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crown-ov-horns · 2 months

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Captured Angel

Michael Langdon x F!Angel!Reader

Contains: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, elements of coercion, implied loss of virginity, blasphemy, hierophilia

“Good, you’re awake.”

A chill ran down your spine. You had awakened in an unfamiliar room. Your head ached, your wings hung limp, and your limbs were heavy. The air was soaked to the last thread in malice. It made you nauseous. Gritting your teeth, you dragged yourself up, your mind aflame with a single thought – you had to get out. You looked around, but before you could spot a way of escape, you felt a presence. Dark... Darker than the blackest night. Your heart froze in your chest, a taste of iron suddenly coating your tongue. Though you had not seen his face, you could recognize him anywhere. Seven heads. Ten horns. His honeyed voice left a cold, oily trace on your very soul as he spoke. You drew a deep breath, and spun around, to meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

His lips crooked into a smirk. Holding your gaze, he moved towards you. You drew back.

“Get away from me, filthy Beast...” you snarled.

Deep down, you loathed yourself for the instinctive reaction. You were a soldier. You had a duty to stand your ground, and instead, you cowered. He promptly crossed the gap between you two.

“Ah-ah!” he scolded, clasping your chin “That’s not very nice, now, is it?..”

You grimaced. Michael Langdon. How ironic, for Satan’s son to bear your General’s name. The one who cast him out... You hoped it hurt the Evil One greatly. Michael caressed your cheek. You winced, and pushed his hand away. Sneering, he grabbed you by the throat.

“Why am I here?” you hissed through gritted teeth.

He glanced down at your heaving chest.

“You’re my captive” he purred “Isn’t it obvious?”

You swallowed. Struggling would only worsen your chances, you knew as much. His gaze darkened with hunger as he watched you – like a wolf, salivating at a wounded deer. Your guts had coiled into a tight knot, a sickly sweet taste coating your mouth.

“Why didn’t your bootlickers kill me?” you asked, not quite certain if you wished to know the answer.

A chuckle escaped his lips. The Antichrist’s lecherous expression made your blood boil. How dare the abomination touch an angel of the Lord, you thought. A strange sensation was budding between your legs, but you pointedly ignored it, just as you ignored the feeling of unease clawing at the back of your skull.

“That would’ve been a waste...” Michael tilted his head “They thought a gift would please me. They weren’t wrong...”

You snarled, attempting to pull away.

“Get your putrid hands off me!”

He tightened his grip on your neck.

“Hush” he coaxed in a mockingly gentle voice “I’m not going to hurt you, angel.”

“Vile creature...” you spat.

He pulled you closer. You bared your teeth, as your face almost crashed into his. Though you did not need air, the pressure on your throat was beginning to make you dizzy. Every nerve in your body screamed to fight - your muscles had tensed, prepared for combat. You might have broken away. Escaped this unholy place. You should have at least tried... But, perhaps because of the mist gathering over your mind, your legs trembled underneath you. You found yourself staring at his mouth. His breath brushed against your skin, warm and silken. Your pulse leapt into a frenzy.

Michael snuck his other hand under your clothes. The captors had stripped you of your armour, and taken away your sword, leaving only your linen tunic to cover you. His fingertips caressed your thigh, slowly creeping upwards. You held your breath as you felt him part the soft folds of your skin.

You had never been fondled like this before. Carnal pleasure was forbidden for your kind. You should be disgusted, you understood as much. Still, the electric-like impulse roused by his touch paralyzed you, preventing you from breaking his arm.

He stroked your entrance. You stifled a gasp, your intimate muscles tightened in anticipation. Your hole was beginning to well with slick. Taking your lack of resistance for a welcome, he slipped two fingers inside you. The feeling of his skin against your sensitive membrane made your head spin, and you barely held back from bucking your hips into his hand.

He let go of your neck, only to wrap his arm around your waist. Keeping you steady, he spread his fingers wider, straining you until it hurt. You shuddered. He massaged the velvety walls of your flesh, driving you to the edge of madness. Aware of how much satisfaction hearing your cries would give him, you clenched your jaw. His skin grazed against a certain knot of nerves, and you nearly sunk to the ground as your legs buckled from the bolt of stimulation. Still, somehow, you did not make a sound.

It only made Michael more determined. He fixated on your sweet spot, leaving you to desperately clutch the lapels of his jacket. His mouth lingered but a thread away from yours - you felt his heartbeat echo against your rib cage. He narrowed his eyes, and pressed his thumb to your clit. Overwhelmed, you drew a sharp breath.

“Enjoying yourself, aren’t you?..” he teased “What is it, my dear? What do you want, hm?”

He pushed a third finger into your dripping slit. You whined in pleasure muddled with despair.

“Speak up, angel” he demanded.

Virtue be damned. Something tameless had infected you. Caught in the furor of sin, you eagerly cast your innocence aflame.

“I...” you stammered “I want... I need you to ravish me...”

Michael threw you onto the bed, and climbed on top of you. Laying flat on your back, your wings sprawled open, you looked up at him, your eyes sweetly half-lidded. His knee shoved between your thighs, he ripped the front of your tunic open. You sighed as cold air brushed against your nipples. He placed his hands on your breasts, savouring the softness of your bare skin. His eyes aflame with lust, he took a moment to admire your flushed, helpless body. Biting your bottom lip, you pushed your chest into his touch. He grabbed you by the throat again.

“You’re mine” he snarled “Mine alone...”

Against your better judgement, you nodded. Your gaze wandered down to his crotch, causing your mouth to immediately water. Michael’s lips crooked into a sleazy smirk. He unbuckled his pants, and slipped his underwear down. Your eyes widened as his hard cock sprung free. Large, but not obscenely so. You pulled the skirt of your tunic up, leaving your aching cunt at his mercy.

He pinned you down under his full weight. You wrapped your arms around him, savouring the feel of luxurious fabric under your fingers. Like an animal in heat, you craved to feel him inside. His eyes locked with yours, Michael clasped your leg, and positioned himself more comfortably. You blindly caught hold of his member, helping guide it into your hole.

Your heart skipped a beat – you let out a moan as your membranes clamped around him. Hardly giving you a moment to adjust, he began to move. The sudden strain roused a twinge, but it soon was obscured by shattering pleasure. No longer holding back your mewls and whimpers, you sank your nails into his back. Should the expensive suit get ruined, it will be his fault.

Michael groaned, his teeth bared in primal satisfaction. Your response only encouraged him, and he quickly picked up the pace. Each thrust sent a shattering wave of pleasure through your fevered nerves. You wrapped your legs around his waist, welcoming them. He traced the tip of his tongue over your neck. You hissed as his long hair tickled you, overwhelming your senses even more. He purred, and nipped at your jaw.

“Kiss me” you demanded.

He obeyed, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. You parted your lips for him, and allowed your tongues to battle for dominance.

“Say my name” he ordered, upon pulling away.

“I can’t...” you gasped in horror.

“Your general isn’t here...” he growled “It’s just you and me...” he pressed his face to your temple “Say my name, sweetheart. Show the Beast how much you’re enjoying your downfall.”

He pulled his cock almost all the was out, then slammed it back in, roughly grazing your sweet spot. Your cried out, and sank your fingers into his hair. You didn’t want to think about her. You loathed to imagine her disappointment in you. But his presence eclipsed her face. Drowned it in the storm of ecstasy ravaging you.

“Michael!”

“Good girl” he praised with a grin.

Shock after shock of ecstasy tore through your body, setting every cell of it aflame. Your forehead was laced in sweat. Your muscles quivered from the tension. You were close. Very close. Turned feral by the pleasure, he grabbed you by the wrists, thrusting into you with merciless force.

“Michael...” you moaned.

You couldn’t stand it anymore. You arched your back, trembling and convulsing as a scream escaped your throat. Michael threw his head back with a snarl. You had grown painfully tight around him, prompting him to reach his own release. You felt him spill inside you – it was the strangest, most pleasant sensation you had ever experienced.

You collapsed into the pillows, limp and gasping for breath. He slumped down on top of you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to soak in the glowing haze of bliss. But, just when he had crept off of you, and was about to pull you into his arms, you leapt up. Using his surprise for your advantage, you climbed onto him – this time, you were the one to pin him down. You caught his gaze, and drew a dagger from underneath your ruined tunic. Afraid to molest their master’s gift, the devil worshippers had missed it.

“You will find the men who captured me, crucify them, and bleed them like pigs” you growled, pressing the blade against his throat “Do you understand me, Antichrist?”

A drop of blood sept from under the metal, glowing against his milky skin in a warning.

“Yes” he murmured, as his eyes blazed with adoration.

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honeylikewords · 1 year

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cubs. (jack russell)

halloween brings all the little monsters out. aka, jack gets baby fever.

(warnings: mentions of pregnancy, planning for children, allusions to sex, descriptions of physical intimacy and making out, and jack smelling his wife, if that counts. nothing technically fully n/s/f//w//, but a bit saucy. word count 2.4k )

Jack’s head tilts sideways before the doorbell even rings, one ear higher than the other to catch something she can’t hear. He turns in his seat on the couch, arm strewn over her shoulder, to look behind them in the direction of the front door, tilts over, kisses her temple, and pops up in the seconds before the slightly-jarring “ding” echoes through the house. He’s already at the door, bowl in hand, beaming down at the gaggle of children and chaperones by the time she’s even stirring on the couch to come to join him.

“Oh, who do we have here?,” Jack coos excitedly, scanning the miniature crowd. “Are you the little one from--”

“Stranger Things!,” yells a small child in a pink dress, blonde wig askew, tendrils of the plastic hair stuck to their face. “I’m Eleven!”

“Yes, sí, can you do the--” --Jack sticks his hand out and makes a face, and the child eagerly matches him, giving him their best furious expression and most powerful psychokinetic pose-- “Yes! That’s so good!”

He quickly glances up at the three adults standing behind and asks if there are any allergies in the group (and there are none, thank goodness) as his wife comes to stand next to him, smiling at the Eleven who is now turning their powers onto their group of friends. Gesturing for the kids to bring their bags closer, Jack begins dropping generous fistfuls of candy into eagerly opened pillowcases and treat sacks, small hands darting out to show off the newest snacks to one another.

“Hey there, Mirabel,” says Mrs. Russell, waving at a young girl in a blue skirt and white t-shirt, sporting a giant pair of glasses and a pink flower in her dense curls. The little one is wrapped up in a purple puffer jacket on this cold October evening, and while it is a truth universally acknowledged that a big coat is the bane of Halloween costumes, the effect of her adorable smile and ‘Encanto’ printed trick-or-treat bag is more than enough to convey the essence of the character. “Is Uncle Bruno with you tonight?”

The girl shyly shakes her head and wrings the handles of her bag in her fingers but is smiling widely when Jack speaks a few quick words of admiration for her costume in Spanish and passes her a scoop of candy for her bag.

“I’m Ariel!”, adds a small child in a green tube skirt with flared tulle flippers sewn on, a purple strip of cloth tied around their tummy over a slightly off-skin-tone longsleeve tee.

“And I’m Harry Potter!” A wand is brandished at Jack, who puts a hand over his chest in shock.

“I’m Batman!” The petite hero jumps into a pose to show off the padding of his armor, his light-up shoes kicking to life and casting green flashes over the porch.

Jack turns to his wife and grins, gesturing enthusiastically at the crowd of kids. “I think these are the best costumes we’ve seen all night, no?” She nods, and the kids all let out little shrieks and giggles as Jack procures a few extra pieces from the bowl and adds them to their bags.

The chaperones guide the straggling children into a chorus of “thank you”s before shuffling them down from the porch, past the jack o’lanterns, and on to the next house, as Jack and his wife remain in the doorway. She leans her head on his shoulder and listens to him sigh sweetly, his eyes tracing over the sunset-lit streets swarming with seas of children and their families, all screaming and laughing over one another, racing past on the sidewalks, weaving in and out of lawns decorated with tombstones and inflatable specters, plastic skeletons and felted spiders.

“You know, at the rate you hand it out, we’ll be out of candy before the street lights come on,” she teases, nudging his shoulder. Jack chuckles and puts a hand on the small of her back, shrugging as he steers her back towards the couch.

“It’s Halloween, bebé; do you want us to be known as the stingy old couple, or the cool couple that gives out extra candy to the little monsters? Besides, that Mirabel, oh my God--”

“Total heart-melter,” she agrees, sitting and cuddling into Jack’s side as he hooks his arm back over her shoulders and pulls her body close. “I think between her and that four-month-old dressed as Grogu, we may have seen the two cutest costumes in all of North America today.”

Jack lets out a groan at the memory of the adorable baby, who he had greeted at the door with a delighted peal of laughter, and squeezes his wife tightly in his arms, as if hugging her in the baby’s stead. The abrupt squish pushes a small squeak out of her, and Jack giggles, bumping the blunt tip of his long nose into her cheek.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “You okay?”

His slight frame conceals a rather intense strength, something that comforts her, even if it still sneaks up on her every now and again that he is, in fact, as strong as he is; Jack’s touch is grounding and warm when so few things in the world are, and she’s glad, especially in the cold months, for the over-active heat of his body and the power of his embrace.

He traces the tips of his broad, tan fingers along the curve of her upper arm, pale nails leaving wake trails of gooseflesh and pleasant shivers. She realizes he’s waiting for a response before going any further with his affections, and she nods, cupping the square of his chin and running her thumb along his bottom lip. When his olive green eyes fix on hers, and his lips part to reveal the brightness of his smile, crooked to the left by the jut of his snaggletooth, she feels heat wash over her face and down her body, familiar and fluttering as he dips his face close and keeps her gaze.

“You know what I’m thinking?,” Jack purrs, voice dropping low and soft as he begins inching nearer. When he’s this close, his breath falls on her skin like a warm fog, sticking sweetly to her neck and cheeks, and the scent of him gets stronger.

He smells like their bed, she thinks. Cozy, fuzzy, and tinged with a modicum of not-at-all-unappealing sweat, there is also that distinct canine note that can only be detected in this kind of proximity. His arms are still wrapped around her, and one of his hands is coasting, flat-palmed, up and down the length of her side, following the curves of her ribs and belly, while the other finds itself resting on her shoulder, idly fingering an errant lock of hair. His face is so close to hers that she swears she could count each of his eyelashes, individually, and the hairs that form his growing stubble.

This Halloween, Jack has chosen to go as a vampire, which he thinks is exceedingly funny. Dark makeup rings his eyes and the grey in his hair glows almost blue in the low light of the fading day, lending him an unearthly quality that fits his costume well. The powers of the vampire, too, seem to be his: he has her under his thrall, certainly. His smile is mesmeric, and she can imagine that if a vampire were to look like him, there would be no end to the line of people willing to be bitten by that self-same smile.

“What are you thinking, Puppy?,” she asks, trying to redirect her own wandering thoughts. She scratches lightly at the underside of his chin and, on reflex, his head tilts up, eyes fluttering shut as a contented noise rumbles in the back of his throat. He’s so easy to please.

“I’m, uh--” He seems distracted by the sensation of her scratching at that Just Right spot between the back of his ear and the crook of his jaw, a distraction that only worsens when she begins scratching the hair at the nape of his neck. “I was going to say that I… I was thinking we…”

His hands lie still on her, twitching every now and then when she finds a particularly pleasing spot to scratch, and she relishes the sensation of being the one who now has her beloved under her own thrall; Jack leans his head into her touch and follows the motion of her hands, chasing her attentions. A sigh leaves his lips and he unclenches his shoulders, melting into her as she leans back against the armrest of the couch and Jack follows, laying his head on her chest.

His weight is surprisingly heavy atop her as he lays himself on her belly, slotting between her knees and positioning himself for ease of scritching. He’s not a big man, by any means, but there’s a density to him, and she’s feeling it now as he presses her into the couch with his body.

She pauses her petting briefly as she adjusts to the new position, and her hands still in his hair, which causes a growl of displeasure to part his lips. At that, she looks down at him and sees one green eye peering up at her (the other still shut and squished into her chest), and sticks her tongue out at him before continuing the strokes to his salt-and-pepper pelt.

It’s rather soothing, playing with his hair like this. There’s a therapeutic element to the combination of his body weight, intense warmth, rhythmic breathing, and the texture of his hair under her fingers, and she lets instinct carry her, as salient thought drifts away into the blissful mist of repetitive motion and familiar feelings. She traces the lines of his scalp, watching his black and grey and still, sometimes, brown hair forest up around her fingers, content to just match the tide of his breaths with her own, their ribs pressed together and expanding in synchronicity.

After a moment, Jack stirs. Turning, he cranes his face so that he can look at her squarely, and she feels the irresistible magnetism of that green gaze tugging her deeper into his spell.

“I want to try for one of our own,” he says, shattering the stillness like a foul ball through plate glass. “Tonight, if you’re ready.”

It takes her a second to blink away the haze that had settled around her head, and when she does at last manage to, she finds herself staring down into Jack’s face, taking him in with utmost fascination. If she heard him clearly, and she believes she did, he asked her--

“A baby, by the way. In case I wasn’t clear.” He flashes her a smile and a breathy laugh, and he pats her side playfully. “I’m sure you could figure that out, amorcita, but I like to be direct.”

“Oh.”

It’s all she can think to say: not because she is unhappy, or undesiring of the same things, but simply because the effect of Jack Russell, staring up at her with his big, moss-colored puppy eyes, brazenly stating that he wants to try and conceive with her, is flooring. He pushes up on his forearms, and suddenly he is above her, his face lit starkly by the shadows of the setting sun and the television, marking him out in black and white. His eyes glow, even in the darkness.

The wolf’s smile slips into his features as he stares down at her, watching her reactions with delight. He can hear her heartbeat, she knows, smells the minute shifts that not even she is aware of. He knows her, inside and out, and surely knows which way she is swayed, but he waits patiently for her to give him a sign, a command, an enthusiastic yes or a firm no. He won’t move without her urging.

She cups his face and lets out a shaky, excited breath, one that shivers in her sternum and makes Jack grin. There’s that crooked canine of his, sharply glinting in his smile, and she trembles joyfully at the sight, wondering if their child would have their father’s snaggletooth. She hopes they do.

“Tonight,” she repeats. Jack’s eyes widen.

Gently, she tugs him down and presses his pouty lips to hers, and the dam breaks. Jack lets out an inhuman groan of delight, dropping his center of gravity low to lean into the kiss, and uses his blunt incisors to pull at her bottom lip, nipping and sending the wet, lapping sounds of kissing echoing through the room. He uses one hand to hold her jaw in place, then begins trailing kisses down and around her chin, working his way to her throat.

“Look so pretty in your costume,” he rasps, voice low and clouded. “‘S hard for a man to keep his hands to himself.”

Before she can snidely remark that he, in fact, has not been keeping his hands to himself for almost the entirety of the evening, Jack sinks his teeth into her neck: not hard enough to wound her, but certainly hard enough to make her forget every other thought, her mind now focused completely on the reality that her husband is leaving marks all across her throat.

“You smell,” Jack groans, “So good. And, oh, God, when you have our cubs…”

He pushes his face into the crook of her neck and inhales, a series of Spanish and English curses flowing from his lips as they wander across her skin, and his hands begin rucking up the bottom of her blouse when--

“DING.”

Jack’s head whips up, and the two of them stare with wide eyes at one another. His face is flushed a deep umber and his lips are shiny, hair a fluffed mess, and she can only imagine she looks even more sordid and knocked askew. They exchange a communicative glance before the doorbell rings a second time and Jack, ever the gentleman, kisses her forehead, rapidly apologizing.

“We’ll get back to this, querida, I promise, I swear, I want to--”

She waves him off with a smile, and sees him bolt for the door, candy bowl in hand. He throws it open with gusto, and as she watches, she sees the transformation come over him; the brightness in his eyes, the giddiness of his smile, the sincerity of his sweetness. He’s going to make a magnificent father. And she’s going to have a very, very happy Halloween.

#werewolf by night #jack russell #jack russell x reader #wwbn #wbn #marvel #(i also see people spell his name as:)#jack russel #jack russel x reader #i cant believe it a FIC and it's a slightly RISQUE one! (this is not permission for people to send me n...s....f.......w by the way)#i just am like. in a weird state and i thought married!jack and his spouse getting to do fun halloween kissing and having baby fever would #be cute and nice ghdkhgkalhgdkhg #original #it's a little short for me (i usually like to go about 5k or more?) but this is just a Test Run #if you guys want more jack lmk and i'll hopefully be doing other jack stuff for myself so :3 anyway its 3 am now gnight

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onwhatcaptain · 3 months

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Back again with another snippet from my fic. This is from chapter 10, and the conclusion of part 1.

For the first time in the longest time, Spock cries. He weeps as he did when he was just a child. He sobs because he is in pain, and because his heart hurts. No other reason. He is under the influence of nothing but a deep welling pit of grief, and he cannot summon the mortification and self-censure it takes to stop. When he wipes the tears from his eyes, more drip down his cheeks.

If you are curious, my fic "I Shall Do Neither" is here at AO3. Details below as always, and big thank you to everyone who has read along so far.

I Shall Do Neither (59729 words) by onwhatcaptain Chapters: 11/22 Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Leonard "Bones" McCoy Additional Tags: Romance, Angst, Heavy Angst, Loss of Control, Psychological Trauma, Mutual Pining, Five Year Mission (Star Trek), Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Post-Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Pon Farr, Pon Farr Aftermath (Star Trek), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Friendship, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Unreliable Narrator, Vulcan Biology, Tarsus IV (Star Trek), Vulcan Mind Melds, Non-Linear Narrative, Storytelling Through Vignettes, Missing Scenes Between Episodes, Plot, Cover Art, Canon Divergence, Digital Art, Illustrations, In spite of the description Kirk features heavily in this novel Summary: In the wake of the kal-if-fee on Vulcan, Kirk is dead. When T’Pau tells Spock to live long and prosper, he knows he shall do neither. This is a story about men who love each other, and the lengths they will go to for one another. - Foolish, he thinks. I have been a fool. How he had wanted so desperately to prove his Vulcan side. How all his life it had felt like a performance, and yet, to be finally subject to the most Vulcan thing of all destroyed him. The stripping of logic. All sense torn from him. His carefully constructed barriers had collapsed like a flimsy house of cards. To be granted his wish this way was a type of mockery. How he had wanted to be fully Vulcan. To prove that the blood which runs through his veins was not so human. How wanting had been better than having. - This story is told in two parts across 21 chapters, and will be updated on Sundays.

#very short snippet because there's a lot going on #and this chapter will possibly break you if you choose to read this.#but the story ain't over til it's over #star trek #star trek the original series #star trek tos #spirk #k/s #space husbands #kirk x spock #spirk fic rec #captain kirk #spock

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hockeynoses · 6 months

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Hot Tub Snzs (R/oy x Ja/mie)

Summary: Jamie suggests Roy get into the hot tub to clear his sinuses. Roy's hands are wet and Jamie ends up holding the tissues for him.

Notes: <900 words. Some mess. Not really any other warnings. Pure fluff. This came to me in a half-dream yesterday morning when I was trying to fall back asleep, and I had to write it. I'm not usually a Roy girlie, so I surprised myself.

Roy and Jamie drive up to their vacation home for a long weekend. They bought it a while back when they realized this thing between them was real, and they were both in it for the long haul. The property has a couple acres of land, and it’s surrounded by trees; one of the few places where they don’t have to worry about being hounded by paparazzi.

The house has an upscale cottage vibe, with a large hot tub on the back deck. It’s a crisp autumn afternoon, and the forest around them is lit up with vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds.

Roy’s on the tail-end of a cold that's been annoying him for the past week and a half. At this point, he’s feeling better, but his body is still trying to eject all of the gunk that has built up in his head. He’s so fucking congested and wishes he could speed up the process.

Jamie, who has grown tired of his constant complaining, suggests he go in the hot tub because, “Maybe the steam will help.”

Roy almost puts up a fight just for the hell of it, but they’re on vacation, and Jamie has his best interests at heart. Roy does love a good soak.

“Go on,” Jamie says. “I’ll join you in a bit.”

Roy grumbles, but does as he’s told. The heat feels amazing on his muscles, and the view can’t be beat. He relaxes into the water, steam coiling up into the air, bringing with it the burning smell of chlorine. The effect is two-fold: the steam loosens his congestion as the stinging itch of the chlorine sets off pinpricks of sensation in his inflamed sinuses. “Hah…HA’AAIISSHHH! Hih’EEHHHSSHH’IUE!” He doesn’t bother to cover them, openly sneezing down onto the surface of the water.

Catching his breath only works the steam deeper into his airways, and he gears up for another clearing, “huh’GGKSSHH’AH!” He tries to snort up the mess that has run out onto his cupid’s bow, and has no choice but to swipe at it with his wet hand before returning it to the water. The powerful sneezes have worked to clear some of his congestion, but he needs to blow his nose to really finish the job.

“Christ, I can hear your Grandad sneezes from inside the house,” Jamie says as he opens the back door. He’s in his speedo with a box of tissues under his arm.

Roy gives a pointed, productive sniff. “Should be used to it by now.”

“Just sayin’. You’re gonna scare the wildlife, goin’ on like that.”

Roy just grunts in response, lifting his wet hand to rub at the tip of his itchy nose.

Jamie steps into the hot tub, making sure to keep his hands dry. He sets the tissue box on the ledge next to them.

Roy’s eyes flutter shut and he turns to the side, half-heartedly holding up a hand to his face that does absolutely nothing to cover the wrenching sneeze that bursts from him. “haa…HA’AAEISHH’OO! Ugh.” When he turns back to Jamie, there are twin streams of clear mess coating his upper lip.

“Disgustin’!” Jamie teases. Roy knows he’s only joking. Having grown up as professional footballers, they’ve both seen men do far more disgusting things on the regular to be offended by a little snot.

“Give me a fuckin’ tissue then!” Roy gripes.

“Nah, your hands are all wet, mate. Come here, I’ll do it.”

Roy looks at him hesitantly as Jamie readies a couple tissues.

“Really?”

“Yeah, come on then.” Jamies gestures him forward. Roy rolls his eyes and leans closer.

His nose, chilly from the crisp fall air, is enveloped in the soft heat of Jamie’s cotton-covered hand. He starts blowing, only slightly embarrassed to hear the heavy crackle of it as it fills the tissue. It must be soaking through to Jamie’s skin, but the other man says nothing about it.

“Better?” Jamie asks. Roy pulls back and gives a tentative sniff, relieved that he’s finally able to get some air through.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Good!” Jamie graces him with a beaming smile. Roy resolves to do something special for him after he’s put up with his grouchy ass this whole week.

Even after all that, the pesky itch deep in his nose refuses to leave him. Roy blinks and scrunches his nose up, rubbing it in circles against the back of his wet hand. Jamie watches him and grabs some fresh tissues.

“You done?” Jamie asks, amusement twinkling in his eye.

“N-no…” Roy’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a quick breath, his head rearing back. His eyes close and he snaps forward “iihh…HNG’KSSHHHuh!” – into a waiting bundle of soft kleenex.

Blinking his eyes open, he meets Jamie’s surprised gaze. Jamie nods at him and Roy buries his face deeper into his hand, releasing a long, thick blow until the soggy tissues can’t hold any more.

He pulls back with a groan as Jamie gets after any residual mess still clinging to him.

“Thanks,” Roy says, relaxing back against the tub. “I think that was all of them.”

“Got you covered, Coach,” Jamie says with a wink. He brushes a kiss against Roy’s cheek before settling in next to him, happy to while away the rest of the evening by his side.

#snzblr #snz fic #snzfic #snz fics #snzfics #I've been on a goddamn roll lately #not saying these are super high quality but having a lot of practice can't hurt right?#me living out my re@l estate fantasies through these two rich fuckers #this was originally going to be in the format of a short prompt kind of thing but then I wrote one line of dialog & it spun out from there #jam/ie ta/rtt #hn tissue tag

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lavellenchanted · 8 months

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Hiding/hoping not to be caught kiss + an otp of your choice?

It is surprisingly easy to slip inside the Moon Palace unnoticed.

Endymion had been prepared to spend a good portion of the night - if you can still call it night, here where the sky is always dark and full of stars and there is no real day to compare it to - carefully working his way inside, past the guards on patrol. Instead luck, or maybe fate, seems to be on his side, because while he’s hiding behind one of the pillars outside the gates, trying to discern any patterns in the guards’ patrol routes, another delegation arrives for the ball.

They’re from one of the outer planets, he thinks, but crucially all the attendants are wearing a silver and white ensemble that’s not too different from the disguise Endymion is wearing. As they sweep past him, it’s not hard to step out a couple of paces behind as if he is one of them. The lunar guards barely spare him a glance, just one attendant among many.

He peels away again once they’re inside the palace, before one of the actual attendants realises there’s a sudden addition to their group that they don’t recognise - but by that point they’re at the doors to the ballroom and there is an entire crowd into which he can disappear.

There are representatives here from every planet (well, every planet except Earth, apart from him, and he’s not supposed to be there), and some Endymion thinks might be from outside the galaxy. Their clothes glitter jewel-bright as they move and dance around the floor, the steady thrum of laughter and voice filling the air. Music underscores it all, light and quick and energetic.

Another time, Endymion would have stopped to memorise each face and try to place them against names, information to be taken out and poured over later to try and work out where the alliances and friendships, rivalries and enmities lay. At balls like this there always dances happening beneath the surface, of currying favour or trading barbs and seeking power. They may be beings from other worlds but Endymion has found over the years that politics doesn’t really change that much from planet to planet – even if the Silver Millennium does manage to keep any conflict from truly boiling over.

He’s not here for politics, though. He’s here for one reason and one reason only.

He keeps to the edge of the room, which is circular in layout and conveniently designed with pillars stretching from floor to ceiling between each gold-framed window that he can easily stay behind, unseen. There are only a handful of people here that would recognise him if they saw him, but if any of them did it would not go well.

Finally, when he’s about halfway around the room there’s a break in the crowd and there, suddenly, he can see her.

Princess Serenity stands nearly in the centre of the room, of course, as is only to be expected of the guest of honour. Instead of her usual white dress, today she’s wearing pink, a pale blush that brings out the colour in her cheeks. It sits off her shoulders, with a ribbon at the waistline where the skirt falls in ruffled layers. There are matching pink roses in her hair, which remains pulled into her signature, shimmering golden buns, so that even with a lace mask over her face there is no mistaking who she is. As Endymion watches, she smiles brightly at the diplomat she’s talking to - someone from the Mercury delegation, if he remembers rightly - and holds up a hand to cover a laugh.

Endymion’s breath catches in his throat, just as it does every time he sees her. He has wondered, often, if there will ever be a day that it doesn’t, and he’s beginning to believe there never will be.

He glances around, but doesn’t see any of her four Senshi nearby (though he has no doubt that they will be). When they don’t appear in another moment, he adjusts his mask and starts weaving between guests and across the floor.

Anyone immediately coming up to greet the princess will be calling attention to themselves, which is precisely what Endymion does not want to do, so he doesn’t head straight to Serenity. Instead he circles around and just brushes past the woman she’s talking to, so that he can casually glance over her shoulder and for the briefest second catch Serenity’s gaze before he disappears back into the crowd.

When her blue eyes widen, he knows he’s succeeded and it’s all he can do not to grin uncontrollably as he winds his way back to the edge of the room and then out the open double doors that lead into the gardens.

An alcove set into the wall made a good place to wait. The minutes seemed to stretch on and on but, sure enough, there finally came the sound of footsteps on the marble floor and then Serenity’s voice calling, “Endymion? Where are you?”

“I’m right here.”

Leaning out, he caught her hand in his and tugged her back into the alcove with him. She let out a squeak of surprise, but as his arm came up around her to steady her and pull her close against him her face broke into a wide smile.

“You really came,” she said wonderingly, reaching up to pull the mask from his face and then discard her own.

“Of course I did.” Endymion brings a hand up and curls one long strand of her hair around his finger. Despite the fact that this is technically the most dangerous thing he’s done all night, he feels nothing but calm and knows it’s because of her presence; the warmth of her in his arms, so close he can feel her heart beating as fast as his own, the beauty of her smile, the brilliant blue of her eyes that he could so easily get lost in. “You didn’t think I’d miss your birthday?”

Her cheeks flush, and it’s easily the most endearing sight he’s even seen. “I hoped not. It was why I asked for a masquerade. But I wasn’t sure if you would be able to . . .”

He chuckles, admiring her cleverness. For days he had been agonising over how he might manage to see her today, until he had caught word of the masquerade ball.

“Nothing would have kept me away.”

“Oh?” Serenity tilts her head to the side and raises an eyebrow at him. “Not even your knights?”

There are very few people that Endymion can say he feels close to, and even fewer that have the confidence to tease him. It is part of being a prince - he is responsible for his people and must one day lead them, and he had always been taught that to do that he must hold himself apart from them, mindful of his status and power. He cannot make friends like an ordinary man, and since childhood he has had a reputation for being staid, aloof and unapproachable, with walls around him that few can get past.

Since the day he met Serenity, she has had no qualms about barrelling straight through those walls and jumping over any distance he might seek to keep between them. And he adores her for it, more than he has the words to say. With her, he’s not the Prince of Earth but just Endymion; fully, completely himself, in a way he has never been before.

“I’m here, am I not?” he replies, with a brief, flashing grin.

“And how did you get past them?”

“I told them I wanted to spend some time by myself in Elysium, to connect with the planet.”

By now he’s sure they will have discovered his ruse and know where he’s gone. Fortunately they are sensible enough that they won’t barge into Silver Millennium to drag him home, but Endymion has no doubt that they will be waiting for his return. Kunzite in particular will be furious, and Endymion suspects that their sparring sessions will be even more gruelling for a while.

It’s worth it though, to be here.

“How very sneaky,” Serenity says, but delightedly, making it a compliment. “Perhaps I can play a similar trick to visit you soon.”

He should tell her not to, that it’s too dangerous, but that’s an argument he’s been having and losing with himself since he first found her on Earth.

Instead he just says, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.”

Her words are so soft they’re almost a sigh, and as she speaks she lifts herself up on to her tiptoes and brings her face up to his until their lips are only a hairsbreadth apart. Endymion smiles, leaning down to close that last space and brush his mouth over hers. Trailing his hands up her arms and shoulders, he kisses her long and slow, softly, almost reverently - because she deserves reverence, this perfect, precious girl who shines brighter than any star, who holds his heart and who has, to his eternal joy, chosen to give him hers in return.

Time seems to stand still, the world around them fading until there is nothing but her and him, the sound of their breathing, short and shallow, and the feel of her hands clutching his shoulders and her mouth moving beneath his. Then Serenity makes a quiet noise of frustration and tugs at him, pulling him closer, and nipping at his bottom lip with her teeth, telling him quite plainly: she wants more.

Obediently he wraps his arms around her, pushing her back against the wall of the alcove until their bodies are flush against one another and her head tilts back so that he can deepen the kiss. He sweeps his tongue over hers, tasting the champagne she’s been drinking. Her perfume fills his senses, making his head swim, and the way her arms have moved up to wind around his neck, her fingers running through his hair, sends electricity crackling through his veins.

It is a miracle, consumed by her as he is, that he hears the footsteps at all. But some rational thought lingers at the back of his mind and he realises abruptly that the clacking sound he can hear isn’t either of them but someone else.

He lifts his head, breaking the kiss; Serenity starts to protest but he lifts a finger to her lips and slowly her dazed, passion-filled eyes clear and alarm starts to creep over her face as she understands. They withdraw as far into the alcove as they can and hold themselves as still as possible, barely daring to breathe.

“Do you want to take a turn outside?” a voice asks, and is answered by a hum and chuckle and then,

“No, not right now. Let’s go back to the dance floor.”

The footsteps fade into the distance, but it’s only when they can no longer be distinguished from the general background hum of noise from inside that Endymion and Serenity relax, letting out a joint sigh of relief.

They turn to look at one another, only to find themselves so close that their noses brush. Serenity giggles, but only for a moment before her smile dims.

“Do you think there will ever be a day when we don’t have to hide like this? When we can just be together?”

“I don’t know.” Truthfully Endymion doesn’t see how it’s possible, unless they run away somewhere to the farthest edges of the galaxy and even then perhaps not. He wishes, not for the first time, that they had been born simple, ordinary people, who could spend their days hand-in-hand in the sunshine, able to love each other freely and without fear. “But I do know that I will cherish whatever moments with you I am given. That if I were given the choice, I would always choose to love you.”

Serenity lays a hand against his cheek, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone. “So would I.”

Endymion smiles, and leans down to tenderly kiss her again. “How long do we have?”

“Not long,” she says, regretfully. “I told Venus I wanted some air, but I can’t disappear too long or someone will notice and come looking for me.”

“Well, then.” He presses several feather-light kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her nose, until she’s laughing breathlessly. “We’d better make the most of it, hadn’t we?”

Stepping back, he bows and stretches a hand out towards her.

“May I have this dance, Princess?”

She’s luminous as she replies, “Yes, my prince. You may.”

kiss prompts

#thank you anon!!#I felt like doing something a bit different so I hope you enjoy the original otp #(I was going to make these prompts short replies)#(but when have I ever managed that hahahahaha)#sailor moon #usamamo #usagi tsukino #mamoru chiba #prince endymion #princess serenity #serenity x endymion #otp: even if we're reborn again and again #my fic

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oblivious-troll · 1 year

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@thelordasia had the cute idea of Salim fixing a child's sand castle that got washed away by the tide ♥️

(Sorry the last panel is done lazily, my tablet crashed and I refuse to redo all that work 😵‍💫)

#my art #salim othman #house of ashes #dark pictures house of ashes #hoa #fanart #mer!salim #merman salim #merman au #mermay #mermaid au #merman #request finished! I'm going to work on others tomorrow but I'm still open to more mer!Salim requests :)#I put way more effort into this than I originally planned 😅#these were meant to be sketches #I was about to write a short fic for this but my eyes have been killing me lately while reading so if anyone else wants to you can 😂#tag talk over lmao #mermay 2023

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possamble · 25 days

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seeing art of falin with her little guy makes me so crazy like how am i supposed to get back to work now. he's just a little thing that also IS her and he loves her soo much when she's never been able to love herself and

#overcome with emotion #dungeon meshi manga spoilers #incredibly funny that i didn't get 1k into my 'short farcille fic' before immediately starting to get emotional over the little dragon #originally i was trying to come up with an excuse for marcille to go into falin's mental/dreamspace #just so she could physically see how much the dragon trusts and cares for falin #just chillin on her shoulder and being curious about everything she does #but alas. its tastier and a better story if i leave it ambiguous whether the dragon is a separate entity inside her or not #possramble

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non-un-topo · 2 months

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Devastated that I can't get all snuggly in bed and read the fic I want to read because I have not written it yet

#ouuughhhhhhhhh #this is THE most complex plot i've ever written esp for a fic so bear w me #and it needs to get even more complex. it's not going to be short #i could just turn it into an original book lol #but then i'd have to make four immortal ocs for the story to work #i have the prologue and a few pages of the first chapter written. yippee.

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its-ashehausen · 5 months

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Well my first chapter for my Reed900 fic is nearly finished, just have to finish a few more paragraphs and I'm all set. (Which is the first thing I've written in months due to losing interest and struggling with depression)

Then I can finish another chapter for my Ulquihime fanfic when I have the time

With Hookhausen back I might try to start that One-Shot I wanted to do, fingers crossed. If not I'll make a short fluffy piece in my spare time.

Things are gradually looking up for me and my excitement to write again. I've missed writing for the last two pairings, and I'm excited to write for my recent ship; Reed900 who literally had no interaction whatsoever but I'm on board with them, I see the potential😁 plus I'll be writing some background Simarkus and Northara🖤🖤

#rambles #happy to get back into fanfic writing #I've been nonstop reading reed900 fics and I finally caved in and starting a fic of them #I have a good idea of what the plot is going to be about and what their dynamic will be like #but i don't have anything planned for simarkus and northara yet #as for Ulquihime Chapter 3 is under the go it should be a short chapter given that this one is about him meeting Kisuke #so that one should be out in a week or so #now the evilhausen/hook one-shot might take me some time #because originally it just seemed things were awkward but now we have Hookhausen in the same ring again which gives me hope #I'm just so happy to see them together again and it gives me inspiration to write #I'm not sure when I'll start writing for it especially since writing for Evil hausen will be a bit challenging but it'll definitely be fun #we'll just see where things will take us #hookhausen #ulquihime #reed900 #simarkus #northara

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essektheylyss · 1 year

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I am writing a thousand words of this wip a day and ONLY a thousand words of this wip a day, dammit. This year I will enforce some goddamn moderation if it kills me (and frankly, it might).

#love I say this as if I am enforcing moderation in any other aspect of my life or even with writing otherwise.#I also need to go read fifty pages before bed so I can keep chipping away at my absurd book goal #I am a VERY REASONABLE PERSON WITH ATTAINABLE GOALS (lie)#but anyway uwu I'm making this work and also doing insane things while I'm at it #gotta finish this book gotta write another book gotta write some short stories gotta write a novella #WANNA WRITE SOME FIC ALSO BUT WITH WHAT TIME #I will actually feel a lot better once I have more of a backlog of original stuff built up again.#like I have a SHIT TON but it's all mostly shit? like it's old lmao #and a lot of it I am not interested in anymore for genre reasons (namely I am just not really planning to go back to writing YA)#like unless it was for something commissioned. that's a different subject.#I can WRITE that but that's not really what I'm working on anymore.#ANYWAY toddling off to go do some reading about the deep sea. cool cool cool cool

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01tsubomi · 22 days

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mfw i spent yeeeeears in college aaaaaagonizing about how to turn a short fanfic of mine into a full-length original work and was working on it with my professor and through all the editing became really embarrassed of the original fanfic version thinking it was immature and shallow but could also never make the rewrite work so i moved onto other projects and then today after a very long time reread both of them only to find that the original fic is concise and heartfelt with clunky execution but solid and gripping emotional beats and the novelization is overwritten self-obsessed garbo

#i think i posted about it here a decent amount too #i was surprised at how much i liked the fic but honestly shocked at how bad the rewrite was #like not to dog on myself too much #but i wrote the fic originally for a class on short stories #(which is why i wanted to rewrite it in the first place - if i was already disguising it as original work might as well go all the way)#(see how far we can make this premise go)#so the original is super super to the point and like yeah clearly written by an 18 year old and dramatic but also very tastefully paced #like i was genuinely surprised at how effective i thought a lot of it was #i don't tend to toot my own horn about my writing especially not my old writing i was genuinely chuffed #then i had the dangerous thought of 'maybe i could give the rewrite idea another go this time more in the spirit of the original'#'keep it short and punchy and focused on the characters and their dynamic while updating it w my skills now and use it for grad school apps #but then i thought no...that was the vision i had when i was 18 #this is sort of a pun bc it's a story about ghosts but i should just let it lie and move on #personal #i was genuinely so put off by the writing of the rewrite that i was like wtf wait...i like...submitted this to lit mags on campus didn't i #did some digging found that it was the opening scene - which was THE most overwritten wanky part of it in my current self's eyes -#that i submitted to (and got published in) the lit mag i worked on in my little college community #girl nooooooooo i mean i guess the other girlies liked it enough to put it in #but it's odd i guess how time changes your perception/value judgments

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valyrfia · 9 months

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my fic has completely run away from me, there's a vague Lando/Daniel subplot in there that I never intended, I have no idea how it even got there.

#this is hell i'm in hell #this was originally going to be a short 3k lestappen soulmates fic it's now 5k and i think i'm at like....near the midpoint?#i've written the last couple of scenes so i know where i want to end up but there's so much WORK to do until then #I DON'T EVEN FW DANDO THAT MUCH #THEY JUST ENDED UP IN THERE

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laatmaar · 10 months

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S/N: RG-300-459-76-44

Okay so this is the first time I have ever written fanfiction for anything, or even just written any story this long, but fallen hero has quite the death grip on my brain. So truly any advice and such is appreciated. Anyway I'm absolutely fascinated by whatever the regenes and the farm has going on, and this is a little piece exploring sidestep's, or rather Matt's, first mission on the farm. I say little but it has a word count of 3K, be warned. Also be warned that this piece contains somebody being murdered, but nothing too extreme or unusual for fallen hero I think.

You stand before a door. This specific door is quite unassuming, it is brown and the dark patterns of shaky vertical lines interrupted with little ovals signal that it is made of wood. Which makes it quite unlike most doors you are acquainted with, but it is normal here. The door looks exactly like the doors you’ve seen in picture books. Presumably, to hide anything out of the ordinary, anything horrible, insidious, dangerous, behind a passibly normal exterior. In short, Mr. Brown made it look like all the other doors in this hallway. You like this door.

If all went well Mr. Brown will now be lying dead on the ground behind this door, and the only thing you will have to do is help unit 44 with disposal of the body. It has been a long day and your body feels heavy, there is a strange empty feeling in your stomach. You do not know what you expected of your first mission, but certainly not feeling so… tired. You place your hand on the doorknob. You turn the doorknob. You open the door.

"Oh, thank God!”

Mr. Brown moves toward you more quickly than you were prepared for. He only stops in his tracks when, presumably, the gun that is quite obviously pointed at his head catches his eye again. Mr. Brown is, evidently, not dead. You close your eyes, breathe out. You open your eyes. Unit 44, who you were quite sure should have killed Mr. Brown some five minutes ago according to the mission parameters you memorized over and over and over and over again, moves towards the door. It makes sure its gun never wavers from its target's head and shuts the door behind you. You hear the click of the door being locked.

“Look I don’t care what goddamn government agency thought it worth to send a goddamn fucking regene to assassinate me or whatever but-” Mr. Brown grabs your arm, in his thoughts you find only relief, and pulls you towards him “-surely you’re not programmed to kill innocent civilians.” At this he shakes your arm, which you’ve come to understand is actually quite a rude thing to do.

Unit 44’s face is impassive although the corner of its blue lip might’ve moved upward just a tiny bit. Its gun however has not moved at all. It looks you dead in the eye.

In your ear Mr. Brown whispers “Play along with me and we might both get out of this alive.” He leans even closer and unit 44 does not shoot him in the head. It should. “Trust me on this miss,” still whispering “that thing is not human… blue skin and all that.” Places his hand on your shoulder, his mind churning with possible escape routes, “It’s a fucking ai but it will not kill us if they think it will cause a scandal… I’m sure.” His thoughts imply otherwise. “Just tell it your parents are nearby or something, I mean what are you sixteen.. seventeen? Your parents must be nearby.”

You open your mouth to ask why unit 44 has not followed standard procedure, do missions normally deviate this much from the norm? You’re not sure you like the idea of that. Why is it that it has not shot Mr. Brown already, even though it had ample opportunity. His fingers are digging into your shoulder in a way that is really becoming uncomfortable and the desperation and fear in his mind make it difficult to think. You are tired. You remember that you should report to your handlers in about 10 minutes and how does unit 44 think it will ever complete the mission in time. You already relayed all information you gathered from Mr. Brown’s houseguests during the party to your handlers. You’ve already done your part, why is it refusing to just do its part. Why do you have to be part of this. However unit 44 says, “Close your mouth.” and you obey.

Unit 44 is after all the senior unit out of the two of you, and the most senior unit on a mission is in charge in the unlikely event that your handlers cannot be reached. You paid attention during the briefing. Your handlers cannot be reached because Mr. Brown went to great lengths to design this room. Sound-proof, signal-proof , everything-proof. A perfect room designed for complete privacy, something Mr. Brown is often in great need of. You have recently learned what the concept of ironic means and you think that it applies now. That this room should be his downfall, or at least was supposed to be if all went according to plan. If unit 44 had paid attention. It had not. You had seen its eyes wander.

“Killing an innocent human being is sure to cause a scandal!” Mr. Brown’s voice is pitched a bit higher than before, his fingers beginning to dig in painfully. That is going to leave a mark.

Now you’re sure, unit 44’s lips turn upwards. You do not know what it finds particularly funny, or where it even learned to smile. Smirk? Its gun aimed around two inches to the left of your face. At Mr. Brown’s mouth. Which is still moving.

“I know her,” he lies, “if she disappears” shaking you, again “her parents will be sure to raise hell! They’re important. Influential.” Those last words he emphasizes. You’ve learned that people will do this if they mean more than what they are actually saying. You however do not see the relevance or deeper meaning of your imaginary parents being important. His thoughts suggest that not even Mr. Brown is entirely sure what he means. He just needs to stay alive, from one second to the next. He knows he won’t be able to overpower the regene planted in front of the door, but.. he’s not dead yet. It is a miracle that he is not dead yet. You agree. He is sure that you might be the reason why. He can use that. Talk his way out. He has talked his way out of failure and into success his entire life.

Mr. Brown talks and talks and there are still nine minutes remaining. His grip turning painful, and you just wish your pain gate would activate for more mundane matters than life threatening injuries. You need to finish this. Quickly.

You look at unit 44. Its lean body clad in a skin-tight suit and armour, its stance almost relaxed. Not quite, but almost. The heaviest armour is centered around its chest area, all its appendages left unobstructed. Under the armour the skinsuit peeks out, the black fabric making for a nice contrast against the blue skin of its neck. There continuing from the neck and covering its entire face are those patterns you are so familiar with, this time in a lighter blue instead of orange. All traces of what might’ve been a smile gone from its lips. Its eyes are still looking at you, expression once again completely neutral. It nods and lowers its gun just a bit.

“Restrain him,” it orders “on the floor, preferably.”

You do not stop to question why unit 44 wants Mr. Brown restrained and not dead. Why it won’t just finish this job. Neatly. According to mission protocol. With a bullet, preferably. You do not question it because some irrational part of you is glad that it has lowered the gun. It might have decided to shift it about two inches to the right. Unit 44, you have suspected for some time, is unpredictable. At least the smile has not returned, that you can admit unnerved you.

Most of all you do not question it because you are glad to move. To take that hand from your shoulder and in one swift movement twist it around his back, kick his legs, push him into the ground, put your knee on his back, the other next to his hip, your free hand on his neck holding him down. This is a move you have practiced a hundred times. It is even easier than expected, normally your partners put up much more of a fight.

Mr. Brown lets out a yelp of surprise and pain. His mind is a potent mix of confusion, betrayal and fear. Mostly fear, there is something very wrong with the picture being painted. He has misinterpreted the situation, badly. But… since when did they put regenes in charge of people.

He makes an attempt at opening his mouth to ask, but you press his face into the ground and that gets the message through. He closes his mouth. On his neck your fingertips press down and the skin turns red. Your own shoulder aches and you squeeze, just a bit.

Unit 44 has moved next to you. Its eyes finally leave you and shift a bit to the right, so that it’s not looking down at you but Mr. Brown instead. Gun pointed to the side. It looks like it's contemplating something but its mental defenses are better than Mr. Brown’s and you are still so tired. Then in a move that should not surprise you as much as it does, it kneels next to you. Nothing should surprise you when it comes to unit 44. Still you cannot help the question forming on your lips when it replaces your hand on Mr. Brown’s neck and hands you the gun. “Well,” it says, and nobody should have taught it to smile. It’s misusing the ability entirely, nothing about this situation is funny. “time is running out. Shoot him.”

You feel your shoulders tense and your right shoulder ache. The gun feels slippery in your hands. The temperature in the room has not risen even a degree since you’ve entered it and yet your hands are sweating. An uncomfortable heat spreading through your body as you look at unit 44, that stupid smile still on its face. Its expression still so calm. Your jaw aches with the effort it takes you to not open your mouth and say something. Anything. Scream. You don’t know.

Eight minutes remaining, and approximately a second has passed since unit 44 gave you the order. Mr. Brown’s thoughts are quickly turning from incomprehension to panic. He struggles under your knee and unit 44’s strong hands. Hurting himself. His panic full blown now, and maybe his thoughts are the reason you can’t seem to think straight on this matter. The fact that your hand is trembling without your input. Mr. Brown should have been dead for ten minutes already. His breathing ragged, and he might be crying. “Goddammit you’re human you don’t have to listen to it!” he screams. You shoot.

There is something unpleasant about the way blood drops roll down your face. You’ve experienced many new situations and sensations today. You don’t want to experience anything else ever again. You want to go home. You never want to leave this room.

For the last minute or so unit 44 has been opening different cabinets and drawers in search of something, you don’t particularly care what for. You have been sitting next to a corpse. His eyes still open, staring at you. You stare back, and in the corner of your eyes you see unit 44 approaching. It hands you a packet of wet wipes and makes a gesture at your face. You obediently wipe your face, your makeup coming off. The lipstick has mixed with blood and turned a bright red, it was supposed to be a neutral colour. Presentable, but not attracting attention. While the other units were putting on armour they had dressed you in a nice off colour white dress, now ruined. They had shaved your face and applied all sorts of cosmetics. You don’t know exactly what. They had made what, you gathered from the laughter, were supposed to be jokes. Something about if only they had prettier models and the money they could make. They had sent you off to a party, and you had completed your task. As unit 44 should have completed its.

It is fiddling with the closure of your dress. At your questioning look it shows you some kind of gel. “For your shoulder,” it clarifies. It has gotten the button open and pulls the zipper down. There in contrast to the bruised skin on your shoulder the orange tattoos appear completely unblemished. Nothing ever damages that familiar pattern. You quickly reach out and close Mr. Brown’s eyes. Unit 44 looks at you for a moment, and you feel your face heat up. It has no right to judge you, but it merely smiles. Blue patterns moving.

It puts some of that translucent gel on your shoulder and, far more gently than you think is medically necessary, begins spreading it out. Looking back you should’ve known something like this would happen. You should’ve known because unit 44 had not been paying attention to the briefing. Because it had looked distracted when putting on armour. Because two days before the mission it had not been as efficient as it could’ve been at training. It had hesitated and you had not let it out of your sight since. You should have known because small disobediences lead to bigger disobediences later on. You lean back, just a bit, into her cool fingers. Its cool fingers. Its blue fingers. The same colour your bruise is beginning to take on, and that was not your thought. You feel sick to the stomach, and you are so tired and you never wanted to have anything to do with this in the first place. You did your job, and so you stand up.

You begin trying to zip up your dress, and you must look like an idiot when you can’t reach the zipper. You take Mr. Brown’s jacket from the desk chair and put that over your shoulders instead. A small burst of panic shoots through you. There are only two minutes remaining.

Your first mission is a complete failure, two minutes isn’t enough time. The blood pools beneath Mr. Brown’s head seeping into the wooden flooring. It is splattered on the walls, and on your dress. On your hands. You do not have enough time to clean it all.

Unit 44 makes no attempt to move from where it’s still seated on the floor. It looks relaxed in the way it’s leaning back on its hands looking at you, observing you. It looks resigned, like it does not care about any of this. Does not care about the consequences of not following mission protocols. Does not care about Mr. Brown lying dead on the floor eleven minutes too late. Does not care about you. You suppose its actions have proven that it doesn’t.

Under your gaze unit 44 finally stands up.

“We have one minute,” it states. “Now tell me exactly, what did it feel like?”

For the first time in quite a while you open your mouth and speak.

It is only in Dr. Morgan’s office in preparation for your second mission that you dare to subtly ask about unit 44. Of course she knows many unit 44’s, 44 being only the last two numbers of a longer serial number, but she seems to understand which one you’re talking about.

“Hmmm, I get why you would be anxious about working with that particular unit again. After that disaster of a mission last time.” You had known it was a disaster, you had not known everybody else thought so too. “That it would wait to kill that Brown figure for so long, and then to do it so messily too.” It had taken the fall, you had suspected as much. “I had already said to Marcus there is something wrong with that unit. He even acknowledged it in that irritating way he always does, but actually listen? No. Never.”

She is not truly talking to you, merely monologuing to herself and you are an unfortunate victim. This is why you asked her. She likes hearing herself talk, and her colleagues do not like listening.

“He was all like let’s see where this goes. It would be a shame to have to start over again, blah blah blah. I said the nice thing about regenes is that we get to start over again. Its body is young and we can simply reuse it. Let’s just get it over with, but no. One more mission.” You wonder how many units had heard her complain about this in the days preceding the mission. Whether unit 44 might’ve. “So one disaster of a mission later and now it’s been decommissioned all the same. Marcus still won’t admit I was right though. Asshole.”

Unit 44 is dead. She walks over to you and injects something in your upper right arm. The bruise on your shoulder has healed faster than a normal human bruise would. You’re beginning to miss it.

“Well anyway its chip has been taken apart, and you won’t have to worry about ever working with it again. Sounds good?”

There is something ugly and sour rising in your throat. You force your face in approximation of a gentle smile and nod.

Later when you’re in the dorms lying on your stomach on your bed, you wait and listen. It is deep in the night and you’ve waited very patiently until you’re sure that most of the others are asleep. Or at least that the ones still awake are not paying any attention to you. You’re pretty sure you look convincingly asleep, you have not moved an inch in two hours. Your telepathy is not as strong as others, so you play defense instead.

In your mind you open the door. Step into the room. Lock the door behind you (unit 44 is not there to pick up the slack anymore). Check the room for anything unusual (ignore the body). Feel your own body on the mattress, muscles relaxing. Keep at it for another two hours. Convince yourself you have obtained some fraction of privacy. Some fraction of Mr. Brown’s room, his dead eyes never having left you. Only then, when you’re balancing on the edge of consciousness just about to fall asleep, do you allow yourself to imagine; her blue fingers spread out against your shoulder.

#oc: matt #fallen hero #fhr #So the original title for this fic was She Commands Me And I Obey from the similarly titled short story set in the Imperial Radch Universe #but I think that would be just straight up plagiarism even if I acknowledge where I got it from? Anyway I think it is important to recogniz #that that phrase was very much constantly on my mind while writing this.#The other thing on my mind was like #what if you walk into a room and both people inside that room already kinda know they're not going to make it out of this room alive so the #just drag you down with them in entirely different ways. What then?#Btw if you notice any typos or grammatical errors feel free to point them out. English is not my first language and it is late #when i'm posting this.

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