revolvers.’ says Nikolai.

‘Why come to Ketterdam as Sturmhond?’ you ask. ‘I’ve always been Sturmhond.’ he says. ‘Everything you’ve heard about him, that’s me. I sailed the seas when my parents thought I was at a university.’

You’re silent as you look at him. Genya had done a good job tailoring him. If you hadn’t spend an entire night talking to him, you wouldn’t be able to tell it was actually the Ravkan king, and not some pirate. But you had studied his face that night, and it had been imprinted in your memory ever since.

‘What’s on your mind?’ asks Nikolai.

‘Genya did a good job.’ you say, moving closer to him and taking in the details of his face. ‘I like your own eye color and nose better though.’ you say, making him smile.

‘Do you like it here?’ he asks. ‘In Ketterdam?’ you say and he nods. ‘I do.’ you say. ‘It’s messy, and you need to have some kind of weapon on you every time you’re out on the streets, but believe it or not, it feels like home. I can be myself and use my skills without a civil war or soldiers bothering me.’

‘Don’t they have Stadwatch here?’ questions Nikolai, and you laugh. ‘They’re here, yes. But they don’t do much. All it takes is a little kruge and they look the other way. Plus, in the Barrel the gangs have territories, the Stadwatch doesn’t decide how we handle things down here.’ you say.

‘If you ever get tired of this life, Os Alta is very nice.’ he says. ‘Is the king of Ravka asking me to come to the palace with him?’ you ask teasingly. ‘No.’ he says. ‘Nikolai is asking if you want to come to the palace with him.’

You smile at him. ‘I have to admit, it does sound nice. But I’ve found my place here with the Dregs. Kaz, Jesper, they may not look like much to you, but I trust them with my life, they’re my family.’ you say.

Nikolai nods, taking a step back and away from you. ‘I understand.’ he says. ‘Forget I asked anything.’

‘I wasn’t finished yet.’ you say. You step closer to him and look up at him. ‘Ketterdam is now my home, but I wouldn’t say no to the occasional visit to Os Alta.’

Nikolai’s face lights up upon hearing your words and he starts grinning like an idiot. ‘I’ll make sure there’s a bottle of kvas waiting for you on your first visit. Along with a gorgeous hazel-eyed, blonde king.’ he says.

You raise a hand and run it through his hair, which Genya had tailored to be a shade of red instead of the golden blonde you remember. ‘I prefer you as a blonde.’ you murmur softly.

‘Next time you’ll see me, I’ll be blonde.’ he says. ‘Next time I see you?’ you say. ‘Promise.’ says Nikolai.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

#nikolai <3 <3 <3 #nikolai lantsov #shadow and bone #grishaverse #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov x you #nikolai lantsov fanfiction #nikolai lantsov fanfic #nikolai lantsov fanfics #nikolai lantsov fic #nikolai lantsov fics #nikolai lantsov oneshot #nikolai lantsov oneshots #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfics #shadow and bone fic

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fawnandshadows · 3 years

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After The Ceremony - Chapter 1

Hey Guys!

This is the first chapter of a mini Elriel fanfiction that I'm working on. You can also read it on AO3

Summary: Elain and Azriel after Nesta and Cassian's Mating Ceremony.

Words: 1,847

Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony has long since been over, but Elain couldn’t bring herself to go back to her room. No, Elain had too much restless energy to even attempt to fall asleep tonight, and instead of tossing and turning in her bed all night, she decided she may as well be useful and start to clean up. It took only ten minutes of laying in her bed, staring at the ceiling, before silently walking downstairs to the ballroom. Nuala and Cerridwen offered to help her, and Elain knew that they wouldn’t have minded staying up all night to clean with her, but she really just wanted to be alone. So, the twins like everyone else went to bed, and Elain stayed in the ballroom of Feyre and Rhysand’s River House putting herself to use.

There was something about being alone in the middle of the night that just seemed right to Elain, when everyone else was sleeping, she didn’t have to worry about putting on a face for everyone to see. She didn’t have to plaster a smile on her face while her heart was cracking in her chest. It was a test of her resolve today, Elain thought, as she pretended, yet again, that everything was alright. It took everything in Elain, every ounce of will power and restraint, to not break down and cry in the middle of the ballroom as she saw a familiar rose necklace around somebody else's neck.

Elain wanted to cry, scream, and cry some more whenever she looked at Gwyn, or Azriel, or even Mor. Especially Mor, when Elain saw her dancing and smiling with Azriel. It just felt so wrong. It should be Elain wearing his necklace, and it should be Elain in his arms as they spun around the room completely oblivious to everyone else.

After seeing Gwyn wearing her necklace, Elain immediately turned to leave the room because all she wanted was to be alone with her feelings and not worry about someone seeing through her fake smile, but as soon as she turned she caught a glimpse of the sun and a shadow dancing across the floor.

Elain had never seen Mor and Azriel dance together, and she never wanted to, especially when watching them smile at each other ruined whatever was left of her heart. They looked so incredibly beautiful together, and Azriel was smiling down at Mor with a warmth Elain hadn’t seen since the last solstice when she made him laugh. And Mor was smiling up at Azriel with an ease Elain had never noticed between them.

Confusion danced in her chest with every other emotion she was feeling.

Elain was only forced out of her staring from a heavy arm that fell across her shoulders. She blinked and a drunk Cassian appeared in front of her face, a stupid grin strectched across his face that was the result of unadulterated love and copious amounts of wine.

“Dance with me!” Cassian pulled her onto the dance floor, snapping her out of her imminent depression and into a crowded dance floor.

Elain let out a sign and continued sweeping the surprisingly messy floor. It seemed like most of the cake she and the twins had baked for the party ended up on the marble floor somehow, but she supposed that drunken fae couldn’t be expected to be tidy. The full moon illuminated most of the room, but there were still some faelights along the wall that added just enough light for her work. After sweeping, and picking up a surprising amount of glasses from the floor, Elain collected the bouquets from the tables.

It took her months to craft five bouquets for the ceremony, one for Nesta, and four for the women standing beside her. The core of Nesta’s bouquet were red carnations, pink roses, with bursting dahlias. Every bouquet held pink acacia’s - the flower of friendship. Feyre’s bouquet consisted of blooming magnolia’s and eye-catching violets. Her own was made from magnolias, nightshade, and a sprinkle of periwinkles. Emorie’s held vibrant hyacinths with white jasmine, and Gwyn’s bouquet was crafted from lavender, morning glories, oleanders. All the flowers were grown and cultivated by Elain herself, and she felt a shimmer of pride as she looked upon them.

Elain was getting ready to move the bouquets and their vases from the ballroom into the dining room, thinking they would look nice in a room where her family spends most of their time, when a familiar shiver floated down her spine. She didn’t look up as she said, “Hello, Azriel.” She knew he would reveal himself to her.

“It’s late. You should be sleeping.” His deep voice blended in with the night, causing her knees to weaken slightly and her eyelids to relax. What she wouldn’t give to fall asleep with that voice whispering in her ear while his fingers slid against her skin. What she wouldn’t give to stay awake all night with his voice in her ears and his fingers on her skin. Elain lost count of how many times she lost herself in thought as she tried to imagine what his lips would feel like against her throat.

“So should you,” Elain said, turning her body slightly to see him walk further into the room from where he leaned against the doorway. “I thought everyone was asleep. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

“Do you normally spend your nights cleaning up after drunken fae?” Azriel asked as he approached her. He stood maybe two feet away, but Elain could still feel the warmth radiating off his body. Another shiver made its way down her spine. Her skin felt so sensitive in his presence that it was hard to focus on anything besides him.

“Normally just Cassian,” Elain attempted to joke. Her chest felt slightly lighter as she noticed the twitch of his lips. It was a mistake looking at his lips. Her tongue brushed against her own that suddenly felt dry. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?”

Azriel nodded. No words, no explanation, no attempt at conversation.

“You’re a lovely dancer.” Elain said, unable to stop herself, but she wanted him to know that she noticed him. She wanted him to know that she wished it was her in his arms dancing in front of everyone else.

“Thank you. You didn’t dance much at all.” Azriel noted and Elain felt the warmth of a blush on cheeks.

She gave a small shrug and said, “I was only asked by Cass, Rhys, and Lucien.”

Rhys was the first to offer her a dance, and she loved her brother-in-law too much to say no. Rhys was a lovely dancer, and she fought to keep a smile on her face under his prying eyes. Her dance with Cassian involved mostly her propping him up so that he didn’t collapse on the floor. Her dance was Lucien was non-existent.

“Why didn’t you dance with him?” Azriel asked softly. If it wasn’t the dead of night she wouldn’t have heard it.

“I don’t want to give him false hope,” Elain said, taking a fortifying breath before she continued, “It’s wretched to think you have a chance, a connection, to someone when you don’t.” She prayed to the Mother that Azriel didn’t notice her shaky breath, her racing heart, or how it took all of her bravery to say that.

In the soft glow of the faelights Elain saw a flinch run across Azriels face. It took him a moment longer than usual to school his features into their usual mask, but he couldn’t hide the pain that shimmered in his eyes.

The similarities weren’t lost on Elain. How this night resembled that of the solstice. Azriel and Elain being the only two people awake in the house. Her mate sleeping upstairs. The same crackling excitement rushing through her. The hope that maybe she would finally feel the brush of his lips against hers, and she wouldn’t have to speculate about what he tasted like anymore.

“Elain.” Azriel said her name as if it pained him.

“Why did you do it?” She whispered hotly. “Why did you give my necklace away? Why did you dance with Mor and look at her as if she were the only female in the room?” Before her bravery completely ran out she took a step forward, grabbed his hand, and placed it against her heart. “Did you feel this break tonight?”

His hand was hot against the thin cotton of her nightgown. She could just barely feel the traces of his scars. Elain wished there was nothing between them.

“Because it did,” Elain continued. “It broke every time I looked at you. It broke when I saw the necklace, and it broke when I saw how beautiful you and Mor looked.”

“Elain,” Azriel said, his voice harsh, his hand pressed further into her as if he too wished there was no nightgown separating them. “I want to, but I can’t.”

“I don’t understand,” Elain stared at his churning hazel eyes. She couldn’t help the lonesome tear that slid down her face. She was about to wipe it away when he beat her to it. His large, warm, wonderful hand brushed away her tear before cupping her cheek. Despite the pain that was growing in her chest, she would feel it all again if it meant his skin on hers. She would withstand any pain if it kept them together. “Make me understand.”

“I want to kiss you,” Azriel said. Elain felt each word as it brushed against her face. “I want to rip this nightgown from your body, lay you on the table, spread your legs open and feast until I’m drunk off the taste of you. I want to slide into you until I’m the only thing on your mind, and then I want to bring you so much pleasure you’ll never want to be away from me. And once you found your pleasure, I’d take you upstairs and do it all again. If I ever got a hold on myself I would make love to you the way you deserve.”

Elain, loving the warmth and wetness that flooded her core, felt as if she was about to combust. One tiny spark and she would erupt into flame.

“And why can’t we do that?” Elain asked quietly, as if she were afraid of ruining the moment. As if she were afraid he would slip away from her yet again.

“Rhy’s pulled rank on me.” Azriel replied. The only sign of tension was the muscle that contracted in his jaw. Elain ignored the urge to run her tongue over it.

“Huh?” Elains brain was too hazed with desire to form a proper sentence.

“He forbid it.” Azriel replied, tilting his head forward slightly, and brushing his nose against hers. The breath that floated across her face threatened to knock her over.

“Forbid what?” Elain managed to get out - too absorbed in him to think clearly.

“Us.”

Elain didn’t have time to think about what Azriel said as his lips descended on hers.

#elain archeron #azriel #elain acotar #elriel fanfic #pro elriel #elriel fanfiction #elain x azriel #elriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar

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h34rtizuku · 3 years

Text

𝔭𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔶

i hate angst without happy endings, but i’m also self-destructive. therapy is expensive, but ripping your own heart out and bearing your insecurities into a full-fledged story for you and others to read? free.

warnings : angst without a happy ending, insecurities, jealousy, mayhaps toxic behavior?? idk if ur looking for a good time, this isn’t for you bestie <3 also i might misspell uraraka’s name wrong a few times, i’ll fix them later :*

being quirkless had its advantages. with such a small number of us being born without powers, it left a lot of the mundane jobs open.

which is why, as soon as pro-hero deku opened his agency, i came to him with the request to be his assistant.

on the daily, he had people coming up to him asking for internships or to be his sidekick. but he never had anyone ask to be his assistant.

being the number one hero often meant that every day things, things one may take for granted or deem insignificant became just another list of things on the busy man’s to-do list.

therefore the appeal of having someone file his paper work and run to get him coffee in the morning was great enough to hire me.

and i was glad he did.

this is what i have been working for since i was a first year in high school. after watching the freckled boy break limb after limb to defeat his opponent.

yeah, i saw it as irresponsible and stupid that he had to break his own body to save others. but i was willing to overlook it.

my one goal during my remaining years of high school and up to college was that wherever that little green haired boy went, i would follow.

and that reigned true as his assistant. i would shuffle after him like a duckling following it’s mother, wherever he needed me.

if he needed me in a briefing to take notes for him, i was there. if he needed me to put in overtime to help him file the last minute paperwork, i was there. if he wanted a particular pastry from a specific bakery half way across town, i was there.

izuku was never mean, or demanding. always thanking me profusely for anything i ever did for him. leaving me to remind him that this was my job, and any way to make his life easier was good enough for me.

but maybe i should have held onto those blushed cheeks and crinkled eyes as he thanked me for the coffee that he didn’t even know he needed, for a just a little bit longer.

you know how a child will open a new toy on christmas and it quickly becomes their new favorite toy? playing with it non-stop, taking it wherever they go. until one day, they grow bored of it and never touch it again as it grows dusty at the bottom of their toy bin.

i know izuku wasn’t doing it on purpose, he didn’t have an intentionally mean bone in his body. i guess you could say, some other toys came around and took his attention away.

and that toy, was a particularly difficult mission in collaboration with uravity’s agency.

the two spent long hours cooped in his office as they went over notes, plans, intel, etc. until the conversation melted into talk about the old days and the wonderful memories they had together in high school.

i went to work the following days with absolutely no energy to handle whatever would be thrown at me. i hadn’t been able to get much sleep, as when i closed my eyes the only thing i could see was the look in his eyes when he saw her.

my patience was already thin given the events of the most recent week, but when the printer started malfunctioning leaving me unable to fax the papers izuku wanted me send, you could say that was the first domino.

i swatted and kicked and pressed any button on the stupid machine. telling myself i was merely trying to get to stupid thing to work, but deep down i knew that the printer was just my temporary punching bag. an outlet to unleash my anger and emotions onto something instead of letting them fester inside me.

so when one of izuku’s sidekicks came by, giving a snarky comment about my behavior, i was able to brush it off with a roll of my eyes and an equally snippy comment back.

but as the hunk of plastic remained steady in its plan to ruin my day, the lack of sleep and lingering resentment started to bubble within me once more.

i heard footsteps behind me and a joking voice say, “having a bit of trouble are we?”

if it weren’t for the white hot anger buzzing in my ears i may have been able to identify the voice before i lashed out on them. but we already established this was not my day.

so as my hands moved to clutch the machine below me, most likely to restrain my abuse to merely verbal instead of physical. i spit out, “listen i’m fucking trying okay? so how about you get off my ass and do something useful.”

i turned around to face who i thought would be another sidekick sent to push my buttons. but i instead came face-to-face with the green haired man himself.

eyes blown wide, mouth agape in shock, a light blush dusted under his freckles as he fought to handle the situation the best way he could.

but i beat him to it with a deep bow and an endless flow of apologies, opting to only blame my anger on the malfunctioning piece of junk behind me and not the several other reasons i was plotting murder in my head.

with a gentle smile and a soft chuckle he placed his hand to the back of his head, rubbing at the baby jade hairs of his undercut. “i see. bad days happen to the best of us.” he replied, his voice like honey.

i became drunk on the minor interaction he was giving me, bringing me back to the beginning days at this job where we would spend late nights trying to keep each other awake under the only singular yellow light as we finished paperwork. or where sometimes he’d invite me to spend lunch with him as he felt he’d enjoy the company.

i got lost in the intricacies of his face as he tampered with the printer. thin eyebrows furrowed in concentration, bottom lip captured between his thick scarred fingers as he muttered to himself.

i fell in a trance, locked on the slope of his button nose, his gemstone eyes, and chubby caramel cheeks dusted in freckles.

he looked essentially like the same boy i saw on the screen all those years ago, yet matured and hardened by the realities of life.

i wanted nothing more than to reach out and protect him any way my small quirkless body could. to be there for him the same way he was for everyone else.

he eventually got the printer to work with a boyish smile on his face as he told me that despite the good roughing up i gave the machine, he was able to locate and handle the issue. “next time, skip the punching and come find me, yeah? i’ll help with any problems you face.” he joked as he made his way into his office to resume his work.

i didn’t know it was possible to fall harder for that man, but he proved with every day of his existence that the impossible didn’t apply to him.

i was finally able to get some sleep the next few nights as my eyelids filled with the blush on his cheekbones and his gaze of concentration.

but my trip to cloud 9 didn’t last very long as the occasional meeting with uraraka became trips to her agency, and occasional meetings in civilian clothes to civilian places, like coffee shops and corner stores.

to anyone else, those would read as dates. to me, they read as dates. but izuku assured the gossiping sidekicks that it was strictly professional ~ nothing more, nothing less.

i knew that i would end up with more fits of restlessness and sleepless nights as i pictured the two of them laughing over a cup of coffee. so i sought out a replacement.

a moment. a look. a sentence.

anything directed at me that would choke out the ugly thoughts and images my brain would show me of the two of them together.

so that afternoon as i brought him his lunch, i placed the box safely onto the table beside him as he continued skimming through the papers littered across the desk.

he muttered a small ‘thank you’ but it wasn’t enough. as my hand moved to place his drink that i held in my other hand next to his food, a different idea popped in my head.

my hand moved faster than my brain could register what it had just planned to do. squeezing just enough for the lid to pop off and slip from my fingers to tumble into his lap.

as soon as the liquid and ice hit his lap he flew up from his seat and away from his desk.

my hands flew up to my mouth as a string of apologies fell from my lips. eyes watering in guilt as they moved around the room trying to locate something to soak up the mess with.

“i am so sorry, my fingers slipped and before i knew it i had lost control of the cup. i-i can’t tell you how sorry i am.” i rambled as i took my blazer off to wipe at the wet stains starting to form at the bottom of his teal suit.

“hey, hey, hey.” he said softly, taking my tinier hands into his large and battered ones. warmth enveloped my clutched sticky hands as he gently urged me to stand from my crouching position in front of him.

“it was an accident. no harm, no foul.” he said with a soft smile.

i should feel bad, as it wasn’t entirely an accident. but the warm and gentle look in his eyes made what little guilt i felt crumble away.

his thumbs rubbing soft circles to my skin as he worked to get the tears to stop streaming from my eyes was enough to get me to sleep like a baby for a good 2 weeks.

until it became a cycle. he would spend too much time around uraraka, and then i would do something all in the name of garnering his attention back on me.

was it wrong of me to do, to take advantage of his kindness? to take advantage of the fact that he was naive to my true intentions? maybe.

but i felt i deserved it. i felt i deserved to be looked at the same way he looked at her.

i wasn’t any different than she was. with the way she used her big brown eyes to pull him in. or the way her cute behavior made him blush. or the way her sweet way of talking made him laugh.

i can’t be her, or compare to her. so i found my own way around it. and no one could fault me for doing so. they just couldn’t.

at the end of the mission, uravity decided to throw a party in celebration of their win. a nice formal gathering, with everyone she had involved.

when izuku pulled me aside one late night to tell me that he was extending the invitation to me felt akin to a marriage proposal.

i wasn’t involved much in the case, merely being used as the one who provided them their lunch on their long meeting days. or filing and organizing the paperwork and notes that they would compile. i wasn’t out in the field, breaking bones like izuku or saving lives like uraraka.

i didn’t deserve to go, but i didn’t care. izuku had invited me personally and damn it, i was gonna be there.

yet, i shouldn’t have gone.

i shouldn’t have spent the hours on my makeup. i shouldn’t have enlisted the help of my best friend to do my hair as i gushed about how izuku had personally invited me, how he was the most perfect man ever, and how i was undoubtedly in love with him.

i shouldn’t have spent the week leading up to the event going from shop to shop trying to find the prettiest dress that was just the exact color of his eyes. i shouldn’t have spent about half my paycheck on said dress when i found it.

i shouldn’t have decided to face my fears and step out of my comfort zone to join a group of heroes that i knew were old classmates of izuku’s as they whispered about something that clearly was a raving topic.

because then i wouldn’t have heard how izuku was planning on confessing to uraraka. i wouldn’t have heard how this mission caused old high school feelings to rekindle. i should have known my place.

and that was far away from here, from the hero scene. i should have grown up to be an accountant or a chef.

when my father took me to get that checkup when i was 5, to confirm that there truly resides no quirk inside me.

i should have left it at that.

when i was riding my bike that day as a first year and i saw the group of boys huddled around a screen as they tuned into the u-a sports festival, i should have kept riding.

as maybe it would have saved me a lot of pain.

i backed away slowly, heels tapping against the tile floor as i hurried out of the building.

i didn’t realize how suffocated i felt until the chilly autumn hair brushed my face and into my lungs.

my whole body felt hot, i felt numb. i stumbled onto the sidewalk as i looked into the dark azure sky glittered with stars.

the tears finally spilled from my eyes as the stars muddled together into a messy blur. my stomach swirled and tensed as pit of nausea sunk in my stomach.

my chest heaved as it tried to process the crisp cold air into oxygen, but my throat was too tight to let much in.

i gasped and sobbed as my back hit the brick behind me, my legs wobbling unable to carry my weight much longer.

i slid into a crouched position as my tears mixed with the black of my mascara. streaming in pools down my cheeks, neck, and chest.

in the midst of my sobbing and heaving, i called my friend who was still at my apartment awaiting details of that night when i came home.

knowing it was far too early for me to be calling her she picked up the phone with confusion. it didn’t take much words from me, not like i gave her much, to convince her that she needed to come pick me up.

as she hung up the phone, my hand slipped from my ear, falling limp to my side as i placed my head into my other arm resting atop my knees.

this was inevitable and i knew it. no matter how many ways i was able to manipulate a sweet glance from him, it didn’t mean anything.

izuku was nice to everybody. sweet to everyone. kind to anyone.

but with her, it was different. he treated her that way, not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

they had years of memories, of laughs. they were perfect for each other, both smart, and kind, and always looking to help others. never acting selfishly or for personal gain.

they shared soft touches like they did old stories. they looked at each other with the same respect and admiration.

i was wrong. uraraka and i are nothing alike. she didn’t have to beg izuku to look at her like she hung the moon, he did so without asking.

unbeknownst to me, as i was manipulating izuku into these fabricated moments of gentle gazes and kind words, i was manipulating myself.

lying to the deepest parts of me that knew that this wasn’t real. that i wasn’t her. that he didn’t think of us the same way.

to him, uraraka is an old friend, who views the world the same way he does, who shares his same passions, who built her quirk to do some good within this world.

to him, i was a coffee-getter, the girl who knew his lunch orders like the back of her hand, the girl who filed his papers. the quirkless little fangirl who practically begged him to give her a job under him.

i heard the metal door open and snap shut announcing that someone was now outside with me. however, i just assumed it was a party-goer stepping outside for a smoke or a phone call so i didn’t bother to look up.

i also wasn’t in the mood for if the person happened to be a drunk girl who was ready to become my therapist as she saw me crouched on the sidewalk wishing to become one with the cement and simply cease to exist.

“there you are, i was wondering where you went?”

i would have taken the amateur therapist over this.

the voice belonged to izuku, dripping with sugar and default kindness.

if i could become one with the bricks just a little bit faster that would be great.

“hey, are you alright?” his tone became worried but i still didn’t dare to look up from my arms.

“do you feel sick? did something happen? do i need to take you home?” there he goes, into hero mode. ready to drop anything to help anyone facing the slightest of inconveniences.

“please just leave me alone.” i mumbled, throat tight and voice wavering as i try to hold the tears that still remain to fall.

“what did you say? i didn’t quite hear you.” he said softly, gently setting his large hands onto my exposed shoulder.

they should feel like welcoming warmth, but instead they felt blistering hot as i shoved them away as quickly as i could.

“i said leave me alone.” i said, slightly louder as i no longer was stuffed in my arms and knees.

he immediately saw the mess my face was in, i could tell by the way he quickly reverted fully into deku.

“hey, what’s wrong? whatever it is, i can help. didn’t i say you could come to me whenever you ne-“

“oh my god just stop! i can’t take it anymore.” i snapped, finally able to look him in the face.

but not for long as i saw the same look on his complexion as the first time i snapped at him.

“you’re too fucking nice. leaving you vulnerable for people to take advantage of you. giving them a reason to be selfish.”

“i dont-“ he tried to start but i cut him off.

“i don’t need a hero, izuku. there are people you just can’t save.”

as he worked to wrap his head around what was happening, my friend pulled up in my getaway car.

i bent down and grabbed my purse, but before i could fully escape this night, izuku grabbed my wrist causing me to stare into his eyes.

now lit aflame with desperation, “please just tell me what’s wrong. let me help you.” he encouraged softly.

but i wasn’t going to fall for it, not again.

i wasn’t gonna be played for the fool as i took the soft look in his eyes for anything but the gaze of a hero hoping to add another save to their statistics.

“god you never know when to quit!” i yelled as i yanked my wrist back. “and i hate that i-“

loved that about you?

no, love that about you.

i shook my head, thankful that for once my brain caught my actions before i spilled and made a mess again.

i walked quickly to the car, opening the passenger door almost as fast in hopes that within its metal sanctuary i could finally escape this hell.

“y/n- i-“

“mr. midoriya.” i just about whispered, my energy long since drained.

he laughed gently and i cursed the way my heart squeezed a little at the sound.

still head over heels for the angelic sound.

“you haven’t called me that in a long-“

“i quit.”

“w-what?” he muttered in disbelief.

i wouldn’t believe it either, not after the way i came to him nearly 4 years ago saying i would even be willing to clean toilets if he asked me to, so long as i got to work for him.

“i quit.” i repeated.

“you don’t mean that.”

he’s right i didn’t, not really.

hot tears started to dribble as my lower lip puckered in a sour quiver.

“no i do, sir.” i shook. “i will send someone to collect my things on monday.”

and with that i closed the door.

“drive.” i whispered to my friend who after a moment of looking at me, trying to read me, silently put the car into drive and started forward.

leaving izuku behind to stumble after the car, mouth muttering, trying to form any sort of sentence or sense.

but i couldn’t see him, knowing not to look at the mirrors situated on the side of the vehicle.

for they too are liars, as objects in the mirror are farther than they appear.

*** my little blue bitch working overtime

🧼 also mayhaps “soap” by melanie martinez fits this story… unintentionally ~ but if i’m wrong it’s cuz i haven’t listened to it in a while

#izuku #izuku midoriya #deku #deku x reader #izuku x reader #my hero academia #mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #izuku angst #deku angst #deku headcanons #deku imagine

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tomhiddelstonandzaynmalik · 3 years

Text

Love at first sight?

Chapter 5

Warren Worthington III x Reader

Word count: 1340 words

Warnings: Language, suicidal thoughts.

prologue chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

"[...] I wish I was a heavenly angel

For I would always cling to my sword

But I am no heavenly angel

Hence I must fight the pain of my fault [...]".

-Heavenly Angel by an unknown author.

"Don't you have a life or something?". Warren teased Hank. It was 3:49 AM when the young man awoke from his slumber. "Not really, thanks to you". Hank's intentions had been good. To return the teasing only. But the purpose got lost when he saw Warren looking down in shame, shifting in bed as he seemed to try to make himself disappear.

It was a touchy subject for him, Hank had forgotten. He knew just how much he felt like a burden to everyone at Xavier's. It was clear Warren was not much of a talker himself. But when those sleepless nights came, where he would jump out of bed covered in sweat and breathing harshly after a particularly awful nightmare, that the idea of staying awake with his companion was more inviting than to go back to his made-up Hell.

Only then Hank had learned about the extravagant life, filled with luxurious items and exotic vacations Warren had grown in. Hank also found out about Warren's handsome but cold-hearted-control-freak father, about his loving but impotent mother, about what it was to have it all only for it to be having it taken away. The lonely days and lonelier nights that followed after, the age-inappropriate behaviours, one bad decision after another, and mostly, Hank realized just how worthless the "poor rich kid" deep down felt.

"It makes no sense". Warren said softly, looking down at the cup of freshly-made tea he was holding in his hands. "What?". The older man asked him while pouring some of it on his mug. "Me! Me being here makes no sense!", "I'm nothing but an inconvenience". Warren let out with sight. Although he was referring to him being at the mansion, the hidden meaning of it sent a shiver through Hank's spine. "Hey, stop saying that! You are NOT an inconvenience, Warren. You should be here!". Said Hank as he got closer to the boy, placing a reassuring hand onto his shoulder. There was some absolute concern in Hank's voice as he saw a glimpse of a tear peeking through Warren's eyes. "Oh! bullshit!". "You more than any other person should be pissed off with me!". "You're working extra hours on a lost cause!". Hank's heart hunched. It was true Hank had been depriving himself a lot so Warren could have the best treatment. Yes, he attempted to kill him and his friends before. But the more time he had spent with the kid, the more he had realized: Warren had been a pawn, manipulated only by the true villain, Apocalypse.

"Hey! Look at me, Warren." He said firmly. "Yes, you are right. I should be taking better care of myself. But I'm only doing so because I'm not willing to slow down until you're heald". He said, with such convincement, it made Warren believe there could be someone being finally genuinely kind to him.

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

"I- I was only, umm, you know it was just a joke, right?". Hank nervously stated. "Sure, man". Even though Warren seemed to pay no mind towards Hank's comment, his voice had failed him, having it come out on a lower pitch rather than his usual vigorous one.

in an attempt of changing the topic, Hank pointed at your still sleeping figure. "So... An old friend of yours?".

It was somehow painful for Warren to see you there, resting at the infirmary room connected to all those noisy machines. In the end, your near-death encounter, in theory, had been Warren's fault. Hank's question had rumbled within the blond's mind. You weren't friends. He didn't even know your name. And honestly, he was more preoccupied with the atrocious first impression he believed he'd made in front of you. "You are the biggest idiot on earth if you think she'll ever want to even see you after what you've put her through". Warren's inside voice scolded him.

"No". The young mutant finally answered. "oh! I see". Hank teased again. Even though what Hank was implying: The real reason You were there was because of Warren's attraction to You, was nothing but the truth. Warren couldn't stop the blush from tinting his pale cheeks." It's not what you think, okay!". "Well, your face says otherwise, Romeo". The older man was grinning at him in amusement. "Shut up!". Warren's effort of sounding threatening failed due to his face heating up impossibly harder. His natural porcelain-white face was now a deep shade of red, making his facial tattoos stand out even more. Hank was having the time of his life. While Warren was acting like a teenage boy, he couldn't stop the laughs from coming out. "You done?". Warren said from behind one of the wings he'd been using as a cover. "Hey, take it as payback from running away".

"[...] I wish I was a heavenly angel

For my heart shall always be in joy

But I am no heavenly angel

Hence I must behave just like a boy".

The atmosphere remained comfortable. After an hour or so, Warren fell asleep again, not after convincing Hank to do the same. Who after, some reluctance, finally gave in and left to his room.

"Wakie, wakie, sleeping beauty". A hoarse grunt came from Warren's sleeping form as Ororo was poking his cheeks to get his friend out of Morpheus' grip faster. "Come on, Dollface. You have to get out of bed! It's almost 9 PM!". "What the hell?" Warren shifted in bed, reading the big clock on the wall. "You little shit, it's only 9... AM!".

Ororo's giggles were resounding through the room. "Oops". "Well, now that your up, we might as well get breakfast. Don't you think?". He was going to argue about how unholy early his friend had decided to show up when his stomach gave him in. It had been more than 18 hours since the last time he'd eaten, which was why he decided to let it slip. "Fine! But you'll have to give me your bacon to make up for waking up a man who almost died in a fire at 9 AM".

"Yeez, you sure are a Drama Queen, Warren". Ororo was walking toward your bed, peeping at the monitors. "Hank said she was the one who got it bad". "Your problem was only exhaustion, which reminds me of: Hank told me, to tell you that you're free to go".

Warren zoned out the moment Ororo mention you. Under the morning's light, it was easier for him to examine You. Your H/C locks were stiff from all the dirt and ash from the fire; Your face, which had been whipped clean when you arrived, allowed him to scrutinize every inch of it. Nothing was going unnoticed. Even the tiniest of your scars located under your left brow had been seen. He was so lost on himself taking your features in he'd forgotten he was in the middle of a conversation. "Earth calling Fallen Angel, do you copy, Fallen Angel?". Ororo raised her voice. "Uh? Yes, what?". "Dear Lord, you didn't hear a thing, did you?". Ororo was irritated but decided against scolding Warren. Him showing interest in people was an odd sight. "I said if you wanted me to get you your breakfast so you could spend more time with her before your appointment with The Professor?". He only wished his friend wasn't able to see his excitement from such an offering. "That would be ni-, wait which appointment?". "What? Your pigeon brain didn't register that either? The Professor said he had something to tell you. Be at his office at 11 sharp". After that, the girl stormed off the room while yelling something along the lines of "not being people's secretary".

It had been only then, as he stood in the middle of the room when Warren heard a muffled voice behind him.

"I'm I dead?" You said.

#warren worthington iii #warren worthington x reader #archangel x reader #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy #xmen x reader #xmen #ororo munroe #hank mccoy

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jeromesxreader16 · 3 years

Text

Such a Joker (55)

Part 54 Here!

~o0o~

I stop at the bottom of the staircase with a basket of clothes. "You two need to come down here or you're going to be late. We have a set time, you know!" "WE KNOW!" The twins yell. Four feet hitting the steps quickly. "Can I give this to him?" Juliet opens a card reading a sweet love letter to her father. "That's very sweet, honey. I'm sure he will love it." Jeremy shuffles his feet pushing his glasses up his nose. "Do you have something for him, Jer?" He nods, pulling out a book about his favorite animal. "He loves tigers!" Jeremy's eyes light up. "Really?!" "Yeah! Come on!"

I rush the kids to the car, buckling them into their seats before making way to Arkham Hospital. "Make way! We're back!" Juliet screams as she runs to the door, swiping the entry card. The nurses stare at my family strangely each week. "Juliet, honey. Slow down."

"Daddy!" Juliet yells at the gate, flailing her arms around. "Welcome back, Juliet." A guard by the name of Rick speaks up. "Thanks, Rick! Care to open the gate, good sir?" She bows to him playfully. As the doors slide, Jeremy walks through the patients calmly minding his business while Juliet attempts to make friends.

"Jules, honey, come on." I laugh, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the table. Jeremy sits in front of his dad crossing his hands in front of him. "Hello, dad." He smiles brightly at Jeremiah. "Daddy!" Juliet throws her arms over his neck hugging him.

Rick comes over nodding to us. "His room is ready if you'd like to escort him." I nod, going behind Jerimiah's wheelchair. "Thank you, Rick."

The kids walk behind me as I push Jer to his secluded room on the end of the hall. "Jeremy, love, get the door for me, please."

"Sure." As my boy pushed the door open Juliet jumps on his bed. "Can't we spend the night, mommy?" I scoff, "Jules, you know we can't." She crosses her arms. "Why not?" I bend down to her level. "Don't you have something for him?"

She takes the card out of her pocket and pushes it towards Jeremiah. "I made this for you, daddy." She places it on his leg. He just sits still, looking dead at the wall. "Are you going to read it?" Juliet looks at me. "He won't read it if you're in here, mommy. Can you step outside?" I give her a sad smile. "Honey, he's... daddy can't move." She looks up at me confused. "That's not true. I've seen him!" Jeremy walks over and leans to his father's ear, whispering. Then goes to his mouth, listening almost as if Jeremiah is speaking back.

"Kids! That is enough! Jeremiah is not going to move. He's not going to talk. All we can do is come visit and see him. We do not get a response. Now straighten up or-"

"Oh darling, you've gotten yourself all tightened up haven't you?"

His voice cracking. Dry and horse. I turn around seeing Jeremiah standing out of his chair. "What? See a ghost?" He laughs spinning around. "Daddy!" The kids cheer running to him and jumping In his arms. "Oh, my boy and girl. I've missed you!"

I stood frozen as the kids interacted with him. He looks over at me. Scars and all, he's still my love. "(Y/n), my wife. Come to me." As a river flows one way, so does my heart. I reach for him, walking closer. "You haven't aged a day. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner." I rest my head on his chest letting out a breath. "Jeremiah. It's been so long." He hugs me close. "I know, darling. I know, but now we're together again. As a family." I back away from him slightly. "Why have you done this for so long? How long were you able to-" Jer shovels me in his arms, pressing myself against him, devouring my lips. "Everything is fine now. Unanswered questions are useless. Live with me, now, in the present."

The kids and I walk into Arkham with smiles. "Morning, Rick." He tips his hat to us, opening the gate. "A pure saint you are." I internally roll my eyes. "I just want my kids to have their time with their father."

I grab the handles on Jer's chair pushing him forward towards his room. I kiss the side of his head. "Almost there, honey."

The kids open the door letting me in and close it right after we make it through. Jerimiah sits still waiting. I stare at him confused. "Jer?" I question leaning down. "BOO!" He raises his hands scaring me. I jump back holding my heart. The kids laugh running to him.

Hours of laughing and playing with Jeremiah the sky has darkened. I put on my jacket and gather my kids. "Alright. Time to go home, loves. I still need to make dinner. Pops is coming over." Jer frowns and hugs his two wild redheads. Juliet shuffles her feet. "Do we have to, Mommy?" "Honey, of course, we do. This isn't a hotel."

Jer kisses my head. "Not long now. We will all be home." He rushes me out and closed the door leaving me to wonder about his plans.

Juliet and Jeremy sit at the table swinging their feet. I open the door with my hip, setting the roast on the table. "Now remember what I told you." "Don't talk about dad." My children say out loud. "That's right!" The doorbell rings and the two kids rush to it.

"You're under arrest!" Jeremy says holding his hands like a gun. "Woah!" Jim throws his hands up. "Don't shoot. Don't shoot!" Jim scoops him up wrestling him on the couch. "We got you now, Pops!" Juliet says beating him with pillows. I smile looking at them. I get a cold chill against my neck making the hairs stand up. I rub my neck and turn around to see nothing.

Must be a draft.

"Alright, kids, Dad, come on and eat."

All four of us around the table acting as a picture-perfect family. All that would soon change.

The children in bed asleep when my phone rings over and over and over and over. "What Dad? I'm getting-" "DID YOU KNOW (Y/N)?" I bite my tongue. "Know what? What's going on?" "(Y/ N), Jerimaih has escaped!" My blood runs cold at the mention. I sigh into the phone. "I don't know where he could go, Dad. He would come here if he knew where I was." "It's not you, he wants. It's me." "Do you need me?" He holds his breath. "I can't tell you to leave the kids."

I look over my shoulder at the doors. "I'm going to Bab's to get Barbara Lee." I hang up locking the kids behind both double doors.

At Barbra's the lights and music suddenly turns on.

♪Now, I don't hardly... ♪ ♪ But I think I could love her ♪ ♪ Crimson and clover ♪

"Turn around." She speaks to the figure at the bar. "Turn around. I won't ask again."

A chilling voice emerges behind her. "Surprise." She whips around to hit Jerimiah but is pushed into Ecco. "Easy. It's just a surprise party. For you, Barbara Kean, queen of Gotham, business titan. How exciting. But there was another you, I... I seem to recall. Wasn't there? Then again, there was, uh, another me, too. Oh, so hard holding on to what's real. It's... It's enough to drive you mad." He cackles over her. Barbara Lee comes running at Jerimiah, throwing a statue at Ecco.

Jeremiah looks down at her unamused. "Cute. Mine is better." Jer simply shoots Babs in the abdomen. "Mom!" Jerimiah picks Barbara Lee up, "She has your eyes. For now."

Echo whimpers, holding her stomach. "I... think she... nicked me, Daddy. I... oh, boy." Jer stares at his assistant. "Oh, dear me. My sweet Ecco, no longer my echo. There will never be one like you. (y/n) will miss you dearly." She smiles widely, "Really?" Jerimiah aims and shoots her in the chest. She smiles as blood pours down her chin. "But you were deceiving and in love with my wife. I suppose there are other employees available."

"Let me... down." Barbara Lee struggles in his arms. Jerimiah leans down to Bads on the ground, pistol-whipping her.

"Hush, little Barbaras, don't say a word. Now we're going to play a... little game. By now, James Gordon should have made it to your apartment and called his daughter. When he gets here, I want you to deliver a message."

I park my car as I see Dad sitting alone. I run-up to the club seeing Bads laying down. "What happened?" She glares at me. "He took her! Your psychotic husband took her!" She reaches for me in anger. "He took her! That lunatic took her! He said you have to come, and if you don't come, he's gonna kill her." "Where?" "The place where he was born again." I rub my face in frustration. "Ace Chemicals." I run down getting in my car and racing there. "Jer!" I call out loudly. "You can't do this shit, Jeremiah!"

"Jeremiah? Is there a Jeremiah here?" I hear him call. I follow the voice to see him all alone. "So what should I call you?" I tilt my head, tears flowing. "Jerimiah." "No, no. That's a boy name." "STOP THIS!" I scream. His facade falls slightly but never cracking.

"I call you the devil." Dad appears behind me with his gun drawn. "Wher is my daughter?" Jer looks at him confused. "The Devil? No, Call me... Jack. Mm, no, no, no, that's not right. J-Joseph. John. Jay. I-I don't know. I just... I feel something new crawling from the primordial ooze that was me. Something... beautiful."

"How long have you been pretending to be brain-dead?" "How long have you been pretending? That's a joke. I know you're not pretending." I look up seeing Barbra Lee hanging over the tanks. "Ah, ah, ah, that's far enough, (y/n)."

"But you still haven't told me. Why? Why keep pretending?" I look at Jer in confusion. Why has he waited all this time?" He smirks, "I was waiting for him to come home. We're bound together, he and I. It's the one thing I knew for certain, the one thing I knew was true. And then he just... abandoned us. Do you know how it feels to have the one, the only thing you love ripped away from you? It feels like this." Jer pulls the rope releasing Barabra Lee. "No!" I scream grabbing hold of the rope, the fibers sliding my hands.

Clangs of metal are thrown at Jer, who dodges them. "Who's there?! What do you want?! Show yourself! Show yourself!" I see a black mass whooshing over us. I gasp in realization. "You." Jeremiah laughs before he's knocked out cold.

"Now you give those kids kisses from their Pop." I laugh as I hang onto my father's arm as we walk to dark streets. "You know you could come over. They miss you. You make them laugh, dad." He shrugs and kisses my head. "I'll come over tomorrow night for dinner. Let it be a surprise." I nod and open my car door sighing. "Bye, dad." "Bye (Y/n). I love you. Tell Juliet and Jermey I love them too." "Of course." I finish, getting in my car and closing the door.

The drive home is never my favorite. Time alone is cruel to me. I still hear his laughter. Both of them are so different yet so loveable in their ways.

Juliet holds so much of Jerome in her. Especially her eyes. Full of joy and determination boxed up in two beautiful green orbs. Jeremy loves the books and brain teasers and puzzles like a certain Valeska who holds my heart.

I pull up to my small house upon a hill. The lights to the living room, kitchen, and kids' room are the only lights illuminating the house. The sitter's car was still parked in the driveway where it was hours ago untouched.

I unlock the door stepping into my house. "Jeremy! Juliet! Babes, I'm home!" I hear my daughter's beautiful laughter from down the hall. "Mommy! Come here and look!" She giggles, creating a smile on my face.

Jeremy giggles and yells from the same room, "Juliet made a mess, Mom!"

Maybe they're playing house, maybe even cops and robbers!

My heels click as they edge closer to the door. I grasp the handle smiling. "Did you two have a good time with Abby? I hope you were" I scream as the sight before me wounds my eyes.

Abby, the sweet high school girl who has watched my babies grow up now lays in my daughter's bed with knives and pins stuck in her body.

My baby girl, Juliet, stands next to her, knife in hand, blood on her cheeks, and a wide smile spread across her lips.

I cover my mouth horrified. "Juliet. Honey." she giggles and pulls out a pin of Abby's eye. "We played Doctor, mommy!" She runs to me laughing and holding the weapons.

Jeremy runs in from the bathroom with a blood-soaked rag. "I'll help clean, mommy!"

I fall to my knees letting a few silent tears fall. "Are you okay, mommy?" Jeremy asks with big eyes filled with worry. He walks over, hugging me by his sister's side. "I'm sorry we ruined the floor. I told Julie we needed a sheet first." Jeremy says, kissing my cheek.

Juliet wraps her blood-covered hands around my neck kissing my cheek like her brother. "Did Pop not come too? I miss him." I smile holding my girl as Jeremy goes to clean the floor again. "Pop has a busy day tomorrow morning. He said he'll make it up to you." she nods and laughs again.

Jeremy takes the knife from his sister and holds it up to me smiling. "Do you want to play, mommy?" I see the joy in those eyes as she asks me. I see hope in her eyes.

"Yeah, mommy! Play with us!" Juliet jumps on the bed over Abby's body.

I grab the knife and stare down at it.

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, come on, mommy. Let's play."

I look up and see Jerome sitting at Juliet's vanity playing with a big brush for her play makeup. "Aw come on doll. Look at her. You'll make her so happy."

I turn my head to the right and see Jerimiah flipping through a children's book. "Better than intoxicating their minds with this, darling. Think of how much they'll admire you. Our little ones will look up to you as their hero. A hero they're going to be told is evil in Gotham. Raise them right."

Jerome grabs my hand and helps me grasp the handle of the knife. "For me doll. For Jeremy and Juliet. For you, (y/n). I know you miss it, doll. Go on."

I walk over to the cold dead body and look at my little boy and girl between their fathers.

"Let me show you two something Daddy showed me." Juliet runs over and hops on her bed next to her brother, standing in between Abby's legs. "What mommy?"

"If you slice a clean cut from the corners of her lips... to her cheeks..." I slice the skin feeling my hands become lighter.

"She's smiling!" Juliet giggles and jumps. "Isn't she pretty, Jeremy?" Juliet asks, hugging her brother. He giggles and nods jumping on the bed.

I see my men both smile at me. "Let's go get cleaned up and then we can call pop and tell him goodnight." She nods and skips to her bathroom.

"You're such a bad mom, (y/n)." Jerome purrs smacking my butt as I pass him. Jerimiah rolls his eyes and simply kisses my head. "They'll turn out to be magnificent, darling. Even more than they are now." I shrug smiling at them both.

"What can I say. They're Valeska Twins."

#jerome #jerome x reader #jerome valeska #jerome valeska imagine #jerome valeska x reader #jeremiah valeska imagine #jeremiah valeska x reader #jerome valeska smut #Gotham City #Gotham #gotham cast #Cameron Monaghan

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worldserasingandcreatinginmymind · 4 years

Text

Unfaithful | Part Five

Series Summary: After dreaming of your perfect wedding since you were a little girl the big day is almost here. But after meeting the priest you start to question your relationship.

Pairing: Hot Priest x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2005

Warnings: angst, lots of angst, drunk priest, bad friend

A/N: Please be warned there will be some themes of toxic/abusive relationship in this series. Also, spelling and grammar is not my strongest skill so please be kind :)

Part Four | Masterlist

- - - - -

I can’t sleep.

Half excited for my hen party, and half nervous for the talk I know I need to have with the priest.

I spend hours lying awake imagining how the conversation will go, all the possible outcomes. I must of drifted off some time in the early hours because I'm awakened at 9am by a text from Daniel:

‘You looked so peaceful when I left for work I didn’t want to disturb you. But I just realised that since I’m going straight out with the boys for my stag do later, the next time we see each other I’ll be in my suit and you’ll be in your dress walking down the aisle to me. I can’t wait. Enjoy the fundraiser and have and wonderful hen party tonight. I love you Mrs Davison xxx’

The text makes me smile, until I read the last sentence. ‘Mrs Davison’ send a panic rushing through me. This suddenly all feels very real. I’m getting married tomorrow. I take a deep breath. It’s fine. I'm fine. This is just pre-wedding nerves. Completely normal.

I take another deep breath and get out of bed.

— — — —

“Ah Y/N! You’re here” Pam greets me at the church doors and swiftly ushers me around the side of the building towards the church garden where the fundraiser has already started “We’ve got an emergency”

“What do you mean?” I reply as she leads me through crowds of people till we reach a table lined with various numbered prizes.

“Ruth was supposed to be running the raffle but she’s just called to say she can’t make it, ate something bad she thinks and now she can’t stop throwing up.”

I grimace slightly at the story but mostly I’m just wondering what any of this has to do with me…

“So if you wouldn’t mind taking over and running it for us that would be wonderful. Tickets are a pound each. Thank you!”

Before I can say anything she’s gone, rushing off to check the youth band are ready for their performance. I stand bewildered for a moment, looking around at the crowds until I spot the priest who is currently admiring cupcakes at the bakery stand and laughing about something. Suddenly he turns and locks eyes with me. His face drops, he stares at me like a deer in headlights. I give him a small smile, which he doesn’t return. My heart hurts.

“Excuse me, how much is a ticket?” Someone asks, forcing me to turn my attention away

“One pound”

“Can I get five please”

By the time I complete the transaction and look back to the bakery stand the priest is gone. I scan the crowd again, but there’s no sign of him.

An hour later I still don't know where he is. What I do know is I really need the loo. I ask the person on the stall next to me to watch the table while I head inside in search of the toilets, but when I enter the building I bump into someone.

It’s him.

“What are you doing here?” He asks

“Just trying to find the ladies room”

“I mean here, at this stupid event”

“Pam didn’t really give me a choice” I explain and he just looks irritated “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I wasn’t welcome”

“I just wasn’t expecting to see you here today”

“Well here I am” I say dryly and there’s an awkward silence. I take a deep breath before I speak again “I actually wanted to talk to you… about what happened-”

“Nothing happened. We agreed”

“But it did happen, Father, we need to talk about it”

“Oh, fuck you calling me Father like it doesn’t turn you on just to say it”

My mouth drops open, dumbfounded by his comment. I shake my head slightly as I try and think of something to say.

“I know what you’ve been doing” he continues

“Please, enlighten me because I have no idea what you're talking about!”

“Playing the sweet, innocent girl. Making me like you, fall for you. Making me think that you needed saving from the douchebag boyfriend… Was any of it real? Was anything you said actually true?”

“I never lied to you” I almost whisper as he gets really close to my face, moving my hair off my cheek to study what’s left of the burn scars.

“Did he ever really hurt you? Or did you just make that up so I’d feel sorry for you”

“Fuck you!” I say through gritted teeth as I start to walk away, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. I stop and look back at him “You’re the one who told me you loved me, remember? That was you! If you regret it, that’s fine. There’s no need to be such a dick about it”

I turn and leave again, his final words repeating through my head as I walk away.

As I walk home I can’t stop the tears from coming as I replay the conversation in my head over and over again. Why is he being like this? How can he be so loving to me one day and so nasty a few days later? What changed?

I get home and go straight to bed. I wrap myself up in the duvet and try to push everything out of my mind so I can get in a quick nap before I have to get ready for my hen party. The last thing I feel like doing right now is going out celebrating, but I know there’s no way I could cancel.

Thank God there’s going to be alcohol there.

— — — —

“Bride’s turn! Truth or Dare?”

“Truth” I say happily, finishing off my third glass of wine.

“Okay… if you could have a free pass and choose any celebrity, who would you sleep with?”

The girls start whooping and laughing, but before I can even answer Tiffany cuts in.

“She won’t answer that, she’s far too vanilla”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, slightly offended by her tone.

“Don't start Tiff” Eva rolls her eyes

“I’m not starting anything, I’m just telling the truth. She’s only ever had one boyfriend and she’s marrying him tomorrow. She lost her virginity to him and I bet you anything that they schedule the days in the week when they’ll go to bed and have boring missionary sex. Vanilla! She’s never even kissed another guy…”

Maybe it’s the alcohol in my system or the way she’s talking about me like I’m not here, but I can feel myself getting more and more irritated.

“Actually I have!” I speak up and she laughs.

“A kiss from your dad doesn’t count”

The room falls silent as everyone stops to watch my reaction. I can see from Tiffany’s face she instantly regrets her words. She knows how much I miss my dad, but it’s too late to take it back now.

“Well done Tiff” I hear Eva say as I walk away from the group. I head outside and take a deep breath of the fresh air. Looking up at the stars I find myself thinking of my parents and wishing they were here.

“I’m sorry” Tiffany’s voice makes me jump, I hadn’t realised she’d followed me outside and was now leaning against the wall next to me “that was a low blow, I shouldn’t have said that”

“It doesn’t matter” I mutter quietly

“It does! I should have thought about what I was saying… I just forgot”

“I forget too. So often I pick up my phone to call him and realise he won’t be on the other end. I would give anything for them to be here right now”

“I know, come here” she pulls me in for a hug, squeezing me tightly before leaning away to look me in the face “I’m sorry I called you vanilla”

“Maybe I am. You were right, I’ve only ever been with Daniel. Until this week he was the only man I’d ever kissed!”

“This week?” She pulls away completely and my heart drops as I realise what I’ve just said “You kissed someone? Who?”

“No I- I didn’t mean to say that”

“Its okay, you can tell me. We have been friends forever haven’t we?”

“I guess… but you can’t tell the others!”

“I won’t”

“Promise me Tiff!”

“I promise!”

I take a breath.

“I kissed the priest”

“What priest?” She replies blankly.

“THE Priest! The one who’s doing the wedding tomorrow!”

She stares at me blankly for a moment as she processes what I’ve just told her. I can almost see the cogs turning in her brain and suddenly the penny drops.

“OH MY GOD!”

“I know”

“Y/N!”

“I know!”

“Does Daniel know?”

“Of course not”

“You have to tell him!”

“Are you insane?! He’d go mad!”

“He deserves to know that his so called fiancé has been cheating on him”

“I haven’t been cheating on him, it was just one stupid drunken kiss”

“If it was ‘just a kiss’ why haven’t you told him?”

“Because-” I think about telling her the truth. That if I told him he’d get angry and most likely hurt me. But I don’t. “I just can’t”

“If you don’t, I will”

“No, Tiff please you can’t”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go there now and tell him” she says and stares at me as I silently stare back at her. When she begins to walk away I panic.

“Because he hurts me!” I finally admit, and she looks back at me confused “That’s why I’ve been too scared to tell him”

“No” she shakes her head “No he wouldn’t, he swore he’d never be like his dad”

“And he’s not. He’s not as bad as his father was, he just gets angry and sometimes he takes it out on me.” I explain but she’s still shaking her head in disbelief “a few days ago I had to go to the hospital because he burnt me” I pull the collar of my dress down to expose the burn scars on my neck “this is what’s left of him throwing boiling hot coffee in my face”

She looks from my neck to my face, sadness in her eyes as she processes everything. After a few moments she finally speaks.

“I won’t tell him”

“Thank you!” I breathe a sigh of relief

“But I also won’t be at the wedding tomorrow”

“Tiff, you're my maid of honour! My best friend! I need you”

“I can’t pretend to be happy for you, pretend that I agree with this marriage. I’m sorry”

“Tiff! Tiffany!” I call after her but she continues to walk away, hailing a passing taxi and disappearing into the night.

“Y/N? What happened? Where’s Tiff?” Eva asks, poking her head out the door and looking around.

“She’s gone” I say simply, turning to look at her “Guess I need a new maid of honour”

— — — —

The following morning goes by in a blur. The girls, minus Tiffany, stayed at my house over night while Daniel stayed at his mate’s house. I was awakened by the sounds of the girls running upstairs, screaming excitedly that “today is the day” as they jumped into my bed.

Once they’d calmed down we had all gone downstairs for a light breakfast before the girls began getting ready. Maybe it’s the constant sound of laughing and chatting, or maybe its the slight hangover from the night before but I suddenly feel the need to get out. I excuse myself and head outside to get some air, taking a seat on the front step of my house. I take a few deep breaths and allow my head to drop into my hands, my elbows propped up on my knees. A few seconds later I hear footsteps up the driveway and look up to see the priest.

“Hi” I say, unable to hide the confusion in my voice.

“can we talk?”

Final Chapter

#fleabag #fleabag fanfic #fleabag imagine #fleabag fic #Andrew scott #Andrew Scott priest #Andrew Scott x reader #hot priest #fleabag hot priest #hot priest x reader #fleabag x reader #Moriarty #hot priest fic #hot priest fanfic #hot priest imagine

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something-tofightfor · 4 years

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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