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kohakuarisaka · 3 years

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Untamed (chapter 3 of 5)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Every year, without fail, Hawks went into a rut: when autumn began, and then again in early spring. He would honker down up north in a secluded cabin. For the first time, he brought you with him.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Non-canon compliant: Hawks’ quirk does not work like this. Reader is a hero that works at Hawks agency. Pre-existing relationship. Reader is a female with female genitalia. Feral behavior. Rutting. Biting. Spanking. Slight BDSM. Consensual sex. Wing kink. Oral sex. Romantic relationship.

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5

[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]

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"Baby," a voice cooed at you while hands gently shook your shoulders, stirring you from sleep.

"Come on. Get up. The sun's gonna be rising soon," he continued, speaking to you softly.

You groaned like a wounded animal and tried to resist the pull to consciousness, hoping you could slip back away and he would cease this assault.

Of course, that didn't happen, and the murmuring and shaking didn't come to an end. You found yourself turning around and groggily taking in the sight of Hawks. He already looked wide awake, gold eyes beaming, skin glowing, handsome face as immaculate as ever.

It made you want to punch him.

"Get up," he said, more so telling than asking, albeit politely.

He had warned you last night that he intended to wake you early; but, that didn't stop you from groaning tiredly, rolling over, as if in protest, before complying with his request, removing the blanket slowly, afraid to expose yourself to the cold.

He had stoked the fireplace before waking you; that much was clear, seeing as it wasn't blistering cold when you wiggled out of bed. It was chilly, of course, but not enough to leave you trembling helplessly.

You realized that Hawks had already dressed himself, boots thumping quietly on the floor as he stepped around the bed. He had slipped on a grey T-shirt, and didn't seem to be feeling cold at all, judging by the lax way he rolled his shoulders, wings jutting out from his back gracefully.

He gave you a sideways glance, an almost untrusting look written across his face.

"I'm getting up!" you hissed at him.

Hawks wasn't expecting that sudden outburst and flinched a little, eyes widening slightly and feathers shuddering behind him. It was a comical sight, if you were being honest. It wasn't like him to be so high strung.

Before you could assume you had upset him, Hawks blew raspberries and turned away, heading for the stairs.

When he walked away, you most certainly did not admire the way his cargo pants hugged his ass, nor the way his shirt was pulled tight across the plains of his muscular back, nor how his crimson feathers looked so beautiful draped behind him.

Hawks didn't laugh when you met him downstairs; but, he sure looked like he wanted to. Here he was wearing some loose, comfortable clothes like it hadn't snowed all night, while you were dressed up in thick pants and a heavy coat with multiple layers underneath, ready to weather the elements.

As soon as you stepped downstairs, you were hit with the familiar smell of coffee lofting about the cabin. You recognized the aroma as his favorite, the one he stockpiled at the agency, that was almost always coming from his office.

He had taken the time to pour you some, as well, evident by the mug he was trying to hand to you with a suspiciously innocent look on his face.

"Seriously?" you laughed when you eyed the receptacle he was offering.

It was his merch, clearly. The mug was black with sparkly gold trim, the pattern matching the chest on his jumpsuit . It was covered in comic book style quotation marks containing, what you were guessing, was supposed to be his quotes.

Hawks watched you admire the cup, looking a little too smug for his own good, and returned to sipping from the very plain mug in his other hand.

"Do you really say these things?" you laughed, not expecting an answer because there was no way such nonsense flew from his mouth in the middle of a fight.

"Aheh. 'I am speed'," you read aloud with a scoff. "More like, 'I do speed'," you teased with a grin, catching the way he almost choked on his coffee, shoulders trembling with laughter.

"Who the hell approved these?" you added on.

"The hero commission, I think," Hawks replied, shrugging his shoulders a little.

The coffee, of course, tasted great. He bought the expensive, high-class stuff, after all. Hawks was the only person you knew who could sleep in the dirt with his visor skewed across his face, without a complaint to be had, but refused to drink anything but imported, specially grown coffee beans.

He was ushering you out the door the second you were finished with your coffee, pushing you out into the snowy forestscape, hands grabby and wings fluttering anxiously.

Before you could shudder and complain about the cold, Hawks scooped you up into his arms, kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot, and took to the sky.

You couldn't believe he was out here without a jacket on. Your fully covered arms clung to him for dear life, shivering and trembling in the cold. He wasn't flying particularly fast; but, the winds felt punishing, ice cold biting at your cheeks and seeping in through your clothes.

You were too cold to really appreciate the beauty of the forest covered in freshly poured snow. The glistening, white peaks sparkled like something out of a fairytale in the dimly lit morning light.

"Come on, babe," Hawks cooed, turning his head to blow hot air right on your ear.

Well, no wonder he wasn't cold. It seemed to make sense to you, then, why he went into his rut during these times of the year. He was generating enough heat to be a transportable furnace.

"If you keep clinging to me like that, you're gonna miss the view," Hawks uttered, so close that his lips moved against your skin as he spoke.

You peeled back from him, away from the warmth you were desperately trying to steal. He hadn't stopped flying yet, but slowed down a bit.

"O-oh..." you whispered, taking in the snowy wilderness.

A few miles past the cabin's backyard was a cliff that dipped down into rolling mountains. He had flown overhead, granting a wonderful view of the many acres of untouched wilderness, towering trees and lush forest landscape over rolling hills and mountains.

But, Hawks hadn't dragged you out here at the crack of dawn just to see the snowy landscape. He wanted you out here right at sunrise for a very specific reason.

He had made it just in time for the sun to peak out from the horizon line, like a giant glimpsing through the trees on the mountain top.

The sun was shining a mystical light across the mountains. The overcast clouds were dark purple gliding across crystal clear, blue skies. Rays of red sunlight glided through the trees while gold laid out across the piles of snow like a glistening blanket.

"See?" Hawks murmured, his flight coming to a halt.

He hovered, fairly high up, wings flapping gently, arms still wound tight around you, holding you close. There was a gentle breeze brushing through his hair, causing the feathery strands to tickle at your cheeks.

While you were looking at the landscape in awe, he was staring at you. The sunlight lit up your face and reflected heavily on your eyes, making them glow like crystal orbs. You had finally stopped shivering, too in awe at the sight to notice the chilling bite of the wind.

He didn't say it aloud; but, the most beautiful thing in the sunrise was you.

He liked to tell himself that the rut was making him mushy, emotional. Surely, powerful pro-hero Hawks couldn't be this soft? But, he knew his rut was only amplifying what he already felt so strongly.

His rut made him less inhibited, surfaced darker, feral desires that lay in waiting under layers of discipline he had spent most of his life building.

Even without his rut, you had a power over him he couldn't deny, the power to break him, to peel back the masks he wore, to melt away his self-control, until he was reduced to a desperate animal.

Oh, but the beauty of it all was that you loved that side of him. You had proved to him that you loved every side of him, even the parts that he tried so desperately hard to ensure would never see the light of day.

Even if he could blame his desires on his mutation, that didn't change that he was an assassin, for heroes, yes, but a murderer none the less.

You-

-you knew that, and yet, still, those soft hands held him as if he was untainted. You purred beneath his touch as if those weren't the same hands he had used to kill.

"Keigo?" you hummed.

Just like that, there you were again, freeing him from the torment of his own mind, a lifeline to free him from drowning in the ocean.

"Thank you for this," you uttered, turning your head to look at him.

God, he was beautiful. His gold irises were amplified by the sunlight, like shiny coins in a wishing well, taking in the sight of you shamelessly.

The bird-like curve of his eyelids already gave him a mystical appearance, now further illuminated by the rays of light shining down from above. The wind was blowing, tossing his already frazzled hair in a senseless dance.

The bright red plumes that made up the shape of his wings looked like something out of a dream. In the sunlight, the feathers glowed magnificent crimson, glowing in sharp contrast to the pale white, wintery landscape.

Your hands, that had been gripping his shoulders during the flight, wove up the back of his neck, fingertips touching the trimmed hairs there. You felt his hands tighten where they were holding you, his arms weaving tighter, as if he could get you closer.

"Do you like it here?" Hawks uttered softly.

His tone concerned you a little, as if he was sincerely worried that you were a prisoner here.

You smiled, replying, "it's the first time we've gotten to truly be alone. I'm enjoying myself more than you think."

His gaze softened at your words. A couple of your fingers played with the soft, short hairs at the top of his neck. He felt unbearably warm there, skin slightly damp with sweat. It was startling, considering how cold it was outside.

You felt the soft brush of his lips and let your eyes flutter shut. He was slow, careful, like he was tasting something new and delicious for the first time.

When he pulled back and tilted his head, you felt the faintest drag of his chin across your cheek, felt the fine hairs of his beard tickle your skin.

He hadn't shaved in a couple weeks, leaving you to see him in a mess than most didn't get the honor of. The normally neatly trimmed hairs he shaved down to a fine patch on his chin were now covering most of his jawline, the same beautiful, pale blonde as the hair on his head.

Tantalized, you leaned in, nuzzling your cheek against his jaw, before tilting your head back and feeling the drag of his soft beard against your skin. It felt good, maybe a little too good, and you failed to suppress a quiet gasp.

When you had pulled back far enough to catch his gaze, you immediately realized his eyes had changed. The calm was gone; now, something akin to a storm was brewing underneath.

It was a look you were very familiar with.

He let out a low exhale, as if he had been holding his breath. Your name fell from his lips, low and sultry, a warning, or a curse, and it made you shudder.

Hawks tilted back suddenly and started a sharp decent downward. Having flown together many times, you weren't afraid. The arms around his shoulders tightened and you let out a soft gasp, but more so out of surprise than fear.

His wings fanned out and took him sharply soaring through the trees at a speed much faster than he had brought you here. His grip on you was almost painfully tight, as if his fingers were trying to dig past the fabric of your clothes to get to your skin.

Excitement made you forget about the biting cold, the forest around you distorted almost violently. Suddenly, the cabin door was creaking and then being slammed shut. You hadn't even seen the cabin come into view. Everything felt like a daze.

He flew up to the loft and dropped you unceremoniously at the edge of the bed. The tumble had resulted in you facing away from him; but, you could feel his eyes burning through you.

"Take off your clothes," Hawks commanded, his voice oddly polite despite the nature of his request.

Just as soon as you started working your jacket off, he was kneeling to pull at the laces on your boots. He was strangely gentle when he pulled your shoes off, less so when he tossed them aside. As you worked your shirt off, he pulled your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop, leaving you mostly bare and cold.

You rotated around and leaned up on your elbows, catching his cold stare, indicating that you were not done yet. You peeled your socks off, feeling a rush of excitement at the look he was giving you.

Hawks usually wore a kind, harmless face, not that it was unnatural, for he truly was a good person. However, most could easily forget or be blind to how powerful he was.

Now, in his gold eyes, that was what you saw, the reality that he could take whatever he wanted, when he wanted. You didn't have to be reminded, for every sparring and training session did just that: you couldn't best him if your life depended on it.

Still, Hawks wasn't that kind of person. He was the kind of loved, often times so passionately that you feared you couldn't keep up.

Even now, when his hands took hold of your waist, his body language dominating, wings spread wide behind him, you felt loved.

An amused sound, like a hum, rumbled out of his chest as he carefully maneuvered you around.

You were compliant, letting him roll you around and push your chest down into the bed. The hand on your back was gentle, but commanding, fingers splayed wide in the space between your shoulder blades.

Instead of nudging your thighs with his hands, a boot-clad toe poked between your ankles, commanding you to spread your legs, which you did with a low moan. You leaned up on your toes, presenting to him like an animal.

The sight threatened to send him into a spiral, and you felt his clothed body fall over you, pushing you down into the bed.

His wings flapped once, sending a sharp gust of wind spiraling around the room. There was a painfully obvious contrast between the soft texture of his shirt and the rough texture of his pants.

He made it very clear, with a roll of his hips, that he was ready to take you. The feeling of his clothed erection against your sex, combined with the knowledge that he could just slip right in without preamble, had you mewling.

"You like this," Hawks observed, the words like thunder as they rolled off his tongue.

He retreated, suddenly reeling back and standing behind you, warmth leaving along with him.

"You like when I just take?" he asked, accentuating 'take' with a smack to the back of your thigh. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it did manage to startle a yelp out of you.

"Yeah," he uttered lowly, agreeing with his own observations. "You like being Hawks' little plaything," he continued, almost purring the words.

Your delirious brain didn't really know what to expect next. When you heard a thump, you had no idea what to make of it, until you felt breath on your skin and realized that was the sound of Hawks' falling onto his knees behind you.

He didn't waste any time diving in, lapping a heavy tongue across your slit, from top to bottom. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you still while his tongue breached your entrance.

If his enthusiasm and lack of grace wasn't enough, the rumbling sound he made was enough to make it obvious he liked it.

You couldn't fathom that your taste could possibly be that good; however, you didn't dare comment, especially not when he was doing things with his tongue that shouldn't be humanly possible.

A rough smack to your behind startled you from a delirious daze of pleasure. You yelped quietly, but otherwise remained compliant. When he smacked you again, this time growling faintly into your sex, it was clear he wanted something that you weren't delivering; but, you didn't know what.

"K-Keigo, what-" you whined, breaking off into a howl when he smacked you again.

Normally, such a touch would have you instinctively shriveling away; however, his grip on you was tight, and it kept you still.

Hawks smacked you again, you helplessly cried out, again, and the sound faded into moans that you couldn't possibly contain with what he was doing. You started to wonder, when another smack was delivered, if he was just doing that for his own amusement.

Eventually, he stopped and leaned back, rising to his feet. His hand slid over yours, large palm practically swallowing yours, and guided it back to your sex. You rotated a little, angling your body to follow his movement.

"Feel that," he gently commanded. "How wet and warm you are for me."

You heard the floorboard creak as he leaned back, clearly to get a good view. You did as he requested, immediately driving two fingers into yourself. Sure enough, you were slippery, walls compliant and squishy, and unbelievably warm inside.

Being ready for him with little provocation wasn't exactly a new thing. You were both very busy heroes and keeping your relationship on the downlow. That meant quickies more often than proper time together.

Yet, Hawks sounded immensely pleased; with himself or with you, you couldn't quite tell.

He returned to the floor, hand brushing your knuckles to push your fingers in as deep as they could go.

"Keigo, what are you-" you began, cutting off when his tongue returned to your heat, right alongside your fingers.

"Finger yourself," he told you, sounding oddly blissful despite the fact that you hadn't touched him at all. His cock was still trapped inside his pants, throbbing against the rough material.

You complied with his request, lacking in any grace or proper friction considering the awkward angle. However, Hawks groaned in approval at the view before leaning back in.

His tongue dipped in right alongside your digits. Immediately, he forced the pace and you were desperate to try and keep up, fingers squelching in and out of your core alongside the slobbery mess of his tongue.

Your fingers couldn't compare, lacking in the length, thickness and dexterity of his digits. But, it seemed that Hawks was less focused on getting you off and more focused on playing with you; or, maybe, you had severely underestimated what the taste of your essence was doing to him.

At some point, he pulled back, grabbed your wrist to remove your fingers from your core, and sucked them into his own mouth. You weren't expecting the teeth, and let out a low hiss when his fangs threatened to pierce the skin, holding you firmly in place while his tongue sucked your fingers clean.

He didn't release your hand when he was done. You heard the floorboards creak as he stood up, felt him tug your hand down, until your knuckles brushed his clothed cock.

"You want that?" Hawks breathed.

His free hand gently spread over the space between your shoulder blades, pushing you down before you could dare think to lean up. Your cheek was resting against the sheets, hair spewed about in a mess. His hand wandered, pushing hair out of the way until your neck and shoulders were properly exposed.

From where you laid on the bed, you couldn't make out the sight of him; but, you could see one of his wings, stretched out, looming predatorily.

"Yes," you replied hoarsely.

His hand glided over the prominent bump where your first vertebrae jutted from the top of your spine, and lowered, setting between your shoulder blades once more, where he held you still.

"Then, take it," Hawks uttered, his other hand releasing your wrist.

You let out a low hiss, wanting to curse him for making such a ridiculous request. You couldn't see his face; but, you sure as hell could feel the smirk he was wearing as he stared at you, watching your handle fumble with his belt.

You doubted it was mercy; but, Hawks leaned in closer, the tops of his thighs sliding over the backs of yours, making it a little easier to undo his belt buckle.

The button on his pants followed, but not with ease, before you tugged his zipper down. You couldn't tug his pants down like this, leaving you to fumble around with his boxers, trying to fish his cock out.

"Keigo, you fucking ass-" you growled, not bothering to hide your frustration.

Hawks laughed softly, sounding a little more out of it than he did amused. "'m sorry," he cooed. "-like seein' you struggle."

The slur in his voice should have given it away, his patience had depleted; however, it still surprised you when he suddenly swatted your hand away. He hooked his thumb on the hem of his boxers and pulled them down just enough for his cock to bob free.

You felt the smooth tip nudge at your entrance, the faintest warning, before he pushed forward and entered your moist heat.

"Ohhhh fuck," Hawks howled.

He gave you no time to become accustomed to the sudden intrusion, immediately pistoning his hips back and forth, driving his cock in and out of you.

One hand pinned your torso, while his thighs pinned your legs, and his other hand gripped your hip for leverage. You shifted your feet, trying to lift up on your toes to better the angle, and bumped against his boots.

He was still fully clothed; and, really, that shouldn't have mattered so much. After all, how many times had he freed his cock from his jumpsuit to take you quick and hard before tucking it back in and immediately looking as if nothing nefarious had occurred. Yet, still, the realization had you feeling dizzy.

Before you could nudge a hand between your thighs, something beat you to it. You recognized that bizarre texture. It was soft, sure, but a tad bit pricklier than a normal feather, with an unnatural, firm touch. The little heathen knew exactly how you liked to be touched there, too.

The wet, lewd noises of your union, skin slapping together, was drowned out by the litany of moans pouring from his mouth. If he wasn't crying out in ecstasy, he was huffing and puffing like he had just ran a marathon.

If you were being honest, he was being just a little too rough, a little too fast, offering you no reprieve. You didn't doubt that he would stop if you asked him to; but, you sure as hell didn't want him to. The intensity of it all had you on a plain of existence you rarely got to experience, where pleasure became blinding and mind-numbing.

His hand slid off your back and onto the bed, grabbing a fistful of the sheets as he set a brutal pace, the kind that threatened to unravel your sanity.

"Fuck! You feel so fucking good," he growled, sounding so out of breath and lost. "Gonna fill you up. Yeah, I am. Want my seed dripping out of you all fucking week."

High off the pleasure, and maybe a little influenced by his own state, you moaned approvingly at the suggestion.

"Baby," he whined, suddenly sounding like he was in pain. The feather fluttering against your pearl intensified, practically vibrating against you with how fast it was moving.

"Need you come, need you to come," Hawks pleaded, the words hissing out from his lips between desperate pants.

You didn't think you could come in that moment. Everything felt so good, from his cock rearranging your insides to his feather flicking at your clit. The pleasure was tingling down your thighs and crawling up your spine. You could barely breathe, let along process a coherent thought beyond Keigo.

The hand that had been holding your hip let go and joined the other in gripping the bed. He arched over you, forehead meeting your back.

"Come for me, come for me," Hawks sobbed.

You realized then, as he trembled behind you, that he had reached his own completion, and he didn't slow down until his orgasm waned. You could feel his seed, like molten lava as it filled your insides.

Hawks was still panting when he growled, "again."

He flipped you over, winding your legs over his waist and somehow managing to keep his cock seated inside of you during the transition. Your arms flopped uselessly above your head. You felt weak, laying there like a doll while he turned you over. Still, it felt good: his cock, his hands, his warmth.

One of his arms looped beneath your lower back and tugged you properly onto the bed. He climbed onto the sheets and followed, dragging you beneath him.

He was prepared to continue thrusting into you wildly and blindly chase another orgasm when your eyes met and he froze up. You could practically see him blink away delirious arousal, the sight of your debauched face bringing him back to his senses.

"B-baby, do you need me to stop?" Hawks offered, the words falling from his lips so weakly.

You huffed out a weak breath and reached for him. He leaned down, letting you wind your arms across his shoulders. Your fingers dipped across his clothed back until you reached his wings.

Hawks literally shouted when your fingers dipped into the exposed seams on the shirt and touched the baby feathers growing fresh from his back. The sound rattled your bones and made you jerk from the startle.

He didn't have to be told twice, obviously, for Hawks continued his thrusting immediately. The slippery, wet sounds of his claim over your body was downright disgusting, and you loved it. Your legs clung desperately to his hips, heels digging into the backs of his thighs.

One of his feathers was still pressed against your clit, now trapped between your bodies. It had stopped moving; but, every time he thrust back into you, it created delicious friction.

Your assault on his wings rendered Hawks incapable of speech. The pleasured sounds he made was almost unnatural. If you didn't know any better, you would have thought he was in pain between the broken, blabbering moans and choked, sharp gasping.

His arms were still wound beneath you, holding onto you for leverage and clinging to you so closely, so tightly, it was almost crushing. His wings were arched up high, flapping occasionally as if to increase the momentum behind his thrusts.

His face fell into your throat, forcing your head back into the sheets. He was burning hot, practically oozing sweat. In the corner of your eye, you could see the red tint staining his ears. You could practically feel his frustration gnawing its way through his body and into yours.

Without warning, you felt what couldn't be mistaken for anything other than Hawks' teeth piercing the skin of your neck. Sure, he had bit you before, even left faint hickies on occasion; however, this was something else entirely, and forced a scream from your throat.

You had no doubt he had pierced the skin, judging by how it burned. He was growling into the skin, holding onto you with his teeth as if you were attempting to flee. You didn't dare release his wings, fingers woven through the fine plumes, caressing the sensitive skin of his shoulder blades, where crimson feathers grew.

The bite hurt, without a doubt, but there was no denying the electrical shocks of pleasure it sent through your body. If it wasn't that, then it was the growls vibrating from his mouth onto your skin.

Suddenly, your orgasm hit, and left you screaming and gasping with a sort of ferocity you didn't think you were capable of. Something that sounded almost like his name fell from your lips at some point. Your back arched and your legs trembled where they rested around his hips.

You failed to realize he was following closely behind you. Your grip on his feathers had gone limp and you didn't notice the way his wings arched up, the tips of the longest quills nearly touching the ceiling. He kept going and going, until he was spent and your cries of ecstasy came to a halt.

Hawks let go of your throat and leaned up, removing his arms from beneath you to set his palms on the sheets. He should have felt embarrassed or ashamed or something. But, looking down at the bleeding bite wound on your shoulder, watching the way your chest heaved with heavy breaths, seeing the tint of red along your cheeks and neck, he felt blissfully proud.

Hawks scooped you into an embrace and carefully rolled onto his side, bringing you in with him and cradling you against his chest. One of his wings fell over you, the plumes stretched wide to hide you from the outside world. All you could see was him, his handsome face, the crimson feathers of his wings.

You were acutely aware that he was still inside you, still somewhat hard; but, his temperature was lowering and his breathing was steadily returning to normal. Your fingers untangled from his plumes and came around to rest limply on his chest.

He lapped his tongue softly against the bite wound until it stopped bleeding before peppering it with kisses. It stung a little and you squirmed in his grasp.

"I'm not sorry about the bite," Hawks confessed lowly, leaning back to look at your face.

"Me either," you replied, offering him a weak smile.

He looked blissfully unaware until you leaned in and sucked some of the skin of his neck into your mouth. Hawks groaned approvingly, laying still until you were satisfied and let go, leaving behind a faint, purple bruise.

You stared at his handsome face, watching the vibrant, red blush slowly leave his features as he calmed down. Blonde locks were clinging to his sweat soaked forehead and everything between the two of you reeked of sex. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to complain when he looked so damn happy.

Hawks leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against yours lips. Before he could retreat, you tilted your head and leaned in, not letting him escape. He hummed into the kiss, letting you lead until you were content and departed with a wet smack.

"Just a little bit longer," he promised, fingers gently digging into your back.

"Tell me what you're thinking," you requested, nuzzling your nose against his.

Something uncertain flickered in his gold eyes and his lids narrowed slightly.

"It's not sensical," he uttered lowly, and you felt one of his hands slide around to your front. His thumb lovingly brushed along the dip of your tummy, beneath your belly button. His gold eyes shifted down, staring at the expansion of your naval with dedication.

You both had implants. It wasn't going to happen. He knew that. Of course he did. But, he couldn't help but feel dedicated to commit to the effort, as if it would.

Your hand followed his, spreading over his fingers to press him down gently over your lower abdomen, as if this would be successful, as if there was a chance he would take. The encouragement to put him ease.

Hawks wanted to believe it was the rut talking. Some of it was, his body deliriously driven to mate, to the point that he overheated and arousal pained his core. But, his motivation wasn't purely biological. It was because it was you, whom he trusted with every fiber of his being.

But, he couldn't bring himself to tell you that. You loved being a hero, and he wasn't going to take that from you.

It felt special, being hidden with him like this, beneath his wing, whispering such depravities to one and other, that the rest of the world would never know. You felt safe, in a way that felt impossible. Here, as irrational as it sounded, you felt like Hawks could protect you from the world.

#takami keigo x reader #takami keigo smut #takami keigo x you #hawks x reader #hawks smut #takami keigo fanfiction

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thetravelerwrites · 4 years

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OkCryptid: Pevik Pikecarver (Goblin) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Goblin/Female Human Additional Tags: Exophilia, OkCryptid, Dating App, Goblin Content Warning: Adoption, Sex Words: 3159

A sweet commission for @mxnsterbabe! A woman uses the "Blind Date" function on the OkCryptid app, and is surprised by who she's matched up with. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

OkCryptid was becoming the most popular dating app on the market. It was free, easy to use, and had rave reviews from it’s users. There were no end to the happy couples, or poly relationships, that sang it’s praises. You’d never used an app to date before, but your recent disastrous attempts at dating had caused you to consider it.

You weren’t even sure what you wanted, honestly. You scrolled through the profiles with no real interest. You must have swiped through a hundred profiles before a graphic popped that said: “Can decide? Try the Blind Date Option! Click Here to Try!”

Why not, you thought? You clicked it, and it took you to a form page to put in days and times you’d be available for a date. After filling it out and clicking “Next”, it took you to another page that asked which locations you were willing to go to for this date. You picked out a couple of cafes and restaurants you liked, and clicked “Match Me.”

There was a loading wheel, then a message that said, “At the moment, there are no matches that have selected any of the times and locations you provided. We will send you a message with a date and time as soon as a match is available!”

Well, that figured. You closed the app and put your phone in your pocket, turning your attentions to other things.

It wasn’t until three days later that you got a notification, which you ignored at first since you were at work. It wasn’t until you got into your car and took a moment to check your email that you saw it.

“A date has been made for the 23rd, 6 PM, at the Rosemary Gardens restaurant. To accept, click ‘Date’. To decline, click ‘Pass’.”

There was no other information. After a moment of deliberating, you clicked “Date.” It was followed by a message that said, “Congratulations! Pevik will meet you at the Rosemary Gardens Restaurant on the 23rd at 6 PM!”

Pevik? That was an unusual name. You had no idea what to expect. You had to resist an overwhelming urge to Google the name and see what came up, or at least search OkCryptid for people with that name. The whole point of a blind date was to go in blind. Peeking was against the rules.

The 23rd was only four days away. You could wait. Maybe.

The day of your date with Pevik arrived and you had to admit you were a bit nervous. The not-knowing aspect of a blind date was always a little nerve-wracking. Should you be casual? Dressy? What if they were allergic to your cat and they had a reaction to the fur on your clothes? What if they went into anaphylaxis and died? Could you forgive yourself or your cat for killing someone?!

Okay, that probably wouldn’t happen…

But it could…Where was your epipen…?

Rosemary Gardens was a trendy place that required more presentation than jeans and a t-shirt, so you wore a simple sundress and cardigan, easy and cute. Light makeup, a bobby-pin or two, just to keep fly-aways out of your eyes. Nothing flashy or fancy, since you’d gone on disastrous dates before dressed to the nines and it had been a mistake, to the say the least. Red wine is virtually impossible to get out of silk chiffon.

You got there a little early, but when you told the hostess that you were going to be waiting for someone, she said, “Oh, are you here for Pevik?”

“Yes,” You said, surprised.

“He’s already here,” She said brightly. “Right this way.”

You followed the woman to a table across from the bar, and sitting there was a goblin. He had short black hair and long ears. His eyes were the typical yellow with slotted pupils and he had a cute little button nose. He had on black slacks and a blue button-up shirt on with shiny black shoes.

You managed to hide the fact that you were a little disappointed. You typically preferred men who were taller than you, and this guy was only slightly taller than your waist, at your best guess.

He was clasping and unclasping his hands over and over, but stopped and perked up as you approached, a smile spreading across his face. You could see small bottom and top tusks just poking out from his lips.

“Are you my date today?” He asked.

“I am,” You said, sticking your hand out and introducing yourself.

“Pevik,” He said. “Pevik Pikecarver.”

“That’s a unique last name,” You said as you sat.

“It’s Orcish, actually,” He said shyly. “I was adopted as a baby by orc dads.”

“Oh!” You said. “Wow, that’s amazing.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I get that a lot.” He looked up at you through his surprisingly long lashes. “I’m not exactly what you were expecting, huh?”

You shrugged a little guiltily. “I guess not.”

“I know. You were expecting me to have blue eyes, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Poor guy. You imagined he got a lot of rejection but still had a good sense of humor.

“I get it if you’d like to end this early--” He started, but you interrupted him.

“No, no! I’ll admit, I had different… expectations, but you seem really cool. Let’s keep it going, if that’s okay?”

His smile widened and he nodded.

He was a social worker who insured elder care workers were qualified to do their jobs, in both retirement facilities and home care. He enjoyed his job because it reminded him of his dads, who had adopted him very late in their lives. You were sad to learn they had both died recently, making him feel very lonely. Usually he spent most of his time at work and with his two cats, Jenga and Fifi, who he inherited from his dads.

He asked you about yourself, eager to learn about your life and hobbies. The two of you had a lot of things in common, including tastes in music and movies, although he thought the depictions of goblins in fantasy films was super racist. You had to agree.

By the end of the date, the two of you had been talking for hours and the restaurant was about to close.

“I didn’t realize how much time had passed,” He said, staring at his watch. “I should go, I’ve got a lot of paperwork at home that needs doing, but I had a great time.” He seemed to want to say more, but was hesitant.

“Me too,” You said. “Do you want to do this again sometime?”

“Yeah, absolutely!” He said, brightening. “Anytime you want! Just let me know when you’re free.”

You laughed again. “”Don’t sound so eager! Let me give you my number.” You held out your hand and he handed you his phone. You put your number in it and texted yourself. “There. I’ll text you soon, okay?”

“I look forward to it,” He said, walking you to your car. “Take care, okay?”

“I will,” You said, wishing him a goodnight.

You texted him when you got home, letting him know you’d made it safe. You weren’t sure why you felt the need to do so, but it felt nice. He responded he had gotten home as well and wished you a good night’s sleep. You went to bed feeling a little giddy.

You woke up to a good morning text from him the next day and smiled all through your morning routine for work. You didn’t expect this…reaction…from one date. Pevik was admittedly not your usual type, but there was just something about him that made you… feel good. There wasn’t an initial spark, sure, but after spending all that time talking with him had completely changed your perception. Maybe it was his unwavering attention or his sweet disposition or sense of humor. Whatever it was, you were looking forward to seeing him again.

Your next day off was Tuesday, and even though he was working ten hour days for the whole week, he still wanted to have dinner with you.

>Won’t you be tired? You asked him through text.

>Not if I’m with you, He texted back. >How could I be tired when I have you there to invigorate me?

>You’re so silly, You said, grinning at your phone.

>Hopefully in a good way, He replied. >My lunch break is over. I’ll see you tonight at seven. I can’t wait!

>Neither can I. Have a good day at work!

>I will.

He met you at a cafe that Tuesday still wearing his work badge on his button-up shirt.

“Sorry,” He said, taking it off and stuffing it in his pocket. “I came straight from work.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” You said. “We could have made the date a little later.”

“Nah, if I sat still, I’d have fallen asleep. Besides, I was excited to see you again and I didn’t want to wait.”

You could feel yourself blushing and tried to keep the smile off your face.

“I must seem like a weirdo,” He said, kicking his feet a little in embarrassment. “Being so happy to see you all the time, I mean. I know I should be kind of aloof and cool, but I can’t help it. I just feel like a puppy left alone for too long.”

“No, it’s really sweet,” You assured him. “Honestly, no one has ever showered me with so much attention before. It’s kind of nice. I expect guys to act aloof and disinterested at first, so it’s refreshing.”

He laughed self-consciously. “I’m glad. I’m always concerned that my enthusiasm is grating on people.” The two of you sat and ordered your coffee and treat from the waitress.

“I was thinking, actually,” You said slowly. “I hope this doesn’t seem forward, but I have the weekend off and was thinking of cooking for the first time in a while. Like, a full spread. I don’t often cook because it’s just me, but I’m pretty good at it. Would you like to have dinner at my house?”

He gulped but nodded. “Yes, that sounds lovely, thank you.”

“Well, don’t thank me yet. My cooking is either incredible or horrifying nightmares, and there is no in-between. No guarantees which one you’ll get.”

He laughed again. “Well, no one’s perfect.”

After coffee, he was walking you back to your car when you saw a bench.

“Hey, can you stand up on here for a sec?” You asked.

He hopped up effortlessly. “Sure, what for?”

You pinched his chin in your fingers and kissed him. He took your face in his hands and pulled you in closer, and you could feel his small tusks between his teeth. It was exciting.

That Friday, you were in your kitchen, stirring red sauce in a saucepan, when there was a knock on your apartment door. Your heart rose up in your chest and you went to open the door. Pevik stood there with a really beautiful bouquet flowers.

“Not to be cliche, but,” He said, grinning. “For you.”

“Thanks,” You said, taking them and sniffing. “Let me see if I have a vase.”

You did not have a vase, but you did find a liquor bottle with a wide neck and used that to decent effect.

“I was praying you weren’t allergic to any of those. I couldn’t ask without being obvious, so I also got this,” He pulled a bottle of Benadryl out of his pocket. You laughed out loud.

“Very thoughtful,” You said, taking it. “It reminds me of just before our first date and my wondering if you’d have an allergic reaction to my cat’s fur and if I should bring my epipen.”

He laughed with you. “So, what’s on the menu tonight?” He hopped up on one of the stools at the bar in your kitchen.

“Stuffed bell peppers with a spring greens salad,” You said.

“That sounds amazing,” He said. “I eat way too much take out, but I never have time to cook.”

“Well, maybe I can cook for you more often. We could even cook together.”

He smiled. “I love that idea.”

You pointed to a stepstool you bought recently. “Want to help me stuff my pepper?”

He snorted and struggled to keep a straight face. “Sure.” He grabbed the stool and stood up next to you, taking one of the knives from the block and cleaning out the peppers. On the stool he was only slightly shorter than you, perfect height to lean in for a sneaky kiss on the cheek, so you did.

He jumped but gave you a startled smile, returning the kiss. The two of you worked together to finish dinner, stealing kisses as you did. When his hands weren’t occupied, he lay one of them on the small of your back, stroking up and down your spine a little. It made you bite your lip and squeeze your legs together.

The tension between the two of you was getting thicker by the minute, and by the time you both had sat down to eat, you were throbbing between your legs and shooting him sultry looks. You ate in relative silence because you didn’t trust yourself to talk, but your unshod foot found it’s way up his leg and between his thighs.

Halfway through dinner, he couldn’t take it anymore and threw down his silverware, standing and coming around the table to kiss you roughly. You pulled him into your lap and began unbuttoning his shirt as his lips made their way to your neck and collarbone, palming your breasts through the fabric of your blouse.

“Bedroom?” You asked breathlessly.

“Oh, gods, please,” He wheezed back, and you lifted him, carrying him to your room. He was heavier than he looked, but he was still light enough to carry a short distance. The both of you fell heavily on the bed with you on top of him. He pulled your blouse off just as you unbuttoned the last button and tugged the hem of his shirt out of his pants. He rolled you, straddling your legs as he undid your pants and helped you get them off.

Undressing each other took no time at all, and you lay back on your pillow as he kissed his way down your stomach. The pressure of his tusks pressed against your skin was like small charges, electrifying your body. His hands massaged your thighs and opened you up as he got lower, his long nails poking you slightly as he went.

“You’re okay with this, right?” He asked softly, his thumbs rubbing circles so very close to your swollen entrance. “I’m not moving to fast, am I?”

“If you’re moving too fast, I am, too,” You said. “It’s okay. Trust me, I’m perfectly happy with how things are going right now.”

He chuckled. “Just checking,” He replied before lowering himself down. His tongue licked one long strip from bottom to top before the pointed tip of it circled your clit, flicking it once or twice to make you whimper. Then he licked his thumb and used it to rub your bud up and down while he pushed his tongue inside you, moaning against the skin, contracting it against that sweet spot. You cried out and gripped his hair, rocking your hips back and forth.

Your breasts shuddered with every quivering breath that escaped your lips as he took his time pleasuring you. He was a little rusty, but he was more than happy to take direction, and your mind blanked as a rush of ecstasy washed through your body. You were completely unable to control the sounds that came out of you.

You lay on your pillow looking down at him as he got up on his knees, pushed your legs back, and lined himself up with your body, slowly pushing his cock inside, groaning and shutting his eyes.

“Oh, gods,” He whispered. “That’s so good. You feel incredible.”

“I could say the same to you,” You replied breathlessly. He wasn’t long, but definitely girthy and stretched you open pretty wide without being uncomfortable.

He opened his eyes and looked right at you, as if confirming that you wanted this. You bit your lip and fluttered your lashes a bit in a way you hoped looked appealing. He smiled and began to thrust, bending to kiss your belly and breasts. He gripped your hips hard and slapped his body against yours pretty hard with each thrust. It was exhilarating and you pressed your ankles into his buttocks to drive him faster.

He definitely took the hint, and your bedframe was smacking the wall with the intensity of his movements. Time completely blurred and it was as if the two of you were in a bubble in which nothing could enter in or leave until you both were sated. You couldn’t remember if any words were said from that moment on, whether by you or him, and fell into the fog of the best sex of your entire life.

You weren’t sure if you fell asleep or passed out, but there was definitely a moment were you simply weren’t conscious anymore. When you came back to the living world, a soft morning light was filtering in through the curtains of your windows. Pevik was asleep against you, his head on your shoulder and an arm around your waist. He looked adorable sleeping. You had thought to extricate yourself to start breakfast, but you woke him.

“Good morning,” You said as he began to blink blearily.

“It is a most excellent morning,” He said, smiling his toothy smile. “Last night was… beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. I think you’ve spoiled me for any other woman.”

“Well, hopefully, you won’t be needing another one,” You said. “In fact…” You grabbed your phone from your bedside table and clicked open the app.

“What are you doing?”

“Uninstalling it,” You said. “I’ve got you now. I don’t need it anymore.”

His grin widened. “You know what? You’re right.” He retrieved his phone from his pants pocket and uninstalled the app as well. “It served it’s purpose. No point in wasting the memory space.”

You lay back down on the bed with him propped up on one arm, looking down at you.

“I’m glad you decided to give me a chance,” He said to you, kissing your shoulder.

“I’m glad I tried that blind date thing,” You replied. “It’s hard to believe that if I had clicked a different button, we may never have met.”

“Life is funny that way,” He said.

You smiled softly at him and gave him a sweet kiss. “Right now, life is telling me we need waffles.”

“It’s important to listen to messages when we receive them,” He said magnanimously, then chased you into the kitchen, tickling you as you went.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #OkCryptid #Goblin #Dating App #Monster Boyfriend #Pevik #Mxnsterbabe

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anunvalidcritic · 5 years

Text

WATCHMEN (series) EP2

(DISCLAIMER: MY OPINION IS MY OWN AND CAN BE DEEMED INVALID TO THOSE WHO DON’T CARE FOR IT.)

We ended off on a big cliffhanger so let’s see where we’re going to be taken from there...

MARTIAL FEATS OF COMANCHE

Look at all those typewriters

Oh shit, so we’re German alrighty then. I speak German as well.

“Hello, boys, what are you doing over here? Fighting the Germans? Has it ever done you any harm, of course, some whites folks lying and any Asian Americans papers told you that the Germans ought to be wiped out for the sake of humanity and democracy. But I ask you boys; what is democracy? Do you enjoy the same rides as the white people do in America? Are you rathered treated over there as second class citizens? Can you get a seat in a theatre where white people seat or can you even ride in the south in the same streetcar as white people? And how about the law; is lynching and the most horrible cruelties connected there with a lawful proceeding in a democratic country. Now all of this is entirely different in Germany. Colored people have mighty fine position in business in Berlin and other German cities. Why then fight the germans you have been the tool of the egotistic rich in america and there is nothing in the whole game for you but broken bones, horrible wounds, and death. To carry the gun in service of America is not an honor but a shame throw it away and come over to the German line and you will find friends who will help you along.” - GERMAN SOLDIER/YOUNG AFRICAN AMERICAN SOLIDER/YOUNG & OLD WHEELCHAIR MAN

Sorry for the long monologue above but it was to powerful for it not to be posted.

damn she just rolled him away as if they weren’t just at a crime scene

breathe ANGELA breathe

damn 105 and still alive .... wow

“He had skeletons in his closet.” - WHEELCHAIR MAN

His name is now WILL

Well ANGELAs heading back to the crime scene

“Oh I read it I just don’t believe it.” - NEWSPAPER SALESMAN

I bet there looking at those wheelchair tracks right now...

LOOKING GLASS really just came into that car and the first thing he asked if he had any food.

MEMORABLE DIALOGUE

LOOKING GLASS - “Was he high?”

LADY KNIGHT - “He might’ve done some blow.”

LOOKING GLASS - “Sounds like quite a party.”

LADY KNIGHT - “My kids were there.”

LOOKING GLASS - “Your kids.”

LADY KNIGHT - “...Fuck you, you shiny fuck. What are you interegating me now?”

LOOKING GLASS - “Why would I interegate you?”

LADY KNIGHT - “Cuz you’re a cold motherfucker glass.”

LOOKING GLASS - “Then why am I crying under here.”

This was quite intense for that short amount of town.

So they’re just gonna touch his body without gloves on at all???

FLASHBACK

ANGELA and CALVIN are dancing and it’s Christmas Eve.

“There’s somebody in our house.“ - ANGELA

WOOOW this dude is bold af

SHE FLEW BACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MY GOD!!!!!!!!

She was out for 3 days!

JUDD and ANGELA having a little heart to heart after being fucked up by the same group of people.

They’re the only 2 people in the force that survived...

THE WHITE NIGHT

PRESENT

She looks like she wants to break some shit.

“So are you coming or are you fucking breathing?” - RED SCARE

That NIXON statue kinda threw me for a loop lol

Why the fuck would you throw a glass bottle at the police??? (like Ik your mad but damn.)

I think it’s safe to say that ANGELA let some of her anger out on that man...

AYYE HENRY LOUIS GATES JR.

WILLIAM’s DREAMLAND THEATRE (his parents owned the theatre)

MEMORABLE DIALOGUE

ANGELA - “Can you take a rain check?”

KIDS GRANDPA - “I can take a real check. *ANGELA proceeds to pull out her pocketbook and writes a check* ...Must be satisfying putting those Redfordations to work.”

ANGELA - “Get the fuck off my porch.”

lol, that little girl said, “keep walking before I stab you in the butt.”

Those Martian Blocks are pretty fucking cool.

TOPHER SHOOK

Is that Orville Peck playin’ in the background??

(he lowkey looks like he can be on the show...)

Ig I would’ve knocked that shit over to if I didn’t like the information I just received.

AMERICAN HERO STORY

“WARNING: The Federal Communications Commission has determined the following content to be emotionally harmful. Young children should not view this content under any circumstances. Even if supervised by a Parent or Guardian the views and opinions expressed, including the depictions of persons of color and members of the LGTBQA+ community do not reflect any official policy or position of the US Government. This program contains graphic language, violence, nudity, misogyny, racism, anti-Semitism, hate crimes, and depictions of sexual assault. Be advise.”

TOPHER just seatin’ there lookin’ at the screen can it start already.

LOOKING GLASS keeps that mask on at all times.

Who tf is that talkin’ about getting shot in the head and washing up onto the Boston Harbor?? Do sounds like BATMAN.

At least he didn’t knock that little kid upside his head.

WOAH THAT MOTHERFUCKER SHOT HIS FUCKING EAR!!!

ROFL THE WAY THIS DUDE CAME IN THROUGH THE WINDOW

DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD YOU HAVE TO thROW A CANNED FOOD ITEM IN ORDER FOR IT TO HAVE AN IMPACT LIKE THAT!?!?!?

I have to say that this man is very skilled with a shard of glass

Okay, so you’re just going to continue to shoot the rest of bullets into one of your accomplices??? *make it make sense*

Wow ok, so we're going all out with the headbanging then??

“Who am I, when I was little every time I would look into the mirror I saw a stranger starring back at me. He was very very angry. Hot, vibrating electricity with no place to ground it.” - HOODED JUSTICE

this dude is dramatic af lol but this is his story I’ll let him tell it...

SENATOR JOE truly is an ol’ country boy with that accent rofl

And ANGELA is down for the count

LOL she played that shit off well

Night vision goggles ok ok that’s cool

She found something.....

OH FUCK NO BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

So this man is pretty every day on repeat like it’s Groundhog’s Day or something.

“When is a lie not a lie?“ - OZYMANDIAS

“When it’s acting.” - MAID

HA, he was rude af to MR. PHILLIPS

So there recreating the seen of how DR. MANHATTAN came to be...

OZYMANDIAS is one crazy mothertucker....

...tiny weiner...

.... wtf they all look alike.... oh that dude really died!

How long has WILL been in the bakery??

nvm not that long apparently lol

LOL he didn’t have to throw that shell from the boiled egg like that

This dude really does have “friends in high places” but he didn’t mean for her to literally check CAPTAIN JUDD’s closet smdh

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

This episode was quite delightful and I’m ready to see what the next episode has to offer. Until then clean your hands, be careful of who and what you’re around, and don’t get so down in the dumps.

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blackbeltkitten2ficsnships-blog · 6 years

Text

Bad, bad Alphonse Capone (Chapter 3)

Scarface Versus Snorky.

Fandom/Movie/Series/Ect: Night At The Museum

Setting: Larry is still the night guard, several exhibits from the Smithsonian are at the Museum of Natural History

Pairing(s): Eventual Capoleon, Jedtavius, Teddy/Sacagawea

Characters: Al Capone, Napoleon Bonaparte, Ivan the Terrible (Awesome), Larry Daley, Teddy Roosevelt, Sacagawea, Jedediah Smith, Octavius, Ahkmenrah, Shaka Zulu, several Zulu tribe members, Dr. Richard McPhee, several Mobsters, Antonio Villalobos, Mariana Villalobos, Ramón Espina, Doctor Jess McClain, Docteur Alain Chaput

Genre/Warnings: Some slightly graphic violence, Foul language, Fic inspired by a song, I’ll come up with more tags later, Chapter names may change later

Notes: I listened to the song “Bad Bad Leroy Brown” by Jim Croce about a thousand times and decided I just HAD to make a fic. The reason Al and the boys get made into color (as a plot point) is so everyone can see what happens to Al.

If anyone is OOC or this reads like a Dick & Jane, this is my second posted fic and I haven’t done much writing in the NATM field. (Disclaimer: I don’t own the song, nor the characters.) (If anything suddenly changes, I had to fix a mistake I missed.)

(I am starting to see why they say “The beginning and end are easy, the middle is hard.” this chapter is either going to be good, or real fucking boring, you decide.)

Word count: 1,300

Summary: Al and the boys practically beg (Though they won’t stoop so far as to say they were actually begging.) for him and his gang to be colored up like everyone else. Finally one day they get a paint-job, despite McPhee’s ever-present paranoia; Capone and the gang being popular in grey-scale. Several weeks after they finally get what they want, Al gets in a fight, and doesn’t come out of it well. Luckily for him Napoleon is compassionate enough to put up with Al’s grating personality to help him.

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Last Chapter

Thank God Larry got a bottle of fleshtone latex for Halloween.

Disguising Al’s stitching for every morning was far easier than he’d thought it would be.

Al was ready for this nightmare to be over. ‘Change his bandages once a day.’

Napoleon is nothing if not dutiful. He’s done just as prescribed, every day, the past couple days. Al is getting sick of it.

Al sits on the desk, slapping Napoleon’s hand away for the second time.

“Quit tryna mollycoddle me, I can do it myself!”

“I plan to do as Docteur Chaput told, you cannot stop me.”

Al slaps his hand away again.

Everyone hears an angry screech from the office.

“They were doing so well...” Teddy sighs, unwrapping himself from Sacagawea.

“I thought it was amusing, their little vendetta. Now it’s annoying.” She chuckles.

“I laughed the first time as well, but since they’ve been consistently interrupting our evenings...” Teddy rubs his temples.

“We really should go see what they’re doing. If Al breaks his stitching it could make things worse.” Sacagawea stands and pulls Teddy off of the bench and through the doorway.

“Come on! Really guys?” Larry stares at the two.

“He keeps changin’ my bandages, and I already told him, I can do it myself!”

Napoleon puts all of his weight on Al’s stomach and tightens his grip on Al’s chin, dangerously close to the wounds on his cheek, making Al squint.

“I told the docteur I would change them, I refuse to go back on my word!”

Larry sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

“Get up, guys. Al, let Napoleon dress your wounds.”

“Aw, come on!”

Napoleon grins triumphantly once they’re both righted.

“Sit.” Napoleon points at the desk.

Larry gives them both a pointed look and leaves, meeting Teddy and Sac in the hallway and closing the door.

“I have a question.”

“Shoot, Nippy.”

“When I described your injuries, you looked and sounded... Distraught. Why?”

Al’s eyes search the wall over Napoleon’s shoulder. “It’s nothing, Shortstack...”

Napoleon knits his eyebrows together but doesn’t press on. He’s seen trauma, mild to severe, physical and emotional, and thinks he should give Al some time before asking again.

That doesn’t mean he won’t look into Al’s history to see if that gives him any information, though.

Napoleon walks towards Al’s room. He spots a group of Al’s gangsters near by. He catches a fleeting bit of their whispered conversation, where they lean on the wall opposite the Al Capone exhibit.

“Damn, Big Boy looks rough. I ain’t never seen him this bad.”

“Yeah, even when they first started callin’ him Scarface he didn’t look so... Depressed?”

“Least we can do is start callin’ him Snorky again, what do ya say, Ralph?”

“Best idea you’ve had in a while, Tony.”

Napoleon looks into the room from the doorway.

Al is looking at a hand mirror dejectedly, lifting the latex carefully and examining the stitches.

Napoleon gets a few steps into the room before Al’s men grab him by the arms.

“Ehi! Miullu, i idioti!“

Al almost drops the mirror. He spins around and holds up a hand to keep the gangsters from dragging Napoleon to the door.

“French Toast, what the Hell are ya doin’ here?”

“I wanted to remind you to meet me in the office, evidently your men dislike my commitment.”

“Nippy, don’t be dramatic, I told em to keep everyone out. Thanks for remindin’ me though...”

“Monsieur Daley, can you teach me how to use that, uh, laptop?”

“Yeah sure, what do you want to look up?”

Napoleon fumbles for a moment.

“No that’s alright, you don’t have to tell me. Here, sit... Now see the keys? Press them gently to make words...”

Napoleon accidentally runs twelve W’s into the search bar, causing Larry to snicker.

“Now you know that can happen, use the backspace to erase all but one.”

Napoleon is a little less heavy-handed this time.

There, now if you can manage to spell everything well enough- Don’t give me that look, I know how spelling worked back in your days. Anyway you should get the results you want. Press the enter key when you wanna make it search.”

Larry holds the mouse and slides it around.

“Use this to click on things-” He deliberately clicks it a few times. “-And that little X in the corner will close everything.”

“Grazie, Monsieur Daley.”

“No problemo. I’m gonna go do a round, catch you later.”

Larry pats him on the back and walks off

Napoleon, backspacing the remaining W and, carefully selecting keys, types out ‘Al Capone injuries’.

The little circle spins, then ‘The infectious disease that sprung Al Capone from Alcatraz.’

“I hope the tablet got rid of that...”

Napoleon moves the little hand down and clicks on one link simply titled ‘Al Capone’, and hopes for the best.

Luck is on his side. To the right side of the screen is what is presumably a photo of Al when he was older, in black and white. He’s wearing a nice dark grey three piece suit, a shiny, striped tie, white shirt and pocket square, and a shiny watch chain. He’s also gained weight and lost hair. The banner under the photo reads ‘Al Capone in 1930.’

“Yet he pokes at me because of the paintings I commissioned when I was in my forties. It must run in Italian blood... Or it’s all the bread and cheese.”

Al was born in the Brooklyn borough of New York City.

“That’s not very far from the museum, is it? I wonder if I could convince Larry to take Al and myself there..”

His parents, Teresa and Gabriele, immigrated from Angri, Italy.

He had eight siblings, six brothers and two sisters.

He did well in school but had difficulty following the rules at his parochial Catholic school. He was expelled permanently at fourteen for hitting a female teacher.

“At least I didn’t hit my teachers, u mo Diu.“

He worked at a bowling alley and a candy store, and was influenced Johnny Torrio, whom he later regarded as a mentor.

First he got involved with the Junior Forty Thieves, then the Bowery Boys. Then he joined the Brooklyn Rippers, and after that the powerful Five Points Gang.

He was employed by mentor and racketeer Frankie Yale, who tended bar at a dance hall and saloon called the Harvard Inn.

“Saloon? I thought that was only in the West in the eighteen seventies?”

Al inadvertently insulted a woman while working at the door of a nightclub in Brooklyn and was slashed by her brother Frank Gallucio.

“Oh...”

Napoleon opens a new tab, searches ‘Al Capone scars’ and pulls up a photo that marks each slash with a number.

They match scarily close to the fresh ones on the side of Al’s face now.

Napoleon’s mouth falls open slightly and his eyebrows pull together. He switches back to the other tab.

The wounds caused people to give him the nickname ’Scarface’ which Al loathed. His close friends called him 'Snorky', a word for sharp dresser.

“Ay Nippy, watcha doin’?”

Napoleon quickly closes out the browser and shuts the laptop, none-too-gracefully. Al smirks at him.

“Thought we were gonna meet in the office, what have ya been doin’?”

“Nothing, I was looking something up. None of your concern.”

“Mhm, ‘lookin’ something up.’ Be sure clear the history when you’re done.”

Al spins around and saunters off towards the office.

“So, Short Stuff, did you enjoy ‘lookin’ something up.’? Was it... Sexy?”

Napoleon pulls the latex off roughly.

“It was informative. The two photographs I looked at were... A bit attractive. No contest with the real thing, though.”

“Yeah, I bet.” Al pulls a knowing smirk. He doesn’t know as much as he thinks he does though.

Docteur = Doctor

Ehi! Miullu, i idioti! = Hey! Let me go, you idiots!

Monsieur = Mister

Grazie = Thank you

U mo Diu = My God

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Last Chapter

#NATM #night at the museum #al capone #napoleon bonaparte #jedediah #octavius #larry daley #teddy roosevelt #ahkmenrah #dr mcphee #jedtavius #capoleon #eventual capoleon #ivan the terrible #ivan the awesome #fanfic #Bad bad Alphonse Capone

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shortandchatty · 6 years

Text

Hello!

Hello! I thought it was probably about time I made a post on here.

SO THERES A FEW THINGS IM GONNA TALK ABOUT!

1) What on earth this blog is gonna be for

2) A lil update on things I’ve been up to/why i haven’t posted since making this account

3) Stuff thats gonna be coming

4) Other that doesn’t really fall into anything, its like that random box of stuff you have in your house and don’t really know what to do with it because the stuff doesn’t have a home but also you cant throw it away!

1) I’ve been wanting to set up a proper blog for quite some time now but i don’t really know where to start with it or what to do, so I thought I’d test the waters a bit on tumblr and sort of find me feet with it all. So essentially this is kinda gonna be a place for me to talk about what I’ve been up to and the progress/updates of me setting up my production company. I’m also going to be posting links to stuff i’ve created and posts about films and other media stuff I like and just kinda wanna put some words down about or have a chat!

2) I’ve been a little bit quiet and haven’t really given this blog much time for a number of reasons. Two of the biggest reasons being finishing my degree and spending 9 months producing a lil series called clever stuff. (You can find clever stuff on shortandchatty productions on youtube!). I’m someone who doesn’t really know when to stop and just generally like being busy doing the filming, photography, and media stuff I do, so i tend to end up with a lot of projects at once! I’ve been working on a music video for the wonderful Izzii Grace (you can find her facebook page here: https://www.facebook.com/IzziiGraceMusic/ shes also on spotify and instagram and all the other usual stuff)

As well as this I started a shiny new grad job before even graduating uni which has been pretty sweet! So I have a job as a videographer along side me setting up my own production company, oh look at that I actually managed to do a nice tidy move into another topic!

SO from doing lots of bits of work here and there I kinda decided I wanted to start my own production company that could work as a sort of home for any freelance commissions (I will be opening for commissions 1st August 2018 you can go to https://www.facebook.com/shortandchattyproductions/ for all stuff to do with that if ya interested!) I’m going to be doing a proper post about that but I’ll give you a quick update here!

The idea of shortandchatty productions is going to sorta be a home for my freelance work for the first year while I build myself up. In about a years time ish, I’m hoping for shortandchatty to have a proper office and sort of “home” (It’s going to be a very full on year working an extra job to fund basically saving for said office) then once its up in full swing I would love to get other creative people with different skills involved! (If you do want to get involved in any up and coming projects get in touch via my facebook page and we can talk about it! Editors and graphic/motion graphics people especially!!) My general attitude toward this stuff is that its fun and to me, it’s never felt like a job which is how your career should be in my opinion, if you love what you do you’ll never work a day in your life!) I did work placement at a really cool place in cardiff called storm&shelter and absolutely adored their work ethic and general vibe and thats what i want to head toward, having more places like that!

Speaking of doing things you love, I’ve also just got back from helping contribute to the instagram and twitter pages for 2000 trees music festivals, again another job that doesn’t feel like a job! Working at trees is always a highlight of my year and something I do not take for granted in the slightest. I feel so grateful to be able to spend a few days in a field watching great bands and just being in a great atmosphere, while getting to capture it all. 2000 trees is a festival like no other to be honest and one i cant recommend enough! So if you fancy checking out those posts that would be ace!

3) So I have a few blogs I’m going to be posting are going to include

- A couple of filmy review type blogs (These are gonna include: I, Tonya, isle of dogs, lady bird, thor ragnarok, infinity war, and oceans 8, yes a few of those came out a while ago but i have stuff to say!)

- A post about 2000 trees 2018

- A full post about shortandchatty productions

- A little post about my experience at uni

- Stuff about Clever stuff and what went into it, how i feel about it, and future plans (sneak preview, there is going to be a second series!)

- Probably a bit of a deep and emotional hard hitting post about stuff like mental health, being chronically ill and just how its not a good idea being stubborn pushing through when you know you probably need a break. (Spoiler, doing this put me in hospital twice while getting through uni and producing my series because I just wanted to get stuff done and not feel like my illness was stopping me and that I didn’t have to take it a bit easier than anyone else)

4) The odds and sods:

Uni was super busy and stressful, but i survived it!

I still don’t know how to use tumblr despite part of my job being working in social media

This is probably way too long an update post!

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obi-wan-kxnxbi · 7 years

Photo

Title: Black Flags and Blue Seas. Rating: M Fandom: Les Miserables. Tags: Graphic Description of wound, Minor Character Death, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Trans Male Character, Trans EnjolrasHurt/Comfort, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform. Ships: Enjolras/Grantaire, Combeferre/Courfeyrac, Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Cosette Fauchelevent/Éponine Thénardier, Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy/Éponine Thénardier, Mentions of Courfeyrac/Enjolras. Art: I commissioned the wonderful, talented @crashandburrnart do some art for this fic. This is his beautiful and incredible R!! Other Chapters: ONE HERE

Chapter Two.

Nassau.

Enjolras turned away from Feuilly, and walked down the central flight of stairs, Joly’s cabin was the only other one of the ship that was separate from the large sleep and eating room that took up most of the ship’s lower deck. It was in the bow, small and narrow, the sides curving out allowing a little more space than the floor suggested. It was dark, though, being below the surface of the water, just above the keel. Enjolras had offered Joly the Captain’s cabin, but the small man had declined. Insisting that a little propriety and tradition should be kept on board, though Enjolras had made sure to give Joly more than his fare share of the candles and oil lamps they had on board. He bent a little, ducking to avoid hitting his head on the lintel; he could hear the moans coming from behind a half wall leading to where Joly had his table.

“Hold him still, Boss,” Joly had a high pitched voice, it was small and mousy and only soothing when paired with Bossuet’s low calming tones. “I’m going to have to have a look at this leg.”

“I think I’ll need a stiff drink after this is sorted out,” Bossuet laughed, he had an accent that Enjolras hadn’t been able to place, not until Bossuet had taken off his shirt to reveal lines of scars and a brand. Enjolras had never asked Bossuet where he had come from; Bossuet hadn’t volunteered the information either, though a silent current of knowledge passed between them.

“I’ll second that,” Enjolras said as he rounded the wall to see Grantaire laid on the table.

Bossuet was holding him at the shoulders and hips; Musichetta was on the other side, standing next to Joly, she too held one of R’s shoulders though he other hand was busy stroking through his hair. A lantern swung from side to side above them, orange light flickering in the motion of the sea. It illuminated the bloody horror that was Grantaire; his nose was obviously broken, both eyes swollen black, shiny and stuck shut. His shirt had been changed and his chest bandaged up, though the bandages were already soaking through; bright red patches of blood flowering through the white shirt. His breeches had been rolled up so that they stopped mid thigh, he wore no stockings, here Enjolras could see the wound in his calf. Blood flowed from it, whatever it had been that had sliced through it, it had cut through the skin, and muscles down to the bone; Enjolras could see white peaking from the wound.

“Captain, as long as you’re there, you can help as well,” Joly said looking up and meeting Enjolras’s eyes, he had a large spray of blood going up his cheek. His black hair had been tied up as best as possible, a small bun on the back of his head, the tip of a dipping pen could be seen poking out the top. “Come here and hold his leg completely still, please.” Joly nodded towards where he had one of his hand occupied holding Grantaire; he used this hand to poke his spectacles further up his nose.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” Enjolras backed up, he didn't like the thought of causing further pain to Grantaire with his inexperienced hands.

“You wont hurt him,” Joly softened, he spoke as low and as quiet as he could, “if he moves while I examine him, it'll hurt him more. Captain, if you will.”

“If you’re sure,” Enjolras grimaced and took his place next to Joly and Musichetta, gingerly holding R’s leg. He watched as Joly bent over Grantaire, his hands skimming over the torn skin around the wound, he poured some of Courfeyrac’s vodka into the cut, Grantaire screamed his face going pale; blotchy red spots bloomed across his skin.

“Boss, give him more rum please, and a leather bit to bite down on,” Joly ordered, his voice steady as he continued to prod about the leg.

“Aye,” Bossuet turned around, grabbing the bottle of vodka, knocking over a few saws and pots as he did so. He took a roll of leather from under the table, and after he’d given Grantaire a few gulps of rum, he shoved the leather in to his mouth. “Bite on this R.” He said, wiping some of the beads of sweat away from Grantaire’s face.

“How’s it looking?” Enjolras whispered to Joly, he fought to keep his hands from shaking, he fought to keep the last meal he’d had down.

“Ah,” Joly sighed, “it’s hard to say, though I think it could be saveable if I just-“

“No, its not,” Enjolras realised, Joly was stalling for time, stalling so he wouldn’t have to do what everyone in that room knew had to be done. “It’s not saveable is it?”

“I- I don’t… maybe there’s a way we can make this work,” Joly tried desperately looking again at the gaping, ragged hole in Grantaire’s leg. “I could sew it up but, there’s just so much muscle damage, maybe if his ankle was-“

“You know, as well as I do, that there is no way we can mend this,” Enjolras rested his hand on Joly’s shoulder. “It’s too far gone.”

“I know,” Joly sighed, screwing up his face, “I’ll get my saw. Boss, more vodka, please.” He said, “Chetta try and keep him as calm as possible.”

“You can do this, if there’s anyone on this ship that can do this, it’s you,” Musichetta, tipped Joly’s chin up so that his eyes were level with hers. She had wild, brown curly hair, light brown skin and an accent that was honey sweet. She had told Enjolras, over a bottle of rum one night (or early morning) that her parents had been driven to the West Indies from Southern Spain, persecuted because of the religion they chose to practice. She was as fierce as Enjolras, as kind as Courfeyrac, as hard working as Feuilly, and as valuable to the ship as Combeferre; without Musichetta, Enjolras was sure her two lovers would fail.

Grantaire was breathing slowly, a sheen of sweat covering every visible part of skin, his eyes were glassy and unfocused; Enjolras had never seen him so still. He was gulping air around the leather bit, deep breaths pushing his chest in and out. His leg was still bleeding, staining the table red; covering Joly’s hands. His eyelids fluttered every now and then. Though for the moment the cabin was eerily calm, the only sound apart from the waves against the hull, and Grantaire’s breaths, was the squeak of the lantern as it swung with the boat.

It started, Enjolras focused on Grantaire’s intact thigh, feeling the pulse of life under his hands, he tried to ignore was going on next to him. He told himself not to listen to it, to push himself into another place, to listen to the rise and fall of the sea. Grantaire started screaming about ten seconds in, the leather falling out of his mouth and on to the floor; then no sooner than he’d started, he passed out cold. Enjolras was almost relieved, he had never experienced something as awful as this. Then it was done and Joly was putting Grantaire back together as best he could, with a piece of him missing.

“It’s done,” Joly said, washing the blood off his hands before he neatened up the stitches around the stump that was now Grantaire’s leg. “I’ll talk to Feuilly and Combeferre about a prosthetic. In the mean time, Bossuet could probably make something out of what we’ve got on here.”

“I’ll get right to it,” Bossuet looked up from where he was cleaning the blood around Grantaire as best he could.

“Good idea,” Enjolras nodded, some part of him still in denial about what he’d seen. “I have a ship to captain, if you’ll excuse me. I am sure we’re near enough Nassau now. Let Combeferre know that you have my permission to purchase anything you should need in order to assist with his recovery.”

He tried to shake off what he had seen and felt and heard in Joly’s cabin, he tried to think instead about warning Nassau about The Scarborough. He thought about the small room he had waiting for him there, the room that overlooked a courtyard, the room would be covered in dust owing to the amount of time he’d spent away from it. He thought about the next book he was going to pick up from the tiny book vendor on Market Street; he wondered if this one would be in French or English, perhaps, if he wanted testing, it would be in Spanish or Italian. But the memories of what had happened not ten minutes ago echoed in his head, repeating round and round never stopping, never ending. He could only imagine what Grantaire would be feeling when he woke.

“Captain, how is-“

“He lost the leg,” Enjolras interrupted Courfeyrac as his helmsman spotted him walking on to the main deck, he watch as Courf’s face changed from concerned to horrified.

“Oh,” Courf’s mouth was perfect ‘o’ shaped, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes turned pained, “oh god.”

“Joly’s taking care of him, he did all he could,” Enjolras said, “He’ll live.”

“You don’t know that,” Courfeyrac muttered.

“Grantaire hasn’t had the opportunity to smirk and make lewd comments about the size of my prize, yet, he’ll at least live to do so.” Enjolras smiled, “You can go check on him if you wish, I’ll take the helm.”

“Thanks Cap’n,” Courf slapped him lightly on the shoulder and took off towards Joly’s cabin.

Deck was a flurry of activity, crew were running about the place preparing the ship to enter in to the harbour at Nassau. They would reach it soon enough; he could hear Combeferre and Feuilly doing an inventory of the prizes they had picked up in the past three months. The royal and the topgallant sails were open full, powering them through the waves. Le Ami was a square rigged ship, four masts and a jib; at the back was the poop deck, which is where Enjolras usually stayed. It was the place where he was least likely to get in the way of one of the rigging crew. His crew numbered 180 men, all of whom were fit and able, all things considered he was doing well.

“Combeferre-“ he called, seeing his quartermaster leaving Feuilly and walking towards the lower deck “-with me please.”

“Sir,” Combeferre said walking up to the poop deck and joining him, watching the shadow of New Providence Island become clearer out of the fog.

“Captain Grantaire,” Enjolras looked at his friend and sighed, “he lost his leg. I’ve informed Joly that he is allowed to take whatever he should need from the profits of our latest prize in order to aid in Ranae’s healing.”

“That’s very generous of you, Cap’n,” Combeferre watched Enjolras carefully, his eyes never once leaving his captain’s face.

“Yes, well, he would have done the same if our positions were reversed,” Enjolras coughed, fiddling with a curl of blond hair that had escaped his queue.

“Was there anything else you wished to discuss, sir?” Combeferre asked, his voice low, his hand resting easily on his sword; the other on his pistol.

“Actually, there was. I was thinking, if he wished, that I would offer Ranae his job back,” Enjolras studied Combeferre’s expression. “I understand Feuilly misses the nest.”

“That he does,” Combeferre nodded. “Why? Why would you ask Ranae to join the crew again?”

Enjolras shrugged, he had just always assumed that Grantaire would find a way back to them at some point; he had even come to miss R’s debates, realising that since he’d gone there was no one who’d stand up to him like he needed. He supposed that beyond his frustration with the perpetual cynic, he had harboured some feelings of affection, if not friendship towards the man; he had always found Grantaire attractive, in a way. Despite what people thought about him, Enjolras was no monk, he was subject to the whims and wills of the heart and body; though he had taken none to his bed that did not mean he did not want to.

“He is without a ship, and without a crew; though he is still our friend, we can’t leave him on his own with no choice,” Enjolras said finally, looking at Combeferre.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Combeferre raised an eyebrow, his voice took on the tone it had when he was probing Enjolras for information.

“I can assure you I do not miss him, not even a little bit.” Enjolras took out his eyeglass, looking in to the harbour, trying to gauge who’s ships were in floating on the water.

“Hmm,” Combeferre looked at Enjolras over the top of his circular glasses, as he ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll leave you to it, cap’n.”

“Thanks, Ferre,” Enjolras waved Combeferre off, turning to the island again.

The town of Nassau was a few hundred meters back from the beach, the actual brick and mortar buildings started popping up after the myriad of tents used by the pirate crews. To the right of the ship, on a spit of land that jutted out in to the sea, was a large stone fort, Enjolras knew that there were seven quarter pounders pointed in their direction. The palm trees that created a barrier between the beach and the town swayed in the wind that danced over the waves to the island. A thick layer of mist covered the hills that bordered the town to the north, it rolled down the side, obscuring the dense forest that blanketed the rolling hills and valleys. The town itself was a hotchpotch of buildings, some of them English, some of them built in a more continental style, almost reminding Enjolras of home. He moved to the port side of the ship, hooking a leg over the rigging and standing on the very edge, feeling the slight spray of the water on his face. The ropes creaked under his hands, and the wind buffeted him gently, running through his hair cooling him down in the heat of the sun. He laughed, tasting salt and sea, looking down in to the clear azure water as their ship seemed to fly over the waves; he loosed the ribbon from his hair, letting the blond curls tumble over his shoulders and down his back even as they were buoyed by the wind. His waistcoat was unbuttoned and it almost slipped over his shoulders, the sleeves of his shirt ballooned out as the cooling wind found its way in to his clothes.

“Raise the black!” He called, hearing the command repeated by the shipmaster and the ropes behind him hoisting his banner high, he grinned looking back to see the red skull and scythe flapping in the air.

The pulled into the harbour with Combeferre giving his usual speech about not spending all the allotted pay at once and making provisions for the future. The men laughed and joked as usual as Enjolras stepped into his waiting longboat. The men rowed ashore quickly, all of them eager to get in to one of their usual whorehouses and ‘let off some steam’. Enjolras was eager to see to his sister and father, he thought about the tea and biscuits that was waiting for him in the Tavern just off the main street in town. His feet hit the boards of the main jetty, his legs feeling slightly wobbly after over two months at sea.

The streets were dusty, the wind from the ocean and beach hadn't travelled with him into town. His men disappeared into various brothels and taverns, one by one until he was on his own as he entered The Jolly Drunkard. The tavern was rather empty, though there were a few captains hunched over tankards of beer or plates of food. Mr Amos was behind the bar as usual, wiping down a tankard, and listening to shouted orders of drinks and meat. He inclined his head to Enjolras, indicating to that his father and sister were in their office and that he could go through and see them. The stairs creaked under him, announcing his presence before he could throw open the double doors.

“Julien?! Is that you?” Cosette called through the doors, Enjolras heard the rush of her footsteps and the crash of a chair falling over before the doors flung open and Cosette was jumping into his arms. “Its been more than two months, I thought papa said no more than two months at a time.”

“Circumstances arose, we got delayed out of Boston,” Enjolras shrugged. “Where is father?”

“He’s sleeping on the veranda, or he’s smoking his pipe and drinking rum on the veranda. I think he misses the sea,” Cosette smiled sadly, Jean Valjean had been growing old, “he’s getting so weak he can hardly climb the stairs without Mr Amos helping him.”

“It happens Cosette, people grow old, pirate kings are no exception,” Enjolras touched her shoulder.

“We need to go over your profits from your latest prize, anyway, best get that over with before papa starts to grill you,” his sister grinned, tying her hair into a bun as was her custom before she sat down to write.

“Indeed, there’s something else as well, something that would best be discussed out of nosy ear’s range,” Enjolras muttered into Cosette’s ear as he bent down to hug her once more.

“Right this way then,” Cosette said leading him into the office.

The office had two french doors that lead out on to the veranda, where Enjolras could indeed see his father rocking back and forth on his chair a pipe and bottle of rum in his hand. A desk was set up in the corner of the room, several ledgers piled on top of each other covered the surface of the large walnut desk. An ornately carved chair lay on its back from Cosette had knocked it over. An unlit oil lamp was the only other thing on the desk; Enjolras assumed that the quill and ink that usually sat on top of the ledgers had been buried under the volume of parchment and paper.

“So, you took a merchant ship off the coast of Boston?” Cosette asked, opening one of the ledgers and revealing the quill and ink.

“Aye, a rich one, headed for New York,” Enjolras nodded, “we took about a thousand pounds worth of goods and such from it. They’re being unloaded as we speak and should be all in the warehouse by the evening.”

“I’ll need to see the captain’s log, as is customary for hauls more than a thousand pounds,” Cosette scribbled something else in to the ledger.

“I know,” Enjolras took the log out of his bag, “Combeferre packed it for me, he reminded me you’d want to see it.”

“I knew there was a reason I pushed you to take him as quartermaster over Courfeyrac,” Cosette smiled and took the log. “Now, there was something else that was troubling you?”

“On our way into Nassau, we passed The Charioteer,” Enjolras began.

“I know, I sent her off about two days ago,” Cosette looked confused.

“She had been aflame, nearly sunk, all her crew dead apart from Ranae,” Enjolras continued, “he was badly hurt. Joly had to take his leg. But there was something really wrong, ‘Sette.”

“What.” Cosette’s face turned dark, her brows knitted together.

“Her gun ports weren't open, she hadn’t even tried to fire on her attackers,” Enjolras said waiting for Coesette’s reaction.

“Why would Grantaire not even try to defend himself?” Cosette asked, her eyes going wide, “why wouldn’t he try at least?”

“That’s what we thought, we walked about on deck, and there was no sign of who attacked them,” Enjolras said, shrugging, “though I did think-“

“You thought, what?” Cosette interrupted.

“I thought perhaps it was the Scarborough,” Enjolras whispered, looking outside to where his father sat smoking his pipe, and drinking his rum.

“Impossible. The Scarborough ports in Boston now, she's not been seen in the Indies for the last year at least.” Cosette shook her head.

“But, she is the only ship that could possibly have made Grantaire surrender, I might not like him much, but I can’t deny he’s a courageous man, Cosette,” Enjolras sat back and folded his arms, still not raising his voice above a whisper. “He would never surrender to just anyone, it would have had to have been someone with immense power, someone who could wipe him out no matter what he did; the only ship with that many guns that we know of is the Scarborough.”

“But the English abandoned Nassau and New Providence to us twenty years ago, they’re not going to take it back any time soon,” Cosette frowned, leaning towards to Enjolras, her mouth set.

“Listen-“ Enjolras stood and walked to the window- “I didn’t want to believe it too but-“ He broke off as there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Cosette called.

“Theodore,” Combeferre said, Enjolras could hear he feet shuffle outside the door, “I bring news of Captain Grantaire.”

“Enter!” Cosette said, standing up and throwing her arm around Combeferre when he came through. “Thank you for taking care of my brother, big dolt that he is.”

“It is not such a hardship, my lady,” Combeferre smiled, patting her gently on the back, “he’s a funny dolt at least.”

“Haha,” Enjolras rolled his eyes, turning back from the window to look at Combeferre he said, “what’s this news about Grantaire?”

“He woke briefly, spewed some nonsense about an English ship, The Scarborough I assume, attacking him and his crew; though it was all very garbled and hard to understand. He also asked for you, several times Captain.” Combeferre reported.

“Is he still awake, Theodore, can I speak to him?” Enjolras studied at his quartermaster intently, looking right in his dark brown eyes.

“Nay, he’s not, he fell asleep again, before we could ask him anything, though Joly thinks he’ll wake soon,” Combeferre said frowning a little, pushing his glasses further on to the bridge of his nose, fingering one lock of hair absently.

“Soon? When’s soon?” Enjolras asked.

“I’m not a doctor, I’m a quartermaster; how am I supposed to know?” Combeferre raised an eyebrow at Enjolras. “I also came here to give you this-“ he took out a leather bound book from his bag “-you left it behind, also you left your share of the profits as well,” he threw Enjolras a coin purse.

“Ah, yes, well I suppose I’ve had a lot on my mind,” Enjolras shrugged at the noise Cosette made.

“Anyway, the latest prize has been loaded into the warehouse and is at your disposal, my lady, Captain. The ship has been scrubbed and any repairs have been made or are in progress as we speak; we are restocked and ready to leave soon as you wish, sir.” Combeferre stood by the door, his hands fiddling with a loose hem on his waistcoat.

“Great, though I suppose I should give the men some time here before we set off again, let them know they’ve four days. Tell Joly that Grantaire can be brought to the house; if father won't let them have the guest suite they can take my rooms here, but Grantaire will need to be in the best place possible if he is to make a swift recovery and I am in no doubt that that is in the manor.” Enjolras waved his hand to Combeferre, “I’d leave now, friend, if you don’t want to have to deal with my father.”

“Thank you, no, I still have nightmares about the last time. My lady, Cap’n,” Combeferre bowed out, leaving Cosette and Enjolras alone once more.

“Well, I suppose the hour of reckoning has come,” Enjolras said, moving to the window and patting Cosette on the head, “time to go and talk to father.”

“You know he wishes you’d still call him papa,” Cosette smiled and went to sit to behind her desk.

“I can’t,” Enjolras shook his head and stepped out of the french doors that lead to the balcony. “Father, it’s good to see you.” He said, standing stiffly to attention as Jean Valjean turned in his chair to face him.

“Enjolras, it has been too long,” Valjean said, standing on shaky legs to shake Enjolras’s hand. “We missed you, here. Though I trust your time has been fruitful?”

“It has, we took a prize that-“ Enjolras stopped when he saw his father heave a breath before he fell into his chair. “Father?”

“Forgive me, my strength is not what it used to be,” he took out his pipe again, and started to puff on it, the smoke wafted over to him, filling Enjolras’s lungs. “Now, I hear you and ‘Sette talking about something that sounded important, tell me Julienne, what is it? Is dear Ranae okay? I rather like that boy.”

“Julien father, not Julienne, not anymore. It was nothing, we decided it could wait; there’s no need to worry about it.” Enjolras felt the heat of anger at his father rise and then dissipate. Jean Valjean was old; his memory was shoddy and though he had mostly respected Enjolras’s wishes, some of those things had faded from his mind; somewhere Enjolras knew that his father still saw him as Cosette’s twin sister, not her brother. He pushed it from himself, whilst his father had still been one hundred percent compus mentus, he had addressed Enjolras properly as he had asked and that was what he had to remember.

“I apologise my boy, it seems my memory as well as my strength is failing me,” his father smiled and gestured to the seat next to him. “Come sit a while, I’m sure your crew can wait another half hour yet.”

“Aye, father, though I confess that perhaps a half hour is too long - there are some matters of importance on the ship which I do need to be seeing to.” He shifted uncomfortably, laughing a little and scratching the back of his head. “It was good to see you again father, but-“

“You and Combeferre are requested to bless us with your presence at supper tonight, I miss the boy,” Jean Valjean smiled and leaned back in his chair, watching a horse and cart trundle down the small cobbled street, the palm trees that lined it swayed in the breeze. “You can go, check on your amour.”

“My- no- father, Ranae isn’t… it’s not like that… he’s just… a friend… not even that really, father please,” Enjolras stammered knowing that his face was turning red, not from the hot breeze that skittered along the balcony.

“I expect to formally meet him at some point mon petit,” his father said sleepily smiling, puffing on his pipe, rocking backwards and forwards, “now go, see to your ship and your crew, son.”

Thanks for reading!!! The whole fic has been posted on my ao3 as well. I am Alexander_Slamilton.

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syntaxeme · 7 years

Text

Name: Myles Cordova

Callsign: Canaan (subject to change since he’s sort of remaking his image atm, like Robin to Nightwing)

Age: 19

Race: human (mutant)

Ethnicity: Mixed Latino. Half Mexican, half Cuban

Gender/sexuality: cis bi boy

Body: 5’ 8”, sort of light brown skin. Has freckles (dark brown ones) across his cheeks and nose, and a few on his shoulders and back. He doesn’t have a ton of combat training, considering his niche; most of what he does know is how to get away, rather than actually attack. Point being: he doesn’t have a lot of muscle. He’s sort of twiggy. He has kind of small ears, and they’re the first thing to turn red when he’s flustered. His hands are steady and dexterous, and he’s pretty good at keeping his balance. He has sharp eyes, too—though he does still need his scope at any significant distance.

Hair: Thick, black, sort of wavy. Really shiny, kind of makes you want to run your fingers through it. It reaches maybe his chin and parts on his left side. He’s a little fussy about it. It’s the main reason he refuses to wear any sort of helmet or mask that covers his head completely.

Eyes: Kind of deep set. Light, vibrant blue. (Who’s a mutant? This kid.) They’re still “normal”-looking enough to not be made into a big deal, though (unlike Nat’s).

Powers: Sound distortion. The way he sees it is that he got the parts of the energy manipulation that Nat didn’t. He couldn’t explain it scientifically; it’s more of a will thing to him; as long as he knows what he wants to do, he can generally make it happen. This includes a number of things: temporarily deafening his enemies, screwing up their equilibrium, stunning and disorienting, soundproofing or, conversely, amplifying a sound so he can he can hear it better. However, he has some kind of conscience problem with using his powers at close range; he doesn’t like talking to or even seeing his victims up close. So his parents commissioned a…friend to help. That help came in the form of a long-range rifle (affectionately dubbed “Sonic”) with the ability to “shoot” his powers over long distances.

Background: Both of his parents are mutants and crime-fighters (which is, in fact, how they met). He and his twin sister (Nat) are mutants as well. Since the twins were about 13, the four of them worked as a team—but about a year ago (right after they graduated, in fact), his sister abandoned them. She said she had to leave so she wouldn’t hurt anyone but gave no further explanation. After that, their parents stopped “working,” heartbroken and thinking that her defection was somehow their fault. Myles’s main focus right now is finding her. He wants answers and, if possible, to bring her back.

Personality: Friendly, clever, well-meaning. Prefers to make lame jokes rather than having serious conversations. He’s pretty hardheaded and stubborn when he sets his mind on something. Not in the “I’ll fight you” kind of way, but more like “you can tell me ‘no’ and I’ll say ‘okay,’ but later I’m going to try it again anyway.” He’s smart, but he has a hard time expressing that in (spoken) words. He kind of has a hard time with talking to people in general. Not that he doesn’t want to, just that he second-guesses himself and always seems to come off a little nervous for no apparent reason. He’s spent so much time trying to get good at socializing that he finds himself studying people (and their interactions) a lot. More than he means to. So much that he’s painfully aware when a conversation is only happening because of social obligations rather than actual interest (e.g. “oh hey, we haven’t seen each other in a while so now we have to do the whole catching up thing and I have to pretend I’m interested in your life because it’s? polite?”). Put simply, he can tell pretty quickly whether someone’s being sincere or not. Whenever he realizes he’s involved in a conversation like that, he pretty quickly shuts down and wants it to be over. He feels like he’s wasting someone’s time, like they’re being forced to deal with him, and it makes him feel shitty about himself. To be fair, for pretty much his entire life, Nat was always there to make interactions work a little smoother; she’s always been super outgoing and good at making friends quickly. Having her around made him way more confident. Now that she’s not, he’s realizing how much of his social skills relied on her presence. It’s not a great feeling. Something he wants to work on but feels really sure will never improve. He may also be a bit naïve in some areas. For instance, the only romantic experience he’s had was with one boyfriend in his junior year of high school, and they barely got past makeouts. When that relationship ended, he wasn’t heartbroken. He doesn’t see the whole romance thing as essential. Not to mention the whole “if you’re with me, you’re in danger” thing. If you want to set him back or see him blush, the subject of romance or sex is the surest way to make it happen.

Misc.

He speaks and understands Spanish and might actually have an easier time of expressing himself with it, but he still doesn’t often, mostly just because he deals with English-speakers usually. Nat uses it a lot more than he does. When he’s talking to her or their parents, it’s not uncommon for the conversation to shift between Spanish and English and back again.

He’s not a morning person. He’s one of those kids who will throw a tantrum and toss and kick in bed when you take his covers away.

For years, he’s been begging his parents to get him a pet, but it never happened; they think he’s not responsible enough. They’re probably right. But he still really wants one—especially now that his best friend has abandoned him.

He hates tags in his clothes and has a bad habit of tearing them off, leaving many of his shirts with holes in the collars.

He chews on his pencils—and for that very reason, he doesn’t use pens anymore; he’s had ink in his mouth too many times.

Clothing

Civvies: Loose blue jeans and graphic tees with nerdy jokes or puns on them. Vans (similar fussiness as with his hair). V-necks and slightly better-fitted jeans if he actually feels like making an effort. He likes knit sweaters, too.

“Work” clothes: Being a sniper, he generally wears dark colors (or whatever will help him go unnoticed). Long sleeves, gloves, black pants and boots. The most recognizable part of his outfit (besides the visor) is a high-collared leather vest that he thinks makes him look super cool and edgy.

His mask is actually a visor—which serves the dual purpose of being Sonic’s scope. The frame is black, but the display shows a red line that moves and reacts to his expressions, sort of like a heart monitor. In casual settings (as with other heroes), it also does cute emotes like “O///O”

#Myles Cordova #superheroes #this triple-bi baby #shy boi #my OCs

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warninggraphiccontent · 5 years

Text

23 August 2019

Data-driven government? Part two

Part two of our look at who's responsible for data in the new government...

Oliver Dowden MP The new Minister for the Cabinet Office - the coordinating centre of government - is both new and not new to the role. New, in now being the Secretary of State equivalent(ish) in Cabinet Office. Not new, in having been the Minister for Implementation (MFI - how appropriate he's now building a Cabinet career, a joke for people of a certain age there) in Cabinet Office since January 2018, and having had responsibility for the Government Digital Service (and therefore bits of data), cyber and spending controls. He launched the Technology Innovation Strategy (and accompanying AI guide) only a couple of months ago. Hopefully his experience of the nitty-gritty of all things implementation means he understands the importance of fixing the plumbing behind the shiny things (having chaired a Conservative Party conference event with him last year, I think that's the case). It's not yet entirely clear how ministerial responsibilities are being split between junior ministers, but interim minister for the constitution, Kevin Foster, is responsible for areas including statistics and transparency, and Simon Hart doesn't have a job title focused on anything else, so could well pick up some of Dowden's old brief.

Nicky Morgan MP New Secretary of State for Digital, Culture, Media and (for some reason also etc) Sport. Reached the Cabinet as Education Secretary under David Cameron and, most recently, chair of the Treasury Select Committee in parliament. Ultimately responsible for the National Data Strategy. She spoke at the launch of our second Performance Tracker report back in autumn 2017, which is all about the need for better data on public services to inform spending decisions - although the Treasury Select Committee has taken less of an interest in good data than either the Public Accounts Committee ('poor quality data is a perennial bugbear of the committee') or Public Administration and Constitutional Affairs Committee (see this on financial reporting among many other reports on data and statistics). (Though this report had some interesting things to say about consumer data.)

Nigel Adams MP Junior DCMS minister responsible for 'Data and the National Archives' as Minister of State for Sport, Media and Creative Industries. Not really said much about data, but this owes something to his ministerial roles (mainly answering parliamentary questions) and role as a whip (they tend not to speak that much). One of those record 36 ministerial resignations under Theresa May.

Matt Warman MP Another junior DCMS minister, with responsibilities including digital infrastructure and skills. Former technology editor of the Telegraph. One of the MPs responsible for scrutinising the Data Protection Bill as it went through parliament. Author of a report for the Centre for Policy Studies which recommended more consumer rights and transparency around targeted online ads and political advertising, a right to explanation of decisions made by public sector organisations, and 'the assumption that public data should be public by default'. Further proof that if you want a ministerial promotion you should speak on a party conference panel chaired by me.

Finally, a reminder our next Data Bites event is on Wednesday 4 September. Come!

Have a good weekend

Gavin

Today's links:

Graphic content

UK politics

Recall of parliament (me for IfG)

Boris CAN win only going after Brexit Party voters, so long as the Remain vote stays split (YouGov)

Constituency cards (Alasdair Rae)

UK everything else

The A level gender gap: attainment and entries (1996 – 2018) (Education Policy Institute, via Graham)

Ian Mulheirn says UK housing is not a supply problem. No one can prove him wrong (Giles Wilkes)

On the brink: Britain’s economy braces for Brexit ‘shock’* (FT)

How rising rail fares and falling punctuality undermine confidence* (The Economist)

What a retirement age of 75 would mean given life expectancy data across the UK (John Burn-Murdoch)

Everything else

The Amazon is on fire - how bad is it? (BBC News)

The most subtle design decisions can drive the statement you want to make (Adina Renner, via Lee)

What’s the Deal With That Inverted Yield Curve? A Sports Analogy Might Help* (The Upshot)

A Topographic Map of the Moon (Tabletop Whale)

Meta data

The only way is...?

Maths and tech specialists need Hippocratic oath, says academic (The Guardian)

The Guardian view on ethics for mathematicians: an essential addition(The Guardian)

Discussion 1, discussion 2 (Rachel Coldicutt)

Immigration

Migration Statistics Quarterly Report: August 2019 (ONS)

Statement from the ONS on the reclassification of international migration statistics (ONS)

EU immigration to the UK has been bigger than we thought (Full Fact)

Current migration statistics: no longer fit for purpose (Jonathan Portes)

Facial recognition and identity

Police forces halt trials of facial recognition systems (The Guardian)

Hong Kong Protesters Are Worried About Facial Recognition Technology. But There Are Many Other Ways They're Being Watched. (BuzzFeed)

Facial recognition is now rampant. The implications for our freedom are chilling (The Guardian)

Sierra Leone’s thumbprint breakthrough to sign up unbanked* (FT)

Election data

General election results from 1918 to 2017 (House of Commons Library, via Lee)

General election results from 1918 to 2019: All data now in one place (House of Commons Library)

If you want the last *200* years of UK election data, with full candidate and party names, you can find it here (Arthur Spirling and Andy Eggers)

Everything else

Data Bites #5: Getting things done with data in government (Institute for Government)

Government Statistician resigns after Census report (Stats NZ)

No deal and data adequacy (Heather Burns)

I've tried to summarise some key problems I see with Netflix's 'The Great Hack' (thread) (Johan Farkas)

AI ALGORITHMS NEED FDA-STYLE DRUG TRIALS* (Wired)

AI can read your emotions. Should it? (The Observer)

Who needs democracy when you have data? (MIT Technology Review)

An open data maturity scale for cities to find right-sized solutions (Sunlight Foundation)

People not robots are the key to the fourth industrial revolution (King's Policy Institute)

You Can Finally See All Of The Info Facebook Collected About You From Other Websites (BuzzFeed)

How Taiwan cracked open its digital skills agenda* (Apolitical)

Governance sinkholes (Nesta)

Opportunities

JOB: Principal Researcher (Data Science) (Nesta)

JOB: Data Visualization Editor (Axios)

Two jobs going at the Geospatial Commission (via @HolgerHke)

Data Science and Technology opportunities at ONS and the Campus(ONS)

Funding competition: Enabling data access in accountancy, insurance and legal services: Innovation Lab (Innovate UK)

And finally...

#dataviz

Legal weed is linked to higher junk-food sales* (The Economist)

A black hole simulation in 140 bytes of JavaScript (Addy Osmani)

This dataviz represents my brother and I moving a couch upstairs (Brian C. Reyes)

Data

You’re Better at Choosing a Dog Than a Spouse* (Bloomberg)

Brent Spiner on how Patrick Stewart's pronunciation of 'Data' changed how Americans say the word (Boing Boing)

The Research Team updating monthly #ukhousing charts (Joe Sarling)

Statistics Japan has a feature where it shows you where prefectures rank against others across different metrics (Mike Bird, via Martin)

Correlation and causation (via Matt Singh)

oh no statistics are in trouble how can I help?!? (Owen Boswarva)

0 notes

thetravelerwrites · 5 years

Text

Fuzz (MLM Mothman) Lemon

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Male Human/Male Mothman Additional Tags: Exophilia, Mothman, Male Reader, Male Monster, D&D, Dungeons & Dragons, Tabletop Gaming, Interspecies Romance, Social Anxiety, Gay Monster, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Anal Sex, Safe Sex, Condoms Words: 7185

A fun commission for @severedreamerbeard. A man meets a shy silkmoth mothman in a hobby store during a free comic day, and invites him to play D&D with his friends. Please reblog and leave feedback!

The Traveler's Masterlist

Free Comic Friday always drew a huge crowd in your favorite local comic shop, but it was packed to the rafters today. The first issue of a graphic novel reboot had dropped and they were offering five hundred free copies, first come first served. You’d been dying to get your hands on it since the reboot had been announced, and you couldn’t believe it was finally out.

Happily swinging the bag around, you didn’t leave immediately once you got your copy like most of the crowd had done. This was one of your favorite places to hang out. It wasn’t like a lot of comic shops that seemed to only attract one demographic; there was always a nice mix of different people. Tabletop gamers, comic enthusiasts, collectors of various nerdy things, cosplayers who needed supplies to make their costumes: all sorts came through here and you loved it.

You got a text from your friend, Shannon, who knew you’d be there and snickered. She’d lost her D20, again, and wanted you to pick up another one in blue, preferably with sparklies so that it matched her current favorite set. Rolling your eyes and smirking, you headed for the dice aisle.

To your surprise, there was a very large, tall mothman standing there, though he was hunched over a little, rolling a die over and over. It was a new type of die that lit up when you rolled it, and the moth’s eyes brightened every time he saw the lights inside activate.

He was almost all white and extremely fluffy; the fluffiest part of him was the ruff around his neck. His large wings were folded against his back, complete with long tails on each like a lunar moth. He had four arms, the top pair larger than the lower pair, which were sort of wrapped around himself, and his hands had two long, large fingers and a thumb each, all a velvety brown in color. He wore no clothing, only a baseball cap with his brown, feather-like antennae sticking out of the holes at the top. The cap said “Will Work for Cuddles” on it.

Mothmen were rare, and you’d seen one or two before, but you’d never been close enough to one to actually talk to them.

“That’s a great set,” You said. “They just got them in last week.”

The mothman jumped, startled, but he grinned a little. “Heh…” He stammered nervously. “Yeah. I… I hate to perpetuate a stereotype, but I am attracted to things that light up.”

He spoke softly, like he was nervous people would hear him. It was cute, but you almost worried about him. The poor thing must have been terrified to come in here with so many people, but the pull of nerd junk can be strong sometimes.

“Do you play?” You asked him, gesturing at the die.

“Play?” The replied, confused.

“Yeah, D&D,” You said, and after a moment of him continuing to look confused, you elaborated. “Dungeons and Dragons. The tabletop game. What you use these dice for.”

“Oh!” He exclaimed, fidgeting. “No, I… I’ve never played. I’ve always wanted to, but… none of my friends are into nerdy stuff like I am. That and I’m kind of new in town, so I haven’t met many people yet. I was lucky to find this hobby shop. I was just walking past and saw it and figured I’d stop in. Is it always this busy?”

“On free comic day, absolutely,” I said with a smile. “So... not to be creepy since it’s literally the first time we’ve met, but my friends and I play every Sunday evening. We’re actually about to start a brand new campaign. You’re more than welcome to join. If you like, you can come ‘round Saturday at lunch and we can build you a character sheet, so that your prepared for the campaign.”

“Really?” He said, his voice timid but excited. “I’d love that! Thanks so much!”

“It’s no trouble,” You said, pulling out your phone. “Here, put your info in my phone and I’ll text you my address.”

He took your phone with a big grin on his face and put in his number. You took your phone back and looked.

“Fuzz?” You asked. “That’s a little on the nose, ain’t it?”

He laughed, a really pleasant sound. “It’s a nickname. Uh…listen… I… I’m actually on my lunch break, so I need to get back to work, but… I’m really looking forward to playing with you and your friends. I’ve always wanted to try.”

“We’d love to have you,” You told him, smiling. He bade you farewell and left, looking back before he headed out of the door and smiling widely at you one last time.

You looked down at the light-up dice, pursed your lips, and snatched up a whole set of them plus a carry bag. You were halfway to the check out when you realized you forgot Shannon’s D20 and doubled back for it.

The next day at lunchtime, Fuzz arrived at your home with pizza in his hand. You were going to throw together some grilled cheeses, but this was way better.

“Thanks, man,” You said, taking it and setting it on the counter in your apartment.

“No prob,” Fuzz replied. His neck ruff seemed to have been brushed shiny and the hat he wore today said “Nap Champion.” “I didn’t know what kind of toppings you’d like, so I just went for a good ol’ cheese.”

“I love cheese,” You told him. “I’ve got you a fresh character sheet printed out and the manual ready. You can look through it while I’m plating this up. What would you like to drink? I’ve got soda, beer, water, and apple juice.”

“Is it… weird if I ask for juice?” He said shyly, hunching his shoulders. “It’s better for my stomach than the other things.”

“Apple juice it is,” You said, pouring a glass. You took the plates and cups to the table, watching Fuzz go over the character sheet with a dumbfounded look on his face.

“I am very confused,” He murmured, almost to himself.

You laughed. “Well, that’s why you’re here. I’ll teach you.” I sat next to him and took a big bite of pizza. “Okay, so, first, you’re going to choose your race. It makes everything after that a little bit easier. I know this sheet tells you to choose a name first, but choosing a name is easier if you know what race you are, because certain races have naming conventions. Like, Tabaxis have tribal naming conventions, so you can’t choose a name like… Frank, for example.”

“Got it,” Fuzz said.

“Take a look at mine,” You said, pulling out your own character sheet full of annotations and stats. “My character is a calashite human cleric, which is like a priest, devoted to the god of knowledge, and my alignment is Lawful-Good. Now, most races will have default alignments, but you can decide what you want yours to be.”

“Okay,” Fuzz replied, trying to keep it all straight. “Hmm… are there any insect races I can play as?”

“Unfortunately, no,” You told him. “But, the cool thing about fantasy is that you can be whatever you want.”

“But I want to be a bug,” He said dryly.

You snorted. “Just look through and see if there’s something you like.”

“Oh!” He exclaimed, pointing at a drider. “That’s a bug!”

“That’s an arachnid,” I pointed out.

“Same difference,” He said.

“Don’t spiders eat moths?” You joked.

“I will take my pizza and go home, mister,” Fuzz said, poking fun right back. You were glad he was getting comfortable enough with you to joke around.

“Driders aren’t playable either,” You replied, laughing. “What about a shifter? That way you can take on aesthetic characteristics an insect, if you like. And the single-skins have white hair, like your fur.”

“Okay, okay,” Fuzz said. “What about a name?”

“Shifters usually have monosyllabic names, so anything you can think of with a single syllable.”

“Like Fuzz, you mean?”

“Are you really going to call your character by your real name?” You asked, smiling.

He smiled back, his lips the same velvety brown as his antennae and hands. “I told you, it’s a nickname. Trust me, it’s better than my real one. Only my parents and siblings know that.”

“Not even your girlfriend?” You asked him.

“Ah… no girlfriend,” He said, shrugging shyly and ducking his head, his antennae waving a little erratically. “I.. uh… don’t lean that way, if you know what I mean.”

You waved your hand. “I’m bi, so no judgment,” You told him, and he relaxed.

You both settled on alignment, level, and class, and then it was time to roll for his stats.

“Oh,” He said with a frown. “I… shit, I don’t have dice.”

“No worries,” You told him, taking out the bag you bought and rolling out the light-up set he’d been admiring.

“You bought those for me?” He asked, his shyness returning, reaching for the bag with a cautious grin.

“Yep,” You told him. “It’s no big deal. I knew you’d need a set and you seemed to like these, so I just--”

You were cut off when he grabbed you with his large upper arms and hugged you. God, his fur was soft. You’d never actually touched it before now, but with your face pressed against it, it was softer than angora and smelled like fresh herbs.

He released you suddenly, as if catching himself doing something he hadn’t meant to do. “Sorry, sorry… that was just… really nice of you.”

“Hey, it’s totally cool. I’m a hugger, too,” You told him, patting his upper shoulder. “Alright, let me show you how the dice work and then we’ll roll for your stats.”

You’d had a great time with him fleshing out his character, and once he got over his initial shyness, he was one of the funniest people you’d ever met. He had you in stitches until dinnertime, when he told you he had to go home and unpack. Apparently, when he said he’d just moved there, he meant just. You got another hug as he left, and it was just as soft and warm as the first one.

You felt a little disappointed after he was gone and couldn’t wait to see him the next evening.

For the next twenty four hours, you felt fidgety and restless, excited to see Fuzz again and start the new campaign. Rick had been working for weeks on the plot and obstacles, and he was always the best DM.

Fuzz met you at your house wearing a ball cap that read “Don’t Mess with Me*” and in fine print under the asterisk, continued with, “I’ll Cry A Lot and It Will Be Uncomfortable for Both of Us.” He gave you one of his warm, cuddly hugs and rode with you to Rick’s place. Rick, Shannon, Dag, and Jenna were standing out on the porch with sodas and beer, talking and laughing, and they saluted you with their various beverages as you drove onto the driveway.

“Hey, buddy!” Rick said as you got out of the car. “This your new friend?”

“Fuzz,” The shy mothman said, tentatively reaching out a hand.

“Ha! That’ll be easy to remember,” Rick said, shaking his hand. “I’m Rick. This is Dag.” Rick pointed at a large orc with a sort of a gold tan over his light green skin who gave Fuzz a half-salute. “Jenna.” She was a human with dark skin and tight curls who waved at Fuzz with a bright smile. “And Shannon.” Shannon was part fae, you knew, but you were never sure what her exact nature was. But, then again, all fae were like that. She had pearlescent skin and rosy hair cut short and buzzed on one side. Her bright green pupils were slitted and just a bit too large for her face. Fuzz ducked his head and and gave a little nod each time someone was introduced, trying to make eye contact.

“We’re just waiting for Russel. Can I get you something to drink?” Rick asked Fuzz.

“Do you, um… do you have water? Fizzy stuff makes me a bit sick,” Fuzz said.

“You got it, bud,” Rick said, reaching for a bottle out of the cooler.

Russel was Rick’s twin and lived next door, but he was always late. You didn’t understand why, but Rick shrugged and said he’d always been like that. It’s why Russel wasn’t allowed to DM.

Russel wandered over about five minutes later, and an a minute or two after that, the sushi that Rick ordered showed up. After paying, the seven of you went into the house to get started.

“Okay, so, everyone has their completed character sheets ready to go?” Rick asked, and you all held up your papers while stuffing your faces with california rolls. “Good. Dice? Minis?”

“We didn’t have time to make Fuzz’s mini,” You said.

“No big deal, I’ve got a ton of spares. I always keep a few blanks on hand because of this dingus over here.” He gestured at his brother. “He always forgets to make a miniature.” Rick handed Fuzz a box with blank miniatures in it, carefully separated by foam. Fuzz picked a slender humanoid and set it in front of him.

“Now,” Rick said. “If we are all ready to proceed?” He looked around the table and everyone nodded. Fuzz was shifting in his chair with both nervousness and excitement. “Very well. Our adventure starts in the midst of chaos! Inside a small inn of the road inside the land of Turmish, on the edge of the Sword Coast, a bar fight is raging. The bar is affectionately known by travelers as The Drunken Worm, and for good reason. Currently, though, windows are being smashed up, tables are being thrown, people are flying through the air, there is an absolute roar of voices drowning out any other sound. And in the midst is someone trying to calm the turmoil, only to have a chair smashed over her head. Shannon, that would be you, please describe your character.”

“Okay,” Shannon said, bouncing a little in her seat. “I am a very large, dark blue dragonborn named Anshez. I have a shortish snout with sharp teeth jutting out of my lips. I have two sets of horns on my head, which now have bits of wood dangling from them, and three lines of ridges down my back to the tip of my tail. My eyes are blue as well, and I’m wearing contrasting light blue robes with slits up to my knees for easier movement, and I have a large bastard sword strapped to my back.”

“Excellent,” Rick said, writing that down. “Now, for the unfortunate person who was wielding that chair.” Rick pointed at you. “What is your character?”

“I’m calashite human cleric,” You said. “My name is Khemed Pashar. I’m quite up there in age, as far as humans go; before I decided to travel, I spent forty years in a monastery in study and prayer. I have greying hair and a pale complexion, and I’m wearing white robes with a green panel down the front lined with silver embroidery. The panel has the insignia of the god of the pursuit of knowledge, Oghma, my patron. My only companion is a guide I hired a few days ago.”

“Why is a cleric hurling chairs?” Dag asked.

“I’m just going with the story, man,” You said.

“Anyway,” Rick said. “Anshez, who was once trying to calm the situation, is now slowly drawing her blade from the sheath on her back. Suddenly, someone appears and grabs her arm.”

“That would be me,” Jenna said. “I am a mustard yellow tiefling ranger named Varan, with horns and hooves that are shiny black. My eyes are also black and reflective. I’m wearing a knee-length dress of tightly woven chainmail and a leather vest over it. I have bracers on both my lower and upper arms. I grab my friend’s arm to stop her from hurting the frail looking human and try to calm her.”

“Roll a persuasion check,” Rick said.

“16, and I have a +2 advantage,” Jenna said.

“You are successful in talking down your partner, though she is still angry.”

“If I apologized, would she forgive me?” You asked.

“Roll for it,” Rick said. You rolled. Nat 1. The table burst into uproarious laughter.

“She would not,” Rick said with a chuckle. “In fact, she can barely hear your apology over the din, so she thinks you’re mocking her and she’s now holding a grudge against you.”

“Shit,” You said, grinning.

“Can I jump in?” Fuzz ventured cautiously.

“Definitely,” Rick said. “Your character?”

“I’m a wildhunt shifter druid,” Fuzz said. “I’m just under seven feet tall, and my current mask takes on the characteristics of a brown bear. I’m wearing a hat with a veil that covers most of my face and a pair of loose pants that doesn’t obstruct my movement. I’m in the employ of the cleric; he hired me to be his guide.”

“Good, good.” Rick makes notes. “Your name?”

“Fuzz,” He said.

“Your character name,” Rick said.

“That’s is my character name,” Fuzz said with a shy grin.

Rick snorted. “Okie-dokie. What are the two of you doing in all this?” He asks Dag and Russel.

“We’re bards,” Dag said. “I’m a halfling playing a fiddle.”

“A halfling? Really?” Tiny Shannon said, snickering.

“You’re a dragonborn, shut up,” Dag said, and Shannon giggled, playfully slapping his arm. “My name is Taurin Goodwort. My companion and I are on the small, dingy stage in the corner, trying to play over the noise. We’ve been paid, so by gods, we’re going to do our jobs. I’m wearing a coat that’s slightly too big but my clothes underneath are finely tailored and well fitted. I’m a dapper dude.”

“I’m also playing, but I’m a lute player,” Russel said. “I’m a grey tabby tabaxi not much taller than my halfling friend. My name is Game of Chance, but I go by Chance. My clothes are flashy and covered in shiny trinkets and bells that jingle to the beat when I stomp my paws.”

“Aww,” Jenna said, scratching behind Russel’s ear. He whacked her hand away, and she grinned.

Once the introductions were finished, the campaign was underway. Despite the chaos of the bar fight, the six of you hear the woeful tale of a patron of the bar, a missing son, an actual dragon, an actual dungeon, and all the traps that is implied. Fuzz opened up slowly as the campaign waged on, and his druid had the party in howling with laughter by the end of the night. When the seven of you wrapped up for the night, Fuzz had an open invitation to come back, with or without you.

Fuzz came to every Sunday session from then on, and though it took him some time to get over his anxiety around people, he swiftly became friends with everyone at the table. Despite how much he and the other were getting along, though, he always sat next to you. Perhaps even though he was getting over his shyness, he was still more comfortable next to you.

You weren’t complaining; you liked being close to him. In fact, the two of you had become really good friends, having lunch twice a week and texting constantly. You had your phone in your hand at all times, waiting for his response. You’d woken up with a dead phone on your chest on a number of occasions.

One weekday, after painting his miniature, he took you for dinner, although he didn’t know any good spots since he was still new in town and told you to pick. You decided on Japanese, though the restaurant was a bit full, and it made him nervous. You offered to go somewhere else, but he said it was fine and that he’d brave it, but only for you, making you blush a little. You grabbed his hand and led him through the throngs of people, and his grip tightened on yours.

It took a month for you to realize that… maybe you weren’t just feeling friendship for Fuzz. You liked him a lot. You thought about him all the time and looked forward to his hugs and touching his fur and listening to his laugh and the chittering noise he made when he was happy or excited.

Then, one late evening after the two of you had said goodnight, you had other thoughts. You wondered what his… intimate parts looked like. What they felt like. What they tasted like. And the idea excited you. Thinking about it, you felt yourself getting hard, and you stroked yourself to the thought of touching him, finding out where his private places were and playing with them, and teasing them. Kissing him and cuddling him and getting him to make those cute noises you loved to hear. You moaned at the thought, jerking faster as your imagination ran away with you. You came all over your hand and stomach, gasping and sweating, but it wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted him. Nothing else was good enough.

During the sixth session after Fuzz had joined the campaign, when he wore a cap that just said, “LAMPS!” in big, bold letters, your party had located the lost bar patron’s son, but he was a mind slave to an aboleth, one of many, enslaved to dig out an enclave for the creature to built it’s own small hold, so it could rule by itself. Aboleth’s are extraordinarily selfish creatures, and while they often group together, this one’s desires had driven him to make its own place to lord over. The trick was going to be defeating the aboleth without hurting any of the enslaved, as they were all sons and daughters of the local villages.

It was hard to concentrate on the game with Fuzz next to you. He always sat next to you during every game, but he seemed especially close this evening. You’d glance at him surreptitiously to find him looking at you. When you caught him, he’d smile and look away. He seemed to find reasons to touch you, whether it was to pass you something or to reach past you for something. His fur smelled as good as it always did.

You were filled with such doubts, though. Could you just be reading to much into it? You hadn’t really dated a lot, and you’d never dated a non-human. What if he was just overly friendly to compensate for his shyness? What if you told him how you felt and he didn’t feel the same? You enjoyed spending time with him, and he was so shy that you were scared of pushing him away with your feelings. You tried to push it out of your mind. You had an aboleth to defeat.

“For my turn, I’m going to make a mad dash an possibly take the hit so that I can cast Dispel Illusion to get rid of the aboleth’s secondary illusion,” Jenna said.

“Uh…” Rick checked his notes. “The aboleth is at level 13, and you are level 7, so you only have slightly more than half a chance of this working, so roll for it.”

“Um…” The clattering of Jenna’s die as it rolled across her board. “13, and I have +5 intelligence.”

“Okay, so your spell was successful, but it won’t stop him from creating another in a few minutes and that’s the end of your turn. You’re surrounded by enslaved and they are being driven to rip you apart.” He rolled his die. “They pretty much tear you to shreds. You take… 63 points of damage.”

“Gah!” Jenna said, flopping back into her chair and huffing. “Balls. I’m down.”

“I’m going to use the diversion to summon fiendish monstrous scorpions to draw the enslaved away,” Fuzz said.

“Nice,” You told him in an undertone. He grinned sideways at you.

“Chance and I take this opportunity to check the pond for other enslaved that we hadn’t seen.” Both Dag and Russel rolled. 18 and 12.

“You don’t see anything, only the aboleth growling menacingly at you, preparing to summon another illusion,” Rick said.

Shannon and Jenna then began pulling unconscious enslaved away from the pond.

“Alright, so my big finishing move,” You said, tugging at your sleeves confidently. “Now that I know the pond is free of collateral damage, I cast Lightning Bolt.”

“Roll for your attack.”

“Buh… Ooh! 27!”

“Lightning Bolt is affective!” Rick said. “But the aboleth is not completely destroyed.”

“So we all bum-rush him?” Fuzz asked.

“Hell yeah!” Shannon exclaimed. “Except for Jenna, cause she dead as fuck.”

Jenna stuck her tongue out. “Hey, I broke through enemy lines, gave you guys an advantage, and died like a goddamn hero, so you can suck on all my balls.”

“You ain’t got balls!” Shannon said.

“You don’t know my life!” Jenna shot back.

“I’m your wife, dumbass!” Shannon retorted.

“Would you guys shut your cakeholes and kill this thing, please? I would like to go to bed before 2 A.M. this time,” Rick said.

With the aboleth destroyed and the slaves freed, you collected a hefty bounty from the grateful townspeople and wrapped up the session with big hug all around.

As the night was winding down, with people finishing off snacks and getting their coats and belongings together, Shannon cornered you in the kitchen.

“So, what’s going on with you and Fuzz?” She asked in an almost-whisper.

You looked back over your shoulder anxiously, worried that Fuzz overheard, but he was talking to Dag and Rick.

“What are you talking about?” You asked.

“Oh, please, you are so obvious and oblivious at the same time. Everyone in the group know the two of you are practically in love with each other except for you and him.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” You told her dismissively. “Even if I did like him, I have no way of knowing if he feels the same way. And I’m not saying I do have feelings for him.”

“Oh my god, are you serious?” She said exasperatedly. “I’ve watched the two of you make goo-goo eyes and ‘accidentally’ on-purpose touch each other all night. He’s head over heels for you. And you are for him, I can tell. We can all tell. Hell, we have a pool going for when you guys are just going to give in and fuck.”

“Shannon!” You hissed. She had said that last sentence a little too loud for your liking.

“Look, you guys have lunch by yourselves all the time, so it’s clear you’re comfortable being alone. Just ask him to go out with you!”

You sighed, looking back over at Fuzz, wearing that sweet smile on his face and laughing at something Dag said.

“I’ll think about it,” You told her.

“I bet I win the pot,” She said, grinning cheekily, and you shooed her off with an impatient grimace.

On the way home, you scratched the back of your neck and asked, “So, I know you’re new to the area, so I’m sure you don’t know much about the local events, right?”

“Nothing at all,” He replied. “Why?”

Your heart was hammering in your chest. You wondered if he could hear it. “Well, next week’s session is postponed because of our town’s fireworks festival. Do you like fireworks?”

He chirruped excitedly, which was probably the most adorable sound you’d ever heard in your life. “I love fireworks!”

“Awesome! That’s awesome…” You gulped a little. “That’s really good, because I was… wondering… if maybe… you’d like to go with me?”

“Yeah!” He said. “Is the group going?”

“Oh, yeah,” You said, clearing your throat. “They’ll be there, but I, uh… I was thinking maybe it could, you know, just… be the two of us?”

“Sure, that’ll be fun, but why aren’t we going with the group?”

“Because…” You said, struggling to get the words out. “This is special. I want to spend time with you. Just with you, you know what I mean?”

You pulled into your driveway and parked before turning to look at Fuzz. He was gaping at you.

“You mean, like a date?” He asked.

“Yeah,” You said. “If that’s okay?”

“That’s totally okay,” He said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I’d love to go with you.”

You laughed in relief. “Awesome. I can’t wait.”

You both got out of the car and he gave you a hug before leaving, lingering a little longer this time. You ran your fingers through the fur of his back, up and down, and he sighed before pulling away.

“See you?” He asked.

“See you,” You replied.

The next weekend, you picked him up at his apartment. He had a basket in one hand and a quilt over his shoulder. His hat said “I Like Shiny Objects” on it. Apt for the situation, you thought.

He raised a free hand in greeting. “Hey!”

“Hey,” You said in return as he got in. “Ready?”

“Very much so,” He replied, and you smiled at him. “I’m glad you asked me out. I wanted to ask you, but I was too anxious.”

You felt a blush creep up your neck. You were glad it was already dark.

“When do the fireworks start?” He asked.

“Seven-thirty,” You replied. “I want to get there early to find a good spot.”

Fifteen minutes later, you arrived at the fairgrounds to realize that you weren’t the only person to have this idea. The place was already packed. You frowned.

“Well, so much for that idea,” You said.

“What’s behind that fence over there?” Fuzz asked, pointing past the field.

“Oh, nothing but forest,” You told him. “There’s supposed to be wildcats out there, so it’s to keep kids out.”

“We aren’t kids,” Fuzz said.

“Yeah, but I don’t know where the the gate is, and that’s too high for me to climb,” You told him.

“Oh, no,” Fuzz replied a little sarcastically, fluttering his wings a bit. “What a dilemma. Whatever shall we do?”

You smirked, feeling your heart flutter as well. “You want to fly over?”

“Got a better idea?”

You put your hands on your hips and ducked your head, unsure. You felt one of his hands on your cheek and you looked up at him.

“Trust me,” He said softly.

His large thumb was achingly close to your lips, but you resisted and urge to kiss it. “I do.”

He grabbed you around the middle with your arms around his neck and flew you up and over the fence from a secluded corner of the field. He managed to find a hill with a very small clearing, perfect for a quilt, sitting right next to a big oak tree.

“This is amazing,” You told him, looking down the hill with a clear view off the field and the sky. “You can see everything from this vantage.”

“You like this?” He asked, setting down everything he brought.

“Yeah,” You answered. “It’s incredible.”

“Good,” He said in a soft voice, coming up behind you and wrapping both arms around you. “We can be alone here for as long as we like.”

His voice was low, almost seductive, and you’d never heard him use it before. It sent tingles down your spine and in… other places.

The two of you lay out the quilt and the spread he’d prepared. It was the quintessential date picnic: fruit, cheese, wine, crackers, all kinds of fancy things that you’d never actually had before, like fig jam and stuff. It was all really cool, but it felt strangely “by the book.”

“Fuzz, can I ask you something?”

He looked at you with a surprised expression. “Sure, anything.”

“You’ve never been on a date before, have you?” You asked him.

His face fell a little. “That obvious, huh?”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” You assured him. “And this is amazing, and I’m having a great time. I just don’t want you to think that you have to do all of this,” You waved your hand at the picnic. “To win me over. You’ve already done that. I wouldn’t have asked you out if I didn’t like being with you.”

He smiled. “I do have a tendency to second-guess myself. It’s just… being gay is difficult for humans, but it can be more so for non-humans. I don’t know why, but there’s this expectation that if your not human and sentient, you have to like girls. Human beings would be shocked how many non-humans aren’t straight.”

“I wouldn’t,” You said. “Shannon’s a lesbian, and I’ve known her forever. I know full well that non-humans don’t live by the same standards that humans do, and humans can be blind to that, even among their own people. I guess that explains why you’re so shy.”

He laughed. “Nah, I’ve always been like that. I’ve never really--”

At that moment, the first shell when off, catching Fuzz’s attention. He got up from the quilt and walked to where the hill just began to slope downward and watched the fireworks with a look of pure joy. Wanting to be close to him, you stepped in front of him and pressed your back against his front. He circled his arms around you again. And for a moment, the two of you just watched the lights.

You turned your head and looked up at his face, seeing the bursts of colored embers reflected in his large, black eyes, and you were mesmerized. He noticed you watching him and looked down at you, smiling his soft, sweet smile.

And he kissed you.

His lips were as velvety as they looked, and you spun in his arms to reach yours around him, pressing your body as close as you could. The pop and crackle and flashes of light against your closed eyes made this seem like a dream, but you were bathing in the sensation of having his body wrapped around you. God, you had wanted this.

When you broke apart, you were both breathing heavily.

“So…” You began stroking the fur on the back of his neck. “I had a question…”

“About?” Fuzz asked.

“Well… you don’t wear clothes… but I’ve never seen your… well… your dick…”

Fuzz’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. He seemed momentarily at a lost for words.

“O--oh,” He breathed finally. “It’s… that’s because… it’s tucked away. Inside me. I comes out when I…”

“When you’re aroused?” You guessed. He nodded, not meeting your eye. “Is there some way I can… make that happen?”

He looked back up at you with wide, huge, terrified eyes, “Yes,” He whispered. He took your hand and led you back to the quilt. Cautiously, he reached out a hand and tugged at your shirt, but stopped short before actually removing it. You helped him get the shirt off you and he continued to undress you until you were naked in front of him. He ran the fingers of his upper right hand down your torso, starting at your collarbone and stopping at the tuft of hair that sat just about your ridged length.

“This is definitely helping,” He said breathlessly.

“What can I do?” You asked eagerly. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while now.”

“You have?” He asked hopefully. You nodded and he laughed in relief. “Me too.”

He sat back against the oak tree and opened his legs in front of you, reaching down with his lower pair of hands to part the fur at the apex of his legs. There, you saw a slit, mostly brown like his hands and lips, but fading to pink as it went inward.

“Just touch,” He said. “It’ll open.”

You knelt down in front of him and pressed a finger to the slit, slowly rubbing it up and down. A low trill issued from Fuzz as he let his head fall back against the tree and his breathing hitched. The hands of his upper arms took your face in his hands and pulled you forward for a deep kiss as you massaged the opening, feeling it begin to pucker and pulsate at your touch. It widened slowly, and you daringly inserted your pinky inside, feeling the tip of a slick organ begin to push itself out.

Fuzz gasped at this new sensation and moaned a little. Slowly, it came out and you were able to see it at last. It was pink like the inside of the opening and darkened to the familiar velvet brown at the tip. You put your hand around it and pumped it a few times before bending down and pulling the tip into your mouth. It was sweet, like honeysuckle. His hips convulsed and he started to whisper, “please, please.”

You felt around for your wallet and pulled out a condom and two single-use packets of lube. You tore open the condom with your teeth and started to work it down his shaft.

“I’ve never…” He said, gulping. “I’ve never done this…”

“Do you want to stop?” You asked him, your hand stilling on his hardened girth.

“No!” He said. “No, no, I want this. I just… I’m sure I won’t be any good at it.”

“That’s okay, Fuzz,” You said, kissing him as another shell popped in the distance, lighting up the sky and trees around you. “I’ll teach you. Trust me.”

“I do,” He whispered.

You took a packet of lube and tore it open, squeezing some of it onto his fingers.

“First is to open me up a bit, so to speak,” You told him, turning and kneeling over. “Massage it into the skin for a few minutes, and them push a finger in.”

You felt him follow your instructions and groan into the ground as he pressed and rolled and circled the sensitive skin, finally pushing one of his thick, long fingers inside you. You gasped at feeling and encouraged him to move it in and out, eventually adding the second finger.

Once you felt like you were ready, you told him to sit back against the tree, and he complied. You took the second packet of lube and squirted it into your hand, lubing him up before pulling yourself to face level and kissing him as you positioned yourself over him. Slowly, you slid down onto him, feeling him slide against the bundle of nerves deep inside you. Both of you gasped at the same time and clung to each other as the fireworks continued to light up your naked bodies in the darkness.

You started to ride him, listening to his trilling and chirping, and all four of his hands found interesting things to do. The pair on the bottom held your hips as you rocked back and forth, up and down, in his lap. His upper right hand caressed your face while the left reached between you and began to stroke you slowly, sweetly, in a way you had been dying to be touched.

You sped up, and his trilling got higher in pitch. You reached up and gently pulled his hat off, careful of his antennae.

“We should both be naked,” You gasped, laughing. He laughed too before moaning your name, kissing you and tightening his grip on your cock slightly. You held him close to you, whispering into his ear that you were going to cum. He said he was close, too.

You came before him, spraying yourself all over his stomach. He grasped your hips harder and thrust faster for a few moments, then he released a high pitched chirrup that repeated over and over, and you could feel him releasing into the condom inside you.

You could barely hear the sounds of the fireworks over the rushing in your ears. He held you tightly with both of his arms, gulping down air. Finally, you got up and pulled off the used condom. You had a small bag and a couple of single-use wipes in your wallet for such… situations. You cleaned him up and wiped yourself off, too. Then, the two of you lay there, nude, on the quilt and watched the grand finale.

Best first date ever.

The next day, you woke up in his apartment pressed into the fluff of his chest. You stretched and groaned sleepily, looking at the collection of ball caps displayed proudly on every inch of his bedroom walls. He roused himself as well.

“Good morning,” He said with a happy smile.

“Good morning yourself,” You replied, giving him a quick kiss.

“Do you work today?” You asked.

“No,” He said, stretching like a cat. “I took today off. I was hoping we’d end up like this, so I… planned for it.”

“Aww,” You said, scratching his unusually bare head. “Wanna spend the day together?”

“Sounds like a great idea,” He said, grinning. “Breakfast?”

“Breakfast sounds good,” You told him. “Is it alright if I run back to my place to grab some fresh clothes?”

Breakfast will be ready when you get back,” He said, bouncing out of bed.

You laughed at him, but really, you felt just as happy. You dressed quickly and headed out, popping up on tiptoe and kissing the back of his neck as you passed him in the kitchen.

Just as you got into your car, you got a text from Shannon: >Did you guys do it?

You rolled your eyes. >None of your business.

As you started your car, you got a reply. >Ha! I won the bet!

At your place, you grabbed a change of clothes and a couple more condoms and packets of lube, and started back for Fuzz’s apartment. While driving, something in the window of a store caught your eye and you decided to stop in. It was a little early for gifts, but… what the hell? This was the perfect thing and you knew he’d love it. How could you not buy it?

Back at his place, he was putting plates on the table.

“Hey, you okay? I was getting worried you weren’t coming back,” He said.

“Nothing of the sort,” You replied, handing him a bag. “I just saw this and thought of you.”

“You got me a present?” He said, both confused and delighted. “Why?”

“Cause I like you. I don’t need another reason,” You told him.

He laughed loudly and opened the bag. From inside, he pulled out a baseball cap that read, “My Boyfriend Thinks I’m Funny.” He smiled softly at it before putting it on his head.

“How does it look?” He asked.

You smiled widely. “It suits you.”

He grabbed your butt, pressed you to his side, and kissed you, wrapping you in his arms like the cuddlebug he was. Then fed you the best breakfast you’d had in a decade.

You guessed you owed Shannon a new set of dice. A nice set.

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Commission #MLM #Mothman #Male Reader #Male Monster #Interspecies Romance #Silkmoth #D&D #Dungeons and Dragons #Dungeons & Dragons #Reader Insert

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