#i love love love how crisp it is it looks gorg

[heathertail]

warrior cats tattoo became real today

[blank-slate-jay]

Can you please do Ellie catching you and Joel kissing? Male reader of course :) Thank you in advance <3

Untold Pair

Joel Miller x Male!Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Fluff, Kissing, Established Relationship(Ellie doesn't know), Ellie is less savage

A/N : Hey Anon, thanks for the submission. This one's just cute. I hope this is what you wanted, enjoy!

Ellie sighed heavily, making her way down the staircase. She really wanted to stay home for the day, she hated going to that god awful school she attended. Reading and Writing, Math and Statistics; including having to go multiple times a week. Really? She should be learning how to hunt and better defend herself, she thought. This commune live just wasn't cutting it.

Making her way to the living room, she tosses her bag onto the couch. She might as well fetch breakfast to cheer herself up before leaving. The school wasn't so bad. She at least had Dina, a friend of hers to keep her company during class time. For her, that was the only thing keeping her from skipping classes all together.

She made her way toward the kitchen area, picking up on the stirs and sizzling pan on the other side of the wall. Curious, she makes her away around the corner.

Joel was sitting at the corner and then there was you stationed up at the even. That was surprising to her. You rarely ever got a change to visit due to your workload in the greenhouses. So you being there, so early in the morning, was a warm welcome.

Ellie gasped, calling your name and running up to you. You hadn't even gotten a chance to say or take notice of her before her arms were wrapped around you.

"Morning to you too", you joke, patting the top of her head. “Your food is on the counter by the way.”

She pipes up and turns to look over at the untouched plate next to Joel, a growing excitement running across her face. Eggs and Bacon, "Oh fuck yeah"! She releases you and slides into the seat next Joel. She rubbed her hands together thrilled that she didn't have to eat oatmeal again.

Picking up her fork, she was about to take a stab at her food but Joel nudged her arm. She looks at him and watches as his eyes and head motion in your direction. His face displayed somewhat disbelief, like she had done something wrong. Ellie didn't understand what he wanted from her, couldn't she enjoy herself for once? It clicked for her after a few awkward moments, "OH! Thank you."

You glare over your shoulder at her, nodding as you finish up plating your own food. After your gesture, she begins to gorge down on her food, manners be damned.

Through Ellie's muffled chewing, Joel wipes away at his mouth with a napkin. He pushes himself to his feet and grabs his plate too. He walks over to the sink, dumping his plate in. "You didn't have to do all this”, he says, pointing out your cooking.

You shook your head, your lips curling up, "No it's...I don't mind doing this for you two”. Besides, Ellie told me you tried making my finest last week.”

“Ok,” he starts, feeling put on the spot. He tried explaining, “That was…”

“...a terrible attempt,” Ellie remarks with a satisfied 'mph' as she bites into her food. “I’ll give you props for trying, but man it was burnt to a crisp.” 

He widens his eyes at her, the girl’s focus back on the last bit of food on her plate. She couldn’t just butt in and then leave the older man stranded, left with you glancing at him, awaiting an explanation. 

“She’s funny, ain't’ she?” Joel tried making a smooth recovery but his embarrassment was as clear as day. 

You gave the man mercy, instead of toying with him further, “Next time you need a chef, Miller. Just ask,” you patt the man’s chest, slipping right by him to take a seat. Fuck, he loved when you touched him. 

Ellie finishes up only wishing she could have some more. “Are you gonna come later,” she asked, already knowing what the answer would be. “Don’t think so. Got a lot to do today, probably not getting home until after dark.”

Slightly bummed, she hums, taking out her dismay by pushing her plate away. You just never had the time these days, it was disheartening for Joel and Ellie since you were about the only person in Jackson who made them feel welcomed; aside from Tommy and Maria.

“If it makes you feel better, I can walk you to school,” you suggested, granting you a smile from the girl. Every chance she got was a win. “Joel?” 

The man looked in awe, “Sure I was…going to pick up something at the store anyway”. There was a level of uncertainty behind his voice, a lie perhaps? You didn’t bring it up just happy you’d get a bit more time with Joel. 

They packed themselves to leave, you reminded Ellie to check her bag for all the essentials she needed. She assured you that she had everything she needed, brushing off your concern as ‘parental instincts’.

No matter, the three of you were out of the home and walking through the neighborhood. Each one of you trailing slowly, subconsciously using the snow on the ground as an excuse to keep extending the conversation; to slow down your pace. 

Only thing was, this method only made splitting with you painful. Preventing the inevitable worked that way whether the two liked it or not, you’d be gone for sometime. 

They made a stop on the sidewalk, deep into the town of Jackson where everything was booming with working people. It was time to split and say they're farewells. 

“So, when can we see you again,” Joel asked. 

You shrugged, “I can make time in a few days. Someone should be covering for me sometime this week.” 

Joel nods, rubbing his enclosed hands to warn off the cold and the lonely feeling that'll come about in your absences. Still, he had something, that was better than nothing.

“We should watch a movie, you heard about Vansien Viper 3, everyone at school is talking about it. I really really wanna watch it.” Ellie pronounces.

Your eyes widen, “I’m down. Sounds like it could be good.”

“I’ve heard the first one is good but that the second one sucksss,” she leans her head back to exaggerate her point. 

Joel scoffs, “I’m sure it ain’ that bad. I…haven’t ever finished watching the second one yet but that could work too. We don't have the actual cd, do we?”

Ellie establishes, “Don’t worry about that, I got us covered.”

What did she mean by that exactly, her smug tone made bells go off in Joel’s head, she was up to something. He raised one of his brows, seeing if he could discern her words. “And how exactly do you plan on doin' that," he asked.

The suspicion in Joel was evidently rising, she said more than should’ve been said. It was time to call it quits. Ellie quickly swept you into a hug, completely ignoring Joel’s question. She lets you go before backing away, the girl says goodbye to you, picking up her pace as Joel takes a few steps toward her. He tried to call for her but she dipped around the corner of a building, out of view and completely away from being confronted. Chasing after her would just be embarrassing, especially in front of you.

“Have some faith in her Joel,” you jokingly poked at him. 

He turned to you shaking his head; a smile crawling up his face, “Don’t tell me you’re on her side.”

“Whatever she is up to, I’m sure it won’t be troublesome.” 

For all you knew she could be bribing someone into giving her what she wanted, likely mimicking the stories Joel would tell her during his days in the Boston QZ. Joel wouldn’t want her following his old ways.

You let out a heavy sigh, “I should get going though, don’t wanna hold you up much longer.” Ironic you say that since Joel felt it worked the other way around. However, the man's presence was nearly enough to make you discontinue your duties. Joel nodded, upset you had to leave, he wasn’t going to let you go without sharing a kiss. 

He pulls you in by your arms and locks his lips with yours, lingering on your taste knowing he wouldn’t be with you for some time. Standing there, some people were likely looking on momentarily before going about their day. Except for one person, Ellie. 

She pretended to run off, giving the impression that she was off to school. She instead was peaking just around the corner she’d hid behind, curious if Joel had separated from you. The opposite was true, she was witnessing what your dynamic truly was for the first time. You two weren’t just close friends, as she initially believed, but rather lovers. It all made sense though, the small gestures, the look you both gave each other; she must’ve misinterpreted them, somehow.

She pulls herself back into full cover after seeing the both of you release one another. She let the two of you share your moment together, beginning to finally head to school. She couldn’t stop thinking about the possibilities of your relationship with Joel. Could it mean that you might move in with them, if so then how soon? Ok, maybe she was getting ahead of herself, still her thoughts bombarded her. You and Joel as her guardians, if there was something in the commune she could get used to, that was one of them.

[beevean]

I'm not very sure of this one. Perhaps because this is the culmination of Hector finally becoming the Hector we all know and love, and I can only hope I made him justice :)

“He changed. Or perhaps that had always been his true nature, and he lied to me from the start. I don’t think it matters anymore. I only knew that I had trapped myself, and I couldn’t take it anymore: I had to do something.”

“And what did you do?”

“I gained power.”

When the blind beggar had his sight healed by Christ, did he rejoice, or was he overwhelmed by a harsh world previously out of his reach? Did he ever miss the comfort of the darkness?

How Hector wished he could close his eyes again and wander in the castle only led by his loyalty! But Lord Dracula had pried them open, and now everything was so scarily crisp.

His home, the only place that had welcomed him and protected him and allowed him to exist, was nothing more than a cushy cage where he had let himself rot. His Lord was a small, petty man, consumed by hatred and poison, who cloaked himself in the misery of others just so he could feel anything. Respect was no longer the reason for which Hector couldn’t look at him in the eye.

It couldn’t be him. That monster wearing his Lord’s face couldn’t be the same man who had raised him, always with a smile and a word of encouragement. But the scars that adorned his body spoke louder than his fading memories. No… Hector knew better now: the monster had always worn a mask, and his praises were nothing more than a spider web, and stupid, childish Hector got tangled in it. Part of him missed the light jolt in his chest when Lord Dracula spoke to him, when he smiled that gentle smile that even touched his eyes, but there was no turning back his head anymore.

And Isaac! Isaac, his best friend, the first one who saw something in Hector beyond his curse, what had happened to him? He was no longer a real person. He could have become a shadow of his former self, but he didn’t even allow himself that much dignity: no, he had become his Lord’s shadow, duly following him without a thought, without a sound.

Was it the real reason he had grown claws and fangs to match, and he was no longer the boy who could brighten Hector’s room with his laughter?

Or would it have happened anyway, because that was what Hector did, turn humans into monsters?

No. Hector was not the one who brought Isaac’s cruelty to the light. It was always lurking under the surface. Hector’s sight had simply been too dim to notice it, because Isaac was all he had, when the winter raged outside and the warmest place in the castle was his friend’s embrace.

What am I doing?

Lord Dracula and Isaac, all that time, had gorged themselves on him. His blood fed Lord Dracula’s bottomless grief, and his flesh fed Isaac’s ever-growing need, a need he could not nor cared to express with words, but they both knew that only Hector would suffice.

And what was left of Hector, if not his carcass stripped clean?

What am I doing? I am snapping myself into pieces to fill their void.

But that was how they had been living ever since Lady Lisa had been taken from them, wasn’t it?

They were all each other had left, and that was the only reason they sank teeth and nails into each other.

Hector knew nothing of love, but he was intimately familiar with desperation.

I owe my life to my Lord, and Isaac is a good person who has been hurt like me, his mind pleaded, or perhaps it was the voice of his old demon friends, or perhaps the tattered memories of his childhood. They have never hated me like my parents. They accepted me, they care about me, I can’t be ungrateful.

Once, such words would have roused Hector’s heart, and he would have torn his chest open to offer it as a gift. But he was left without it. No, something else thumped in its place, boiling, caustic, making way inside him; and the more Hector paced around his room, sleep a luxury he could no longer allow himself, the more the reality around him sharpened into focus, and he understood what that sentiment was, and he welcomed it.

Even the reflection in the lake where he washed up mocked him.

His face looked wan and clammy, with sunken cheeks and shadowed, bloodshot eyes. When he passed a hand through his hair, clumps got entangled between his fingers – but he felt as if he moved it through the air. His senses were numbing.

His own hands revolted him: the fingertips were purplish, his nails blackened and chewed to the flesh during Hector’s worst fits of stress.

He was Lord Dracula’s favorite, most formidable General. He was a decaying body shambling around. He held in his dead hand the power he so yearned: the only price he had to pay was his own dignity.

What am I doing?

Piece by piece, he had chipped away at his own humanity, to allow to emerge the monster that everyone had always seen in him: the humans, soaked in scorn, and the demons, shining with pride.

And by the end of it, after much time and effort, he had only managed to turn himself into shapeless stone.

If you have a good weapon, you use it, don’t you?

I took you and forged you into something beyond humanity.

… To hell with them.

Hector plunged himself in the maps that he had traced, branding behind his mind every path, every obstacle, his eyes burning and tearing up but his vision clearer than ever. Perhaps, were he so lucky, he’d be able to join the runaway Prince; but even if the two were to never meet again, his escape had ignited a little flame of determination in Hector, and for that, he’d forever be grateful.

If Isaac drew comfort in shedding his self, Hector would let him do so. If Hector’s presence made him drown in resentment, he would do him one last favor. If Isaac loved his Lord more than Hector and himself, Hector would compensate.

He was not a weapon to wield, he was not a demon spawned from Hell: lies, he had been fed nothing but lies! Hector had a mind, and a soul, and desires, and hot blood flowing in his veins, and life that flapped its wings inside him.

He had sought refuge in the darkness, blind and deaf and empty of all fear; he was healed by darkness, loved like its own creation. Not anymore. He would not allow himself to be smothered and consumed anymore.

Whether he accepted it or not, whether the world accepted it or not…

Hector had the power to remain human, and it was time he used it.

[everythingcanadian]

Sherlock/Watson/Lestrade/Mycroft idea

Just joined this fandom. And i have a thought here.( Yes this includes holmescest. Fuck off if you don't like it.)

And it may have already been said.

But the skull Sherlock has in the flat being used as Yorick's skull in a small reciting of Hamlet.

It's a Sunday. Neither Greg nor Mycroft are needed at their places of work. So it's a rare day off for all of them.

Greg is slowly making himself and Mycroft cups of afternoon coffee. A small indulgence they share and enjoy. The little frother Sherlock gave him at a crime scene whirring away in a small metal carafe to create light and cold milk foam.

A case had been solved on Friday morning in the wee hours, so Sherlock is content to relax for the moment. He's playing with his fingers on the chair's armrests, mentally going through a section of a piece of music he's been lowly composing.

John is writing something down on a pad of paper with the pen Mycroft got him for Christmas. The buttery soft scratch of the fountain pen in his hand is a delightful harmony to the soft tapping of Sherlocks fingers and socked toes along with the even hum of the frother.

And Mycroft is perfectly happy relaxing on the couch with his eyes closed, listening to the soft trio of sounds in 221B. The domestic silence is a balm over his usually busy mind. The slippers Greg had told him to get were warm and cozy as he had his feet elegantly proped up on the fool rest John had bought for the flat.

The silence never lasts. It only pauses.

They had put their mundane conversation on hold for the few minutes it took for Greg to get himself and Mycroft a treat. And to toss the pack of dark chocolate coated digestives to Sherlock. And to bring a small packet of crisps for John to pick at.

Once he had sat back down next to Mycroft on the couch. However, it was like someone had pressed play again.

They had started out earlier with reminiscing on University days. Then Greg had laughed and said Sherlock probably blew through all his classes in one year. Which then dragged them down a line of their early childhood and teenage educations.

"What load of tripe did you lot have to read for Shakespeare. We had a play each year from year 7 until year 11." John had bemoaned. "I then had The Dumb Waiter for my GCSE program. Thank christ."

Greg smiled into his mug when he heard Mycroft scoff. This was good.

"Shakespeare may be entirely over taught but his tragedies still hurt to experience."

"You had Macbeth, didn't you?" John lifted his pen and looked at Mycroft.

"Three bloody years in a row." The mild disgust on Mycroft’s face had both Greg and John grinning. "I didn't really care for the plays, Shakespeare or otherwise. The epics were more for me."

"Posh boy." John teased with affection.

"Indeed."

Greg swallowed around the rich warmth. "We had Romeo and Juliet for the 8th. Then Othello for the 9th. Then the two Richards. Got stuck with The Tempest in uni. It was alright."

Sherlock laughed. And then bit his lip to try to keep it in. But it was woefully impossible.

"Thanks, love." Greg's voice belayed his eyeroll. "What did you have?"

"He got lucky. Only had to do two." Mycroft said through his teeth. Semi-annoyed.

"Macbeth. And, Hamlet."

"Is that why you have the skull?" Greg's brows rose.

"Oh- no, that's a different item altogether. The original was blown up, remember? I replaced it. But-" Sherlock stood up, putting the still unopened pack of biscuits on the floor next to his chair. He glided easily over to his skull friend and picked it up. He held it out and regarded it. A smile flicked up his lips. John capped his pen and sat back in his desk chair as Sherlock cleared his throat and stood tall, face changing into one of teasing but serious nature as he pressed his voice to be bold.

"Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio. A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times. And now how abhorred in my imagination it is!

My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chap- fall'n?

Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at that."

Sherlock bowed when he heard the claps from his lovers, Greg taking the piss and shouting, "Bravo, bravo! Encore!"

Sherlock snorted before placing the skull back on the mantle. Patting the cranium lightly before going back to his chair.

"You did enjoy the theatrical, brother mine." Mycroft sighed it softly, "I remember you performing the whole of Henry the fifth's speech. Quite emotional for me to hear you like that."

Sherlock closed his eyes and tipped his head in a bow.

John's little smile grew to be that all encompassing hug of one. Where his eyes softened and it made you feel safe. "I'd love to see that. I bet it's a deep moment."

"My voice cracked in the middle of it on my last performance of it."

"It was a- fragile time if I remember it right." Greg's voice pitched down as he looked at Sherlock, his hand finding Mycroft’s leg for something to hold. "You wanted to prove you were sober. Finally. We were at Mycroft's home, in the guestroom, and it was officially a month clean. And here Sherlock was, standing on the bed in his pyjamas, voice steady for the beginning, and quieting down as the intimacies of the speech hit him." Greg took another sip of his drink. Licking his lips he tilted his head and kept his brown eyes trained on Sherlock. "It was the most beautiful thing I had ever witnessed. Held you between the two of us we did. Let you cry it all out. Fielded your tantrum after. But it's worth it."

Sherlocks shoulders relaxed as he heard that.

Mycrofts own hum of assurance added to Greg's sentiments.

"And it led us here." Sherlock murmured into the room between them all.

"Indeed it has." Mycroft smiled warmly and placed his free hand over Greg's on his thigh.

[thestalwartheart]

short fic: kiss

Hello!

This is just a short little fic/character study inspired by a few choice gifsets of Ben Whishaw kissing people and generally doing a very good job of it. 00Q, as per usual!

Read below the cut or on AO3.

kiss.

James Bond has kissed a lot of people.

Not that he brags about it. Most of those kisses have been in favour of the job, which means they’re more about calculation and less about indulgence than he’d like. Still, he likes kissing — and sex too — so he engages in both often. At the age of forty-four, he doesn't think there's anything new under the sun left for him to learn about it all.

Q is a revelation.

On the job, Q is all straight lines and rigidity. He performs everything with sharp dexterity and cold, crisp instruction. Most people think him dispassionate, but Bond knows him well enough to see the hot spark in his eye, often lit by the flint of Bond’s bad behaviour. Whenever Bond brings back a broken piece of equipment or eschews bringing it back at all, Q looks at him like he’d just love the opportunity to put Bond over his lap and teach him a lesson.

Outside of work, however, there’s a different side to him. Softness reigns when it’s just the two of them. Bond can no longer feel those sharp edges Q presents to everyone else in the world. Q’s curiosity, the very thing that defines him, is warmer and gentler without a deadline looming. He can sate it as slowly as he wants to, and Bond is more than happy taking his time to make sure Q is satisfied.

And his kiss. Well. His kiss is a slow-burning luxury.

Q kisses as if he’s in no hurry at all, though often they are both on borrowed time, about to be called back to answer to duty. He leans into Bond with every part of himself; his hands, his torso, his hips, all of him inquisitive and drawn forward like a magnet. Bond relishes being studied in that wordless way, his arms full of his soft, sighing Quartermaster.

Q's lips are slick and dark, like the ripest of cherries. They often taste faintly of bergamot and sugar. Bond dreams about those lips and isn’t ashamed to admit it. Memories of Q biting at them nervously, or pursing them in thought, take up far too many of Bond’s waking hours. And now, they’re catching at Bond’s own, plush and determined, utterly ruinous in their quest to devour. Q's long, graceful neck arches, pushing him further into Bond’s mouth. Bond feels the vertebrae shift under his hand, and he slides his thumb to the side of Q’s Adam’s apple to feel how it bobs at the touch. It jumps on cue, swallowing back a sound that Bond desperately wishes Q had let him hear. The thought lights a fire under Bond's drive to please.

He licks past Q’s lips, exhaling with pleasure as Q takes his tongue and sucks at it, runs his teeth over it, meets it with his own. Here, he tastes like strong black tea, his ever-present sweetness making way for exotic bitterness. And Bond hates tea, but he loves the taste of it on Q.

When Bond’s hand finally makes it into Q’s downy waves of hair, it draws a happy sigh of breath that Bond feels, humid, against his cheek. And yet Q never breaks the kiss, not really. Even when he draws back for a breath, his lips remain, sitting wet and supple at the corner of Bond’s mouth.

“I could spend forever doing this,” murmurs Q, moments after Bond has laid him out on the couch like a feast to gorge upon.

“You’re telling me,” huffs Bond.

Already, he’s desperate for another taste. As he leans down to the altar of those red lips, Bond thinks he’s never felt quite so wanted through a kiss alone.

[yanderenightmare]

Hello, I have been looking at your content and I must say that I really like the way you write and I hope you are doing well.I don't know if your applications are open now but I want to give you an idea, how would the yanders react if their beloved has depressive periods and low self-esteem?It may be a bit of an anguish at first but I would like how they would react, use it on purpose or go soft on their beloved.

yandere ! BNHA headcannons

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

goodiebag WARNINGS: depression, self-harm, abuse, manipulation, abuse, profanity, amnesia, anxiety, panic-attacks, arson, bipolar disorder, blood, death threats, eating disorder, guilt, kidnapping, Stockholm syndrome, mental illness, mind control, paranoia, noncon, dubcon, starvation, suicidal ideation, trauma

BAKUGO KATSUKI - KACHAN

MELANCHOLIA –

She’s always biting her tongue, the inside of her cheek, her lip. So much so, he doesn’t even know what her lip normally looks like without it being bloated and swollen and red from having her teeth sink into to it. He’s okay with her chosen silence as long as she answers when she’s spoken to, which she does, lacking the will to refuse, knowing it will only cost her valuable energy, energy she needs in case Bakugo decides he wants to rip the breath from her lungs while he hunches over her, his hips snapping into her again and again, ramming at a pace so rough she both dreads it and welcomes it, for on the one hand it’s exhausting and she always wakes up with aches in the morning, yet on the other hand he makes her appreciate breathing which is always a nice reminder when she often times wonders what tranquility would be found in not breathing whatsoever.

He doesn’t want to confront her about it, sensing how she might not enjoy confrontation all that much, and not really wanting the whole ordeal to result in making her cry at the mere sound of his voice. He won’t alter the volume or the roughness of his tone, no matter how many times she cringes at how loud he’s being, but he does try being gentle, at least with his criticism. He showers her in compliments, which is a huge contrast to how he would usually handle fixing things. But, he finds using softer methods benefit him as well, loving the blush that adorns her face each time he does so, his own confidence probably boosting more so than hers.

He does nice things, not really knowing what or which way to help. He doesn’t make her do any chores, ignoring the nagging feeling that keeping her busy would probably help more so than having her sit and look cute all day, but… he’s afraid of admitting it, but… he quite likes taking care of her. He quite likes hugging her throughout the night, feeling her small tremoring sobs against him while stroking her back. He likes comforting her on those same nights where she wakes abruptly from some nightmare, stroking glossy diamond tears away from her cheeks, loving her bloated lips and that cute red wet irritation flushed on her nose and cheeks.

The only times he gets upset with her is when she refuses to eat. He tries so hard to make things she might like, but it’s scarce he sees her taking more than a few bites, if she makes a move to eat at all. He doesn’t want to make her cry, despite it being a constant hobby of hers, he doesn’t want to be the reason to her crying, but… he can’t have her starving. He finds the fear-tactic surprisingly effective on someone who spends most their time fantasizing about death. A few sparks in his palms has her all but quaking, scared half-way into catatonia or even comatose, so much so he has to pull her into his lap and spoon-feed her. Not that he minds that either, he comes to enjoy it quite a lot actually. How her small frame melts so perfectly against his chest, legs swung over his lap, head on his shoulder, remnants of her fear-stricken cries still evident as small spontaneous jolts run through her, being slowly comforted away with the same hand that caused the trouble in the first place.

DABI - TODORKI TOUYA

ANXIETY –

He couldn’t be happier with his little ball of blue wrapped up in soft-tinted crushed dreams with a heart made of honeycombs and dandelion-fluff. Whereas his misfortunate lack of happiness stems from a place of violence, where violence breeds violence, she’s nothing but a tender trauma. Such a soft despair, such a sweet despair, such perfection found in something so devastating. It’s artwork really. How she can cry herself to sleep, trapped in his arms, feeling as though she’s dying, yet wake up the next morning all velvety and soft in his arms, her heart finding comfort in what her mind rejects, what her mind fears.

He tries being a source of comfort for the most part, but teasing and haunting and poking fun at her is such a delicious past-time he cannot simply just refrain from. He’ll be a real villain about it at times. Having her as a complete blubbering pathetic hiccupping mess, poking fun at her crybaby-face as he licks the tears from her cheeks and gorges himself in her panic, his fingers dancing small patterns on her stomach as she wiggles beneath him.

She used to be so scared of him. So skittish and paralyzed, cold-sweating and eyes constantly leaking he had to imagine what her eyes would look like without being rimmed with red. She used to shiver and shake and quake and reel in on  herself, curl up until her limbs ached from how small she was trying to make herself become, backed up into the corner beneath his shadow, his leather-boots looking like the onset of everything horrific as she coward in front of them. But wild untrusting childlike beings such as her is quick in nature to tether themselves to the first or only source of light. And though the transition was slow, her anxiety soon shifted from being directed at him and soon for him instead.

It was too easy, and it benefitted him so undeservingly as well it was cruel. How he simply took all those fears of hers, all those fears for everything residing in the new foreign room she’d been taken captive in, manipulating them into becoming paranoia for everything found outside the bedroom door instead. He went from being the source of her dread, of her panic, of her misery, of her pitter-patter heart and shattering teeth to her savior. Soothing her in her frenzied quakes as she spluttered on sobs containing what hellish monsters and dangers found outside, begging him to be careful, to come back to her, to stay.

She will hug him close throughout the night, hanging almost like a noose around his neck when he needs to leave in the mornings, tracing his scars with a stream of endless worried thoughts blubbering in her groggy voice. And he’ll humor her worry and tame the oncoming panic-attacks by giving her a little light-show of blue flames in his palm, words of his own coming to assure her how nothing will ever happen to him and how he will never let anything ever happen to her, assuring however many times he has the time for.

She’s too cute it’s unfair. Unfair that small creatures like her exist without anything to protect them from hungry wolves like him. And though he was never the type to fantasize about clingy things, he has to admit… coming home to someone who lunches at him in the most secure yet clumsy and desperate embrace, he feels as though that feeling of coming home is all he’ll ever need in the world, that she’s all he’ll ever need.

SHIGARAKI TOMURA

INSOMNIA –

It’s nice. He knows it shouldn’t be the word he describes it with, but… that’s what it is. It’s nice. It’s nice to stay up with someone who expels the same type of energy as him, and not to mention the same amount of energy as him, or… lack of thereof. It’s nice living off of fumes together. It’s nice slipping to and from consciousness and how it almost turns into a game of who can survive the longest before collapsing, with the other shortly following, too tired to even bask in their victory.

It’s nice irritating over the same sharp sounds that attack their sensitive ears, not at all like the familiar sound of soft clicks of the controller in their hands. It’s nice communicating almost purely through mellow moans and groans and croaks, always understanding what the other is emitting despite it being but shapeless sounds.

It’s nice finding agreement in how the lights should always stay off, how it’s turned into some religious rule never meant to be crossed. It’s nice annoying over the same crisp bright light of the sun that violate their eyes those times they forget to shut the blinds before passing out after having counted stars and eating in the dead silence of night like nocturnal beings ignoring the light of day as though it were the plague. It’s nice how they can both find comfort in the glow of the moonlight or computer screen, leaching off of the energy like flies.

He’s found kinship in her presence, and despite it merely being himself and her in the darkness of his room, with flying specs of dust decorating the air and their computers the only windows to the world beyond their four walls, he feels as though the whole universe is looking at him when the softness of her glinting, beaming, sparkling eyes set their gaze and lock with his. It’s strange, but he always found angel-bright smiles and supersonic eyes to be too intrusive and annoying and scary to stand before, whereas her sunken dark eyes, ringed with shades of lilac contrasting her otherwise pale porcelain skin, kept almost albino in the darkness of his room… she couldn’t be more perfect.

Come to think of it, it’s perfection. Her in all her sleep-deprived glory, all her drowsy silliness, her sloppy harsh movements, tripping and stumbling with her droopy-eyes, in her soft giggling fits, where she’ll catch her stupidity just a moment too late and roll around on the bed, trying to shrug off Tomura’s teasing judgement as he pokes fun at her idiocy. Giving up on forming complete sentences as she almost always ends up toppling over her own words, settling for whining or sighing as she turns her head to bury it in his chest.

Utter perfection. Never bothering to get dressed, walking about like a little tease in only underwear and Tomura’s ill-fitted hoodie, hair pulled up into a messy-bun too messy, always defeating the purpose of keeping her hair from out of her face. Her unstable movements, disconnected to the ground as though she’s floating. Too grabbable and easily defeated in her weariness when being pulled into his lap, simply humming and moaning in response as he plants soft kisses down her neck, his fingers coming to destroy whatever’s in the way of him and her body.

HITOSHI SHINSO

HYPERSOMNIA –

She sleeps so soundly, like a little couch-kitten. All soft and cute, playing in her dreams. She’ll sleep whole entire days, only opening her eyes in small flutters every now and again and moaning ever so softly once he wakes her, though quickly scrunching her nose and twisting to fall asleep again. Her drowsiness rendering her pride invalid, causing her to pull at him to better comfort herself against his body, whining when he shifts, his warm presence leaving the bed when he needs to go to work. Her little unconscious protest making his heart twist in his chest, tempted to stay in bed with her all day long, yet comforting himself with the fact that he’ll probably come home to find her in the exact same position.

She’s so cute. She’ll curl and stretch, resting anywhere she finds comfortable: in bed, in the sofa, in the armchair, on his chest, his shoulder, his lap. Adorable with her little snores, all knotted up, remnants of her dreams spilling out from her sleep and coming to life in her limbs as she kicks and shakes her head, delving further into the pillow and twisting intricately in about the blanket. Eyelashes fluttering, eyes skittering beneath her puffy eyelids, caught up in whatever hurricane her mind has conjured up.

She seemed unfazed once she woke up in his room for the first time, and even then, she only gave him enough time to explain himself before nodding with heavy eyelids, laying her drowsy head back on the pillow. The situation dawning on her gradually over the first month, and if whether she was startled or angry, he couldn’t tell. If anything, sept for sleepy, he’d say she seemed confused, but alongside the confusion was the look that told him she couldn’t find the energy in herself to think too much about it without her fuzzy head hurting. Settling for eating breakfast with him in the mornings, and even thanking him on those occasion where she would forget the circumstances that led her to live there.

She doesn’t struggle when he pulls her limp body close to his own in the dead of night after he’s done for the day. He’s only mildly concerned, but it’s not his affection that shakes her from her sleep. He’s a selfish person, and he’s not one to hide those ugly aspects of himself. He’s selfish, greedy, controlling. He has to use his quirk on her sometimes… often times. Though she’s cute when she’s sleeping, he wants to do more than just watch her. He wants words, conversation, he wants to know what’s going on in that dark dreary head of hers, he wants to know what eerie things she’s been dreaming about, where she escapes to when her eyes slide close.

What more: he wants those eyes on him, those puffy, sleepy beautiful doe-eyes. He wants her to pay attention as he touches her skin and not simply to moan in response to it, he wants her to hang onto every single moment his skin touches hers. Telling her to focus reaches a long way. Those otherwise sleepy doe-eyes widening in such moon-bright curiosity, slaving at the hands of his quirk. Her otherwise limp and soft body shaking under his overwhelming touch, goosebumps springing to the surface under his tongue, a wicked glint evident in his lilac eyes.

TAKAMI KEIGO - HAWKS

BIPOLAR –

She’s fragile on most days. Whether that fragility is in the shape of a daisy or a bomb is impossible to say until she either falls apart or blows up. It’s all rather uncertain, sporadic, spontaneous, where he’s given only a few signs where which he can predict what state of mind she’s in and how stable that structure is.

Most things depend on sleep, and upholding a balanced sleep-pattern has become one of the most important things in Keigo’s life after having taken his little darling. But, she manages to slip past his schedules more times than he would like to admit. When she refuses to go to sleep, his mind drifts to all the fun things they can do if they weren’t sleeping, and when she’s sound asleep and drowsing far beyond what time she should have woken up, he can’t find it in himself to wake her, not when he is the reason as to why she was so spent and sore and exhausted from the events and methods he used to make her fall asleep in the first place.

On little sleep one of two things can happen. She can either have the energy of a hummingbird or be tired to the point she almost looks sickly. On her lack-of-sleep-high she’s confident, cocky more so than Keigo, where she’ll test her luck on how far Keigo’s willing to bend his rules when she misbehaves, calling him all types of names, laughing in his face when he snaps and cackling even harder even madder when he decides to punish her, as though it’s all a game to quench her boredom.

With the absence of sleep causing her exhaustion she becomes irritated, seething with boiling rage, red in annoyance, whatever energy she has left focused on making her discomfort known as she scowls at him each time he smiles too loudly, but being too drained to physically act on her frustration or to even make up a snide comment without evoking a headache, left to simply snarl. He thinks it’s cute, where he knows well enough that if he pushes her limits too far she might just break. Break, and therefore let him gather her up into his arms and hush and tut at her to stop crying while he strokes her back, feeling her tremble with unparalleled frustration weighing down on her shoulders.

Then there are the days she sleeps too much. The same options are present here too. She’s either too energetic or too well rested. Either black or white. No grey. But with too much sleep she isn’t ever hostile, but still wild. Wild and enthusiastic and self-destructive and prop-full of ideas and insane in her passion. She’ll be unable to focus on anything, she’ll forget things seconds after they’ve been said or done, but… she’ll laugh and she’ll smile, and it won’t be one of those haughty nasty smiles she gives him when she’s feeling spiteful, but genuine in its playfulness or even bliss.

Then on other days sleeping half the day only results in her being even more drowsed out, yet accompanying her exhaustion isn’t irritation, but soft-tinted melancholia, where all she does is stay wrapped up in her blanket, quiet and still, silent tears dripping down her cheeks as she focusses on how hollow her chest is, as though caving in on itself, where she’ll fall all limp and snuggly in Keigo’s embrace, humming appreciatively as he wraps her up in his wings. All the while a treacherous smile of satisfaction on his face.

MIDORIYA IZUKU - DEKU

DESPOND –

When Izuku chose his darling it was done without compromise, without fault, it was done with perfection. Meaning, he fell for all of her, invested in all of her, determined to preserve all of her. Even her inexplainable unfounded absurd plethora of self-doubt that make her delirious and hopeless with anxiety and guilt. He let himself fall hungrily in love with her little terror-wide heart. He fell viciously in love with how desperate in need of him to come help ground her she was.

It was as though she’s made for him, he would argue. It was as though he’s made for her. Some breeds of people are just too vulnerable to take proper care of themselves. Some people just aren’t meant to take care of themselves. Whereas others are made to help, other people need to help.

Emotions are abstract fundamental tools meant to be used. Lesser minds might look down on his methods, yet Izuku came to understand quite early in life that things such as morals are chains meant to keep you from achieving your goal. He has no quarrels with using and abusing those tools presented to him, where her irrational feelings of doubt, hopelessness and worthlessness are a delicious opportunity to achieve his goal. Besides, her emotions are too easily abused and give such great unshakable responses, and even though he doesn’t want to tamper too much with her instability… they’re just too in-reach for him to ignore, too tempting for him to stay away.

The feeling of responsibility sits like an extra organ inside him, where his toes curl each time he sees her large doe-eyes look at him as though he were the sun, as though her whole life revolves around him. She’s just so dependent on him, so in need of his guidance and advise and praise, where he’s afraid she might just drown in her own guilt if she senses she’s displeased him. She makes sure she wears what he likes, has her hair the way he likes, letting him play with her like putty in his hands if he asks it of her. How can he be expected to not exploit what is so clearly offered?

Besides, he spoils her as well. He returns the favor so to speak, even though he knows she has given herself no choice but to worship him in her mindset of inadequacy. She’s so sweet he nearly feels undeserving, because she’ll blush so preciously when he compliments her, bashful and adorable and too good to be true, he wonders how such a creature can ever feel like less. He adores her, yet that doesn’t stop him from finding such satisfying bliss in the fact that he’s infinitely stronger and faster and not to mention smarter. Whereas she’s gullible and too eager to please, another attributing factor as to why he loves her, despite it is also being the cause of her demise, or maybe even because of it

The truth is she’s lucky that she belongs to him. Lucky that he won’t ever let anything happen to her, no matter if she’s the source of her own harm. She’s lucky to have him to anchor herself to as so to avoid floating away in her hopelessness. This is safer for her. Despite him sticking his bloodstained inky fingers and twisting her heart in his deadlock of a fist, she’s safe, safer than she could or would ever be on her own.

CHISAKI KAI - OVERHAUL

AMNESIA –

It’s cute. He won’t deny that it’s cute, because it is. It’s adorable and unbelievable and annoying all the same. She’ll forget the rules, she’ll wander too far from her confines, not greeting him at the door, not kissing him on que, leave questions unanswered despite him having told her to always answer him when she’s spoken to, all things he feels he’s made blatantly clear through threats and countless reminders. But, not only will she forget his rules, but basic living necessities, she’ll forget to eat and drink, forget to get dressed, forget where she is.

She’ll say the strangest things sometimes. Mild and mellow passionate thoughts regarding the clouds and stars and moon and gods and how pretty his snake-eyes are, like great big lakes of molten gold. It’s strange but he finds such great comfort in her little philosophical blubbering, her soft voice kissing his ears like gospel. It’s a tender type of relief or resolution found in listening to nonsense as opposed to the serious matters he has to deal with in his position in the underworld, her view of the world somehow painting everything, even the ugly and the dangerous, in beauty.

Sometimes she’ll drift a bit too far away though. She’ll daydream more than sleep, absentminded when he’s speaking to her, unable to focus on him or anything for more than a few minutes at best. All dizzy and fuzzy, as though she’s just woken from some dream or as if she’s always dreaming. Irritation festers in his chest when she doesn’t answer, but as she turns her head, expression all soft and oblivious, his chest caving in at the sight of those doe-eyes, all anger simmering into nothing, rendering his annoyance nonexistent, replaced by a sense of hopeless forgiveness and somehow appreciation.

When it comes to her for once actually remembering what she’s supposed to do she’ll weigh each task as though one wrong decision would cost her life. Greeting him at the door in nothing but underwear, already having failed at picking out an outfit and resorting to wearing the lingerie Kai picked and laid out for her on the bed in the morning. The simple task suddenly becoming a battle where she’ll spend much too much time deciding whether to take his jacket first or give him a kiss or welcome him home. Too many decisions with too faulty statistics and unsure outcomes she ends up merely standing there doing nothing but hold her head in her hands and whimper slightly at all the noise that suddenly crowded her head, tears already threatening to fall as she stands before him, all guilt-ridden and trembling.

He can be patient as long as he knows she isn’t disobeying him on purpose, especially when he sees how guilty and how terribly sorry she is each time she fails on acting out simple tasks such as those he gives her. She’ll cry and apologize for the mere act of breathing on some days where she’s extra fragile, where she seeks nothing but his praise, his comfort, his hand stroking through her hair as she sleeps restlessly in her sobs on his chest, unaware of the mild smile of satisfaction and endearment displayed on his face.

TODOROKI SHOTO

SELF-CONSCIOUS -

She’s always hiding. Like a little mouse, she’s always squeaking and squealing and hiding. Hiding her face, burying it in the pillow when he compliments her gorgeous eyes, begging him to stop, small timid hands pushing ever so slightly at him. Hiding her chest, her nipples, when he admires them, his hands playing with the soft and supple flesh, whimpering as she tries to twist away. Her knees trying their best to wrench shut, to hide and protect what sensitivity find between them from Shoto’s hungry fingers and tongue.

She’s always hiding… but he likes to hunt anyway. If she drapes herself in pitch-black hoodies he’ll gladly rip them off, or scorch them off and expose her delicious artful body. If she refuses to leave the bed he’ll gladly attack her where she’s sleeping. She’s always hiding, but she quickly comes to understand that there will be no hiding from him.

He doesn’t understand why she would ever want to hide divinity, and therefor doesn’t respect the wish. Having made it his mission to expose every little piece of her, licking up long lines of bumpy purple and white scars, sucking and biting at those pointy cherry nipples strutting at the coolness of his breath, kissing those plump lips of hers despite her cringing to cover herself up in thousand layers of clothes, dark clothes, where only the very least of her skin is remaining on display. He won’t have it.

He has to tie her up on most occasions where she’s too difficult and shy to listen and let him play with her beauty. He’ll have to tie her up like a starfish on the bed, limbs spread in each direction, scars running along them, quite like the ones he receives in battle, only precise and matching and purposeful, his hands coming to touch them in reverence, worshipping every little altercation she’s added to her skin, further pushing its ever-changing perfection, watching as she hopelessly struggles to hide herself, yet the both of them knowing how she’s fully his.

He can’t allow her hurting herself anymore though, not with the fear that she one day might slip up and kill herself just a little bit too much, but he’s happy to help her through the tools of fire and ice. Frostbite flowers look even more as though they belong on her body, as well as blotches of burns, his markings, his teeth. He’ll never forget the moan he received on his first indulgence branding her body with his elements, how she purred in gratitude, small blissful squeals and mewls following, further egging him on.

Once she grew more comfortable with his hands and his stare… or rather… once the need for his hands outgrew her discomfort, she became somewhat addicted. And now, she can be wild in her cravings on some days, demanding it of him, threatening him, fighting him. She’ll bite and claw, begging for him to retaliate, longing for him to push her into the bedsheets and teach her what it’s like to feel alive by teasing her with the promise of death.

Without him she’s left to pick at scabs, counting the seconds until his return. She’ll pull at her hair until her scalp is screaming. She’ll ball her fists, creating those blood-red crescent moons in her palms, biting her nails until they bleed and then some. Then bask in relief upon his return.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

[harpyloon]

i’ll catch you

Pairing: Charlie Weasley x fem!Reader

Summary: "Up close, Y/N could see the familiar freckles splattered all over his nose and cheeks. He was towering over her like he always did. She used to be the little second year Hufflepuff always idling by the entrance to the Great Hall hoping to bump into the famous Charlie Weasley. Studying on the Quidditch pitch, watching him behind her textbook, captaining the Gryffindor team. Climbing the beech tree by the lake again and again, hoping Charlie Weasley would somehow walk by once more to offer her a hand..."

☞ Curse Breaker reader x Dragon-tamer Charlie Weasley

Warnings: Fluff, sprinkles of angst, dragons (duh), mentions of a dead animal, mentions of dragon eating dead animal (lol), post-war timeline (although not that important)

WC: 4.5k+ , Part 2 coming soon!

Read on AO3

Beautiful rays of golden sunlight were peaking through the blinders of Y/N's cabin. It was going to be a lovely day with the perfect weather to seek out a bit of adventure, and although she was sure she had countless other affairs to address before kicking off with her assignment the next day, a blathering Bill Weasley was not one of them.

"Are you even listening?" his tone was way beyond impatient. "You know what? Don't answer that. I know for a fact that you never pick up anything I say. Ever."

Y/N rolled her eyes as she busied herself with stuffing her socked feet inside a pair of brown chunky hiking boots. She didn't plan on going very far. Her colleagues were currently lounging in the dining hall about five cabins down, sipping piping hot ciorbă, munching on breakfast toast, and relishing their only foreseeable off day before the start of the big dig tomorrow. Some were even dozing off still, earning as much sleep as they could to compensate for the long nights to come.

It's true what they say about grumpy Curse Breakers. But nobody realized that they just spent too much time with their eyes wide open.

"You know, Bill," Y/N mused, "you always call me the drama queen. What does that make you then?"

The floating head over the fire scoffed, "A concerned superior."

"Well, there's nothing to be concerned about."

"Where are you headed?"

"I'm going for a walk."

"No walks," ordered Bill, his face stern.

"Everyone's out and about today!"

"No walks for you."

Y/N laughed. "Oh yeah?"

Bill sighed. He knew trying to be hard-nosed was futile. "No walks alone at least."

"Are you sure there's no bun in Fleur's oven yet?" Y/N teased. "You're sounding more like a papa bear with each passing day."

She heard a soft melodic laugh within the fire where Bill's head was when suddenly, another floating head appeared right beside his. This time, all blonde and very French

"There iz no bun yet, mon cher. But I think he az been practicing fatherhood with you." Fleur gave Y/N a wink. "I 'eard zer are many 'andsome men in Romania. With a leetle beet of exzploring yo—"

"There will be no exploring," barked Bill, sending his wife a warning glance, which she ignored.

"—you might find someone az adventurous az you are," Fleur beamed, "And very macho."

"Darling," Bill sighed, "is this necessary?"

With a flying kiss to Y/N, Fleur was gone.

Shrugging on a light parka, Y/N gave Bill a knowing look, "You see? Your wife said I could use a macho man."

"Oh please. You're in a Curse Breaker camp."

"Hey, there are loads of macho men here."

"Macho enough for you?"

Y/N wrinkled her nose but ignored the question.

"Well, William," she said, emphasizing Bill's full name, "I, am a Curse Breaker in the middle of the Southern Carpathians." Stuffing her wand through her belt loop, she looked at him with finality. "And I am not passing up this opportunity."

"Remember when they assigned you to Egypt with me and you went on exploring? Your exploring is bad luck, Y/N, and I did not assign you to Romania to bring bad luck."

"Excuse you, the Egypt Goblins loved me."

"Goblins don't love wizards," retorted Bill.

"I think they were particularly fond of me."

"You Reductored an entire bloody Pyramid!"

Y/N was losing her patience. She wanted to sift through the mountains in the morning sunlight. Discover hidden caves and wade through cold springs. She had her breakfast way earlier than everyone else for this sole purpose.

"I promise I'll be good."

"Take Weiss with you."

Y/N glared. "Absolutely not."

"Take someone."

"I'm walking out on you right now. Don't forget to put out my fire."

"Y/N."

"I'll see you later!"

"I have to tell you—"

Without looking back, she waved at Bill and stepped out into the crisp Romanian morning.

The skies were bright and cloudless, the sun slowly rising up east. The Curse Breaker camp in the middle of the Transylvanian Alps was in for a late morning. It was quiet, apart from the whispers of the forest beside them; chirping birds, singing crickets, and the distant sound of a nearby stream.

Trudging up the rough pavement towards the foot of the nearest hill, Y/N felt an ounce of guilt seep through as she marveled at the scenery before her. Bill was the reason she got the Romania assignment. She wasn't half bad a Curse Breaker. From an outsider's perspective, some would even call her brilliant. She's aced all her missions in her first year on the job—way ahead of all the others in her year, and was even able to crackdown a dark magic-infested tomb in an assignment she co-lead in Egypt. She was quick, smart, and as brave as the career entailed.

Only one thing stood between her and a good reputation in Gringotts. Her impulsiveness.

She couldn't help it. Y/N's successes partnered with tragedies—accidents; her brilliance came with sheer will and almost violent haste. The problem is you can't think twice Bill would always say. Not everything is done in a snap, Y/N.

Bill Weasley was the only senior Curse Breaker with enough patience to supervise her. It must have been fate or a miracle that had him in temporary assignment at the London Gringotts when she graduated Hogwarts. If she were received by anyone else, or if he were back in Egypt instead, she didn't think she'd ever make it out into the field. Or worse, last a few months.

"I'll be good," she mumbled to no one in particular. Or maybe she hoped that Bill would hear. She'd floo him again later.

Trekking up the slope with hands snuggled warm inside her faux-fur-lined pockets, Y/N inhaled the fresh earth surrounding her. This was her calling. Nature. Adventure. The unknown. She was fantastic with spells and jinxes and once thought of becoming an Auror—but Aurors spent too much time indoors, on desks, drowning in paperwork and tailing dark wizards. She knew in her heart she wasn't born to enforce the law.

On the opposite side of the hill was a deep gorge between two towering mountains and a long serpentine stream. Elated at the sight, she followed the gentle flow of water over the rocks. Without thinking (because when does she ever), she slipped off her boots and socks, and despite the chilly morning, prepared to wade the ice-cold water. She dipped one toe in for good measure—a pause.

That couldn't be right.

Submerging one whole foot into the water confirmed her confusion. Strange. Almost all waterways in Romania led to the Black Sea, if not the Adriatic. Why was it warm?

This isn't the bathing stream she thought. The senior Curse Breakers back at camp had instructed them of assigned fresher areas where warming charms would be cast. She didn't remember this gorge being part of last night's tour.

Ankles deep in the water, Y/N trailed the soft currents. It was deliciously warm. A deliberate contrast to the icy breeze left by the trail ends of winter. It was supposedly mid-spring, but the winds still gave her the chills.

She took no notice of how far she was going, the water neither rising nor falling. If she were to guess it must've almost been half an hour given by the direction of the sun. The warm water and small pebbles were therapeutic beneath her feet. The walk didn't tire her at all.

Finally, the chasm's end came to view. Heart beating with excitement, she hastened her pace, dampening the legs of her trousers that she attempted to roll up. But just as her feet crossed the lip between the two mountains flanking her, she felt the oddest sensation: it began at the top of her head, traveling down her arms to her toes—as if a big fat raindrop landed on her scalp and entered her body.

She glanced at the clear blue sky. There was no cloud in sight for miles.

And then, it was suddenly very humid.

"What the..." she glanced back through the gorge. Nothing was out of order and nobody was in sight. Looking down at her feet, her surroundings were now as warm as the water she stood on. Her parka felt too thick.

Again, strange.

Trying to shake away her curiousness, Y/N trudged on.

All is well she chanted inside her head. All is well and the wind just blows differently on this side of the alps.

But no matter what she told herself, ripples of unease still disturbed Y/N. She was beginning to sweat and it wasn't just her nerves. The wind didn't blow differently on this side of the mountains because there was no wind. It was dry, dank, and very very warm.

To rattle her nerves even further, the water she was wading on was getting hotter as she went on that she had to leap on land once again. But as soon as her bare soles made contact with the grass, she yelped in pain.

"Merlin—OW."

The earth was burning. As if it bathed in the sun for too long. As if she were in the middle of a dry desert. She knew the feeling, she's been to Egypt. But why the bloody hell would Romanian soil feel this hot? Moreso in the heart of the Southern Carpathians?

Locating a jutted-out slab of rock, Y/N hopped over to sit and gather her bearings, drying her damp feet and staring at her boots and socks. She didn't want to slip them back on. The heat was intense. But it was either the boots or the sizzling soil.

She shrugged off her parka after lacing up her boots and was grateful for her reckless choice of wardrobe this morning. She opted for a ribbed shirt under her jacket—instead of a sweater—in urgent intention to get away from a nagging Bill. Now it served her well. It wasn't as thin as she would have deemed appropriate for the current temperature, but at least her neck and arms could breathe.

Gazing over the expanse of the clearing she emerged in, she suddenly became aware of the lack of green in the area. The grass was almost a withering brown—crunchy and dry. Trees weren't scattered about like the thick oaks all over the Curse Breaker camp; instead, they were clumped, almost systematically, in relatively rectangular patch formations. As if deliberately rooted as such.

Muggles Y/N thought. It was only them who had the peculiar habit of reorganizing nature.

Tying her parka around her waist, she treaded the clearing, the grass crisp beneath her boots, and approached the nearest cluster of trees. She wondered if this were one of the areas they'd be digging up. Senior Curse Breaker Digby Youssif oriented them of specific crackdown areas to look forward to in the next few months. Although almost all wizarding families were well-accounted for in Romania, there were still trifling amounts of intel on hidden vaults under protective spells cast by untraceable ancient tribes.

Y/N loved digging assignments. She was particularly fond of discovery. And if Ancient Runes was Hogwarts' least-loved lesson, she rather enjoyed Professor Babbling's classes. Well, most of the time. It was her pride and joy to have snagged an 'Outstanding' for her O.W.Ls—

Crack!

A sudden gust of wind whipped through the trees ahead of her. On instinct, Y/N drew her wand from her belt loop. Nothing was so dangerous about the wind. But it felt so...

The sound came out of nowhere, she thought it was imagining it. A steady drumming beat. Powerful and humming. An engine? she thought. But that was impossible. They were told that the area was blocked off from muggles for the duration of their stay. She paused in front of a towering ashtree. The sound was growing louder and louder. Nearer. She didn't know why but she was compelled with the need to hide.

Climb.

She felt ridiculous, clambering up an ashtree and settling on its thickest branch. Her superiors back at camp were clear that the mountains were safe, its perimeters were secured for their dig. Curse Breakers always made sure missions wouldn't come across outside interference.

Then why was her heart beating so fast?

The drumming sound was growing nearer. Behind her—above.

Peering at the sky through the leaves, a massive dark figure swooped overhead and landed with an earth-shaking thud on the clearing right in front of her tree.

Y/N felt like she was going to choke on her own spit when a deafening, earsplitting roar echoed through the mountains.

Dragon.

Fully grown, enormous, and vicious-looking, the beast had emerald scales that glinted in the morning sun. Its body was bulky, way stockier compared to the common dragons in textbooks. It had a massive head that seemed even larger than its body, and on it sprouted two long glittering golden horns. Its claws had the same golden color, and it was rearing onto its hind legs, hunching over a figure... chewing...

All the breakfast Y/N had only hours before felt like rising up her throat. An enormous dragon only meters in front of her was chewing on a dead animal, clearly having his own meal. And there she was, perched on an ashtree, ready for dessert.

Don't panic she told herself, but feeling green. She's never faced a dragon on a mission before. They tackled them in her first year on the job—Curse Breakers didn't really need training, the task calling for hands-on work—but never in her life did she ever think she'd have to face a real dragon.

I don't have to face it Y/N thought, I just have to stay here until it flies away, and run back to camp.

Wiggling up to a squat, she eyed the neighboring branch a few feet to her right which was higher up and positioned behind a thicker cluster of leaves. It didn't require a jump, but more of a really careful split; hugging the trunk tightly, she stretched her right foot across, shifting her weight to her right leg, her arms choking the tree trunk in a death grip, legs spread wide midair—

"Scuzati-ma?"

Y/N didn't fall. Thank Merlin she didn't fall. But she lost her momentum in surprise and panic, her left foot sliding from the previous branch, making her push off the trunk in haste, throwing her weight across completely. She grabs a dangling thin branch above her at the last minute, her body tilted towards the forest floor.

A forest floor where a man now stood, peering up at her curiously.

She was breathing hard, her heart thumping erratically, both from the fear of falling and being heard by the dragon so close by.

"Er—esti bine?" the man asked. Y/N saw that he had his arms out as if braced to catch her if she fell. When she didn't answer, the man spoke again, "Ai nevoie de ajutor?"

She blinked down at him. "What?"

He chuckled. She hated it. It hurt her pride. "I said, do you need any help?"

He was loud. Too loud. She righted herself on the branch, pulling to lean back on the trunk behind her. Then risking a peek, she checked on the dragon who was still munching on the dead cow with gusto.

She looked back down to find the man with his eyebrows raised at her, his face painting amusement. It was impossible not to take note of his red mane pulled into a low bun. He looked awfully familiar... and he was going to get them killed.

"Could you," she whispered as loudly as she could, "keep your voice down?"

The man snickered once more, showing no effort of lowering his tone. "Why?"

"Are you blind?" she wanted to strangle him. "There's a bloody dragon!"

The redhead glanced at the scaly beast and heaved out a sigh. "Okay. Yeah, you're right. It's way past breakfast. He's missing nap time."

Y/N looked at him incredulously. He shrugged, "But what can I do? He slept in this morning. Lazy beast." Looking back up, he asked, "Want to meet him?"

He's mental she thought. That had to be it.

But the redhead only laughed. He keeps laughing. He must've noticed the stupefied expression on her face because he simmered. "Give him a minute and you can come down. It's already his fifth haul so he's bound to get dozy and fly back to the nest." He started walking towards the clearing when he paused and turned back, "Although, you can come down now. I promise he won't eat you."

Y/N watched as the man walked up to the feasting dragon—she was peering behind the thick tree trunk, using it as a shield. He's insane. Drawing a wand from a sheath attached to his calf, the man aimed a stunning spell right by the beast's tail.

"Alright, Darius, I think you've had enough," he called. He kept his distance, a good few meters away, but his gait was calm, almost lazy.

The dragon glanced at the man, its fangs bloody. Y/N wanted to grab the redhead and run. But it was a crazy thought, and she was rooted on her spot on the tree branch, frozen in fear.

The man gave a sharp whistle and the dragon grunted, smoke coming out of its nostrils. It ignored him and continued to munch on the cow.

Another stunning spell was aimed right by its claws and the dragon emitted a low growl. Y/N didn't know if she was imagining it but the creature seemed sluggish on its feet, swaying... almost drowsy.

"Off you go," said the man, "up." He sent one more stunning spell right in front of its snout. It was a clear miss, purely intentional.

The dragon heaved a loud angry roar. But instead of diving for the man like she expected, it started flapping its wings, gaining momentum. Y/N held onto the tree trunk tighter so as not to be swayed by the sudden rush of winds the creature was yielding. And then with a strong push off the ground, up it soared, growling low in its throat, and was out of sight.

Y/N's legs felt like jelly slugs, but her arms refused to let go of the tree trunk. What in Merlin's name just happened?

"Y/N."

She gave a short yelp, coughing on her next breath. "Excuse me?"

The man was back, now by the foot of the tree once again. "Come down."

"How do you know my name?" she demanded.

He had a really handsome smile. A really familiar, handsome smile...

"I should be offended," said the man. "Come down." There it was again, that smile. "I'll catch you."

I'll catch you.

I'll catch you....

 "Come on, Y/N, I'll catch you!"

"No you won't!" said Y/N. Her cheeks were wet with tears.

She was perched on the beech tree by the Black lake, her legs dangling above the shallow water. She had attempted to retrieve her Spellman's Syllabry textbook that Cassian Loxias chucked up the branches for fun.

"Yes I will, I promise," consoled Charlie. "I'm a prefect, remember?" he gestured to his badge, "I'll make sure you're safe."

Sniffing up snot that was escaping her nose, she hiccuped softly against the back of her hand. "Our prefect doesn't do that very much."

Charlie chuckled. "I'll make sure to have a word with Professor Sprout about her Hufflepuff prefects."

When he saw the horror on her face, he held up his hands, "It didn't come from you of course. Will you come down now? I swear I'll catch you."

Y/N looked into Charlie Weasley's eyes and saw nothing but pure candor. Biting her lip, she said, "Do cross your heart, or hope to die?"

He traced a cross right above his chest. "Cross my heart, or hope to die."

 "Y/N. Y/N?"

Y/N blinked.

Charlie Weasley. Charlie dragon-tamer Weasley. Charlie the hot brother Weasley—

"Are you still breathing? Do you need me up there?"

Trying to gather her bearings, Y/N extracted herself from her hold on the tree trunk, went down onto a squat, and leaped off, landing on the crunchy grass with a thump.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at her as she dusted her trousers, "I see you don't need catching anymore."

She took in the man before her. "Charlie Weasley."

His grin was dazzling."Caught on, have you?

From up close, Y/N could now see the familiar freckles splattered all over his nose and cheeks. He was towering over her like he always did. She used to be the little second year Hufflepuff always idling by the entrance to the Great Hall hoping to bump into the famous Charlie Weasley. Studying on the Quidditch pitch, watching him behind her textbook, captaining the Gryffindor team. Climbing the beech tree by the lake again and again, hoping Charlie Weasley would somehow walk by once more to offer her a hand...

There were so many things she could've done, seeing him again for the first time after all these years. He was gone as soon as he graduated Hogwarts, flying to Romania to study dragons. Everyone always thought Charlie would be going Quidditch pro, being captain and seeker. He had the build, the skills, and the charm. Hogwarts alone had fan clubs in his name and rumor had it that the Falmouth Falcons were just waiting for him to finish seventh year.

But others didn't see Charlie as Y/N did. They didn't see him hoarding books on care of magical creatures in the library. They didn't notice him sneaking off to Hagrid's on the weekends, taking Fang for walks or feeding the Blast Ended Skrewts in the garden. Nobody paid attention to the copy of Fantastic Beasts And Where to Find Them that Charlie practically glued to his side. Only Y/N did. And now that she thought about it, she didn't like that she knew so much. It made her feel like a creep.

So instead of hugging him in delight like she actually wanted, she took a swipe at his shoulder.

"You git," she hissed. "You scared me to death! How did you do that? I thought taming dragons was impossible."

"It is. Most of the time," Charlie shrugged. "Darius is a Romanian Longhorn. Mostly harmless compared to the others especially when he's full. Not that difficult to send him back to the nest when he can barely stand on his feet."

"Harmless? I could've been dessert!"

Charlie laughed. He was still always laughing. "You look delicious, yes, but I'm not letting Darius have you."

What the fu—Y/N inhaled slowly, cautiously. Then exhaled through her nose. She didn't know how to respond. Seeing him again after so long, without warning or preparation, was messing with her senses

"It's good to see you, Y/N," he said and walked closer. Close enough to tugged at her braid. She didn't know why he did it, but he looked like he just had to. "You look good."

Y/N's heart was beating rapidly once more, but this time, for all the wrong reasons. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Charlie gazed back into her eyes as if seeing her for the first time.

"Too long."

Again, she didn't know how long it took her to reply, but she cleared her throat, "How—did you know it was me? The first time?"

Charlie's eyes were still roaming all over her face. "No. Not until you spoke."

Y/N must've held a questioning look because he added, "I'll never forget that voice."

He was saying such strange things. Were they strange? Or was it just because he affected her so?

"Then why didn't you say anything?"

"Well, you wouldn't come down, would you? I see you still have a thing for trees."

Y/N rolled her eyes.

"I didn't know the dragon reservation was in the alps," she said. "Do you know we're camping nearby?"

"'Course I do. You lot are beside dragon territory for a reason."

Excitement and fear raised Y/N's nerves. "What are you talking about?"

Charlie bit his lip. "You'll see."

"Are we digging in the reservation?"

He was walking out into the clearing now, beelining back towards the opening of the gorge.

"Charlie!" Y/N jogged to keep up. "Are we?"

He only smiled, "Patience, darling."

Darling. He used to call her that all the time even when they were back in Hogwarts. She always tried to ignore the fluttering feeling her chest made when he used the endearment, reminding herself that he must've used it on everyone else, not just her.

"Why did no one back at camp tell us anything?"

"I probably should've kept my mouth shut," was his only reply. They were crossing the two mountains flanking the stream, and as soon as they cut through the border, Y/N felt the same sensation she did when she went through the clearing. But this time in reverse, it was as if the raindrop was sucked back up.

She glanced up at the mountains. "Did you feel that?"

"Shield spells," explained Charlie. "To keep the muggles out. Temperature charms as well to regulate the reservation climate. Although the dragons do enough of their warming on their own, it's for precaution."

They walked up the stream, tracing back Y/N's previous path.

"Are you bringing me back to camp?" she asked.

"That, and I have to see Digby. Iron out tomorrow's schedule."

"So we are digging inside the reservation," Y/N didn't know if she was more thrilled or afraid.

Charlie glanced at her, "You heard nothing from me."

Studying his features as they strolled, Y/N couldn't help but admire how much Charlie Weasley grew up to be. He's always been lean and strong, especially with being an athlete back at Hogwarts, but now he seemed so much larger than life. Red tendrils were escaping his low bun and framing his chiseled face, there were a few scars on his nose and one under his lip. She shouldn't have been able to see it but she couldn't stop staring. He was big. Stockier than she'd ever seen him; hands wrapped in gauze and rope slung over a hook on his hip.

Charlie Weasley, dragon-tamer.

And he was staring right back at her.

"You have to take me to see more dragons," Y/N breathed. She didn't know where her voice went. It was all airy and she didn't like it. She hoped he would assume it was because of their walk.

Charlie stopped, deep brown eyes boring into her own. He was panting slightly too. Maybe it was the walk.

"Okay," he exhaled. "Promise."

"Cross your heart?" she almost whispered. Almost.

Two fingers traced a cross over Charlie's chest, his gaze not leaving hers, "Cross my heart."

[indianamoonshine]

c h a p t e r | i

summary: every summer you work on your father's strawberry farm with your three sisters. it's a way to take a break from the big city but summers in the midwest are hot and they linger. this year, your father's old and mysterious friend shows up to stay on your land for a reason yet to be determined. din djarin seems dangerous, but kind enough, and the two of you quickly become...well, let's fact it...smitten.

rating: m (18+) for future and explicit sexual content.

author's note: reader is well over eighteen for obvious reasons. i won't ever go into physical detail about the reader's appearance because we include everyone. this fic is pretty much a mix between pride & prejudice and call me by your name except without the und*rage crap we do not condone. so, without further ado, here's an aesthetically pleasing fanfic.

the moment din djarin laid eyes on you he knew he was a dead man.

at first, his view of you had been obstructed because you'd opened every door and window in the house. june in the midwest sometimes required such nuisances, so all of the curtains billowing in the breeze prevented him from looking upon you.

you were also on the couch, but he hadn't known that until you lifted a hand - soft as a dove's - from the back of the sofa. you played with the light between your fingers, shielding its dazzling rays from your eyes, just before setting it down again. your hands were so small (smaller than his anyway) and gentle. he imagined how foreign your skin would feel in warm contrast to his; how your fingers would feel intertwined with his calloused ones, which had done enough work throughout the years to be mistaken for a beggar’s. within the first moment, he saw you as flawless.

your father had not stopped for breath since din arrived, lamenting about the farm or discussing the layout of the home with an eagerness din had yet to match. he would've initially been interested in the history of the farm or how many sprawling acres rolled endlessly before them, but his eyes couldn't leave your hand.

you must've been asleep - napping in the embrace of the sun - because as soon as your father drew breath upon entering the living room, your voice tickled din's ears for the first time. sweet as music.

"dad? is that you?"

din couldn't help but blink at the sound of your voice. it seemed unnatural, like one hears in dreams or spiritual awakenings. he manages to compose himself at your father's side, straightening his posture to err on the side of caution.

your father exclaims with a joyful "ah!" and then introduces you by name.

"my daughter. one of them, anyway. she and the three eldest help during the summer," he had said, and then turned to the bay windows to go on about the view.

but you meet din's eyes, rested and glimmering with curiosity, while your father droned on in the background. you reach out a hand - the one he'd thought of holding - to shake.

he does. and it's every bit as beautiful as he knew it'd be.

"how do you do?" you give him a polite and pretty smile. if he hadn't known any better, you bat your eyelashes for good measure.

your father's tour continues but din can't stop thinking about the way your skirt rose to your thighs as you stretched awake.

|||

you were lying if you said you didn't think about him for the rest of the day.

you weren't the only one. your sisters - all three of them - had also met the mysterious din djarin.

"who is he?" charlotte asked while you congregated at the nearby pond. it was a lovely place, nestled within the thick of the woods and bursting with greenery. flowers of every kind blossomed around you and scents the air with a sweetness.

rhea lays in the shade of a peach tree. "one of dad's old friends," she says. she waves herself with a floral paper fan she'd gotten from chinatown while visiting you in new york.

"but why is he here?"

madeline, who paints with her watercolors, pipes in. "i heard he got into some trouble with the law and now he's in hiding."

you roll your eyes with a scoff, lounging in the grass and watching the clouds in the bright, blue sky. "madeline, that's absurd."

rhea (who is the oldest and most pragmatic) surprises you when she shrugs her shoulders. "i don't know. he looks likes a bad boy..."

you recall the way his jaw clenched as you introduced yourself - his neck was tempting. his skin glowed with a radiant hue in the sunlight and his eyes shone with an aura of broodiness. he was very austenian.

"boy is hardly the word," you correct.

charlotte, being the flirt, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. she swims in the pond, hair wet and fanning against the water. she sinks lowly for dramatic effect. "how right you are."

"trouble or not, he was a perfect gentleman." rhea sighs and skims the water with her forefinger. "either way, he's easy on the eyes so i don't mind having him around."

easy on the eyes was putting it mildly. you wouldn't say that to the girls though; they had a habit of teasing when you showed interest in anyone attainable let alone a man decades older than you.

"don't do anything stupid, charlotte." madeline dips her paintbrush into her mason jar full of pond water.

charlotte huffs and flips her hair from her shoulder. it makes a splash, rippling the water as a result. "why not? we're all of legal age."

"he's dad's friend and a guest," you remind her, tearing your gaze away from the clouds.

the middle child lets out a pathetic whimper. "you guys are no fun," she groans.

|||

it was a busy season on the farm.

strawberries were ready to be picked by mid june and there was a three week window to do it. harvesting wasn't easy and it took a lot of man work. hands went numb, skin grew calloused. the sun that beat down on the fields was only manageable by the sprinklers that went off every blessed-ed fifteen minutes. during a drought, it was even worse.

the employees picked from seven in the morning until five in the evening. your father was adamant that breaks be plenty and pay be as prosperous as he could afford, but a strawberry farm wasn't a fortune five hundred company. he did what he could to provide the families with some semblance worthy enough to continue, and so every year he threw a dinner party.

it was always a lovely occasion, brimming with delectable treats and savory entrees. candles were aflame, lanterns lit up the pathway that lead to the entrance of the home and then the land leading into the woods. as a child, the dinner party was as exciting as a birthday. it was a night to look forward to all year long, sharing time with family and friends and gorging yourself on food you wouldn't eat any other friday of the week.

your sisters loved it too, mostly because they enjoyed the promise of gossip that poured from the mouths of guests like the wine served. and now that din djarin - a stranger, in all respects of the word - was attending an annual dinner that's managed to keep as tradition for years, gossip would surely be abundant as the wine itself.

guests arrived by the hour until the clock struck seven. the evening was crisp but warm enough to be comfortable without a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. the rock doves sung loudly to declare that sunset had begun, a few rogue and early lightning bugs blinking rhythmically. children of the employees ran throughout the fields bare footed and chanting taunts to their friends as their parents chattered among themselves.

home. here is home.

while the party had already begun (officially, at least), dinner hadn't yet been served. admittingly, you were a bit behind schedule, but you worked quickly to finish setting the tables. the theme was simple; linen napkins and wildflowers in random antique vases you found in your basement. the lilacs you'd picked from their bushes were already beginning to limp but you hoped no one would notice.

you hum when you work. whether it be intentional or not you find your lips buzzing with a tune plucked subconsciously from your brain as your hands busy themselves. you straighten the tablecloths, fill the vases with water, and set the silverware in their particular order. needless to say, you had a tendency to get lost in your own little world. so when a hand gently tapped you on the shoulder, you spun around with a shriek.

din djarin - man of the hour - is smirking handsomely at you, hands fiddling with a depressed looking lilac. you place a palm against your heart and count its beats. too many.

"mister djarin," you sigh out. "you scared me."

he lets out a breathy chuckle, hands running through his wavy locks. "i see that. i'm sorry, but i was just wondering if you'd like some help."

his voice...oh, stars and garters. it was so rough but tender - like a steak. you cock an eyebrow at how strange the comparison is but convince yourself it didn't matter. still, you're blushing from the jump so you duck your head from his gaze.

"there's not much left to do," you admit, turning back to the table. you spread your hands against the tablecloth to ward off any wrinkles. "you can double check if i missed any forks, i suppose. i have a tendency to do that."

din hums in his throat and nods a little. "sure," he says, moving to the first setting. his eyes scan along the silverware carefully. "where are your sisters? they don't help, huh?"

"they're better at entertaining," you say truthfully. "i volunteer to take care of the dinner part...as long as i don't have to socialize as much i'm content."

it was true. it's not that you had an aversion to people in general, but you tried to avoid conversation whenever possible - it wasn't your strong suit. you could get away with it when need be but you found it took too much energy to pretend to enjoy conversation about the weather or politics.

"i understand," din nods. he straightens a spoon with the nudge of his finger. "i find myself to be the same way."

there's an awkward silence between the two of you. you didn't know how to respond. while you weren't good at social situations in general, you found it natural to feign interest in subjects bland enough to circumvent discomfort...but you felt the need to impress him.

"so you'll be staying with us this summer then?" you decide, falling short. how stupid.

din nods swiftly. "yeah. in one of the cabins."

the cabins were located at various points of the land your father owned. in order to get there, one usually took an ATV or walked if the going gets tough. you preferred to stroll along the river, but your sisters liked riding the four wheelers or their bikes.

"which one?" you ask, tone mindless.

din's finished with double checking your work. he pulls out a chair - an old, wooden antique - and sits down upon it with caution. you stifle a laugh and, if he notices, he doesn't say anything. he'd soon learn that everything here was old but sturdier than they looked. you wish you could say it was for aesthetic purposes but it was more convenient than anything.

"the one closest to the pond," din replies lowly.

you notice how his eyes survey your form and how intimate it was. he was studying you but for whatever reason you couldn't be sure. you try to shake away the idea that he could be (dare you say?) pining over you. how silly. like you told charlotte: din djarin was off limis.

that was the end of it.

you find yourself blushing again so you hide your face. "that's my favorite one," you tell him honestly. "i like the view."

din smiles in agreement. "so do i."

if you weren't so heated with frustration, you would've called him out on the implication (as out of character for you it may be). then again, you found yourself weakened by the mere presence of this man. it wasn't unlike you, per say; you were naturally timid but there was an eagerness to his charm that you weren't familiar with. guys your age were so sure of themselves but it was almost always under false pretenses. this man however...well, he was a man and that was intimidating.

fine. it was hot.

you clear your throat in an effort to regain a semblance of poise. this summer had already proven to be laborious in a way you hadn't expected.

[greatbigbellies]

The @wesoftupinhere oneshot... that turned into a fourshot... but hey it’s content right? Features wholesome preg content, light stuffing, rapid pregnancy, and heavy multiples. Hope you enjoy it!

Kyle lounged in his gamer chair, his full term pregnant belly resting in his lap. He Took a hand off of the mouse to rub small circles in the side of his distended tummy, soothing his little boy inside. Both Kyle and his baby had been restless lately, anxious to meet each other, and Kyle was particularly ready to be done with pregnancy. It wasn’t a bad gig, mind you, lots of food and attention. However, being so heavy and achy all the time was draining. He’d been going for 38 weeks now, and his 5’5” frame was growing weary of growing a baby. Almost there, he thought to himself. He returned his hand to his mouse to keep streaming. He was playing minecraft, half cause he enjoyed it, and half because it got donations. With the baby coming soon, he needed all the money he could get.

He shifted idly in his chair, struggling to get comfortable. “How far along are you?” asked one of his stream viewers. He got this question almost every day. “38 weeks, 3 days! Almost done!” he chirped. “Congrats!” said the viewer over chat. Kyle smiled. “You look so fatherly!” another chimed in. Kyle blushed a little, not sure how to take compliments. “Aww, thanks guys!” he replied.

“Can we see the tummy?” asked one particularly brave viewer. “Ooooh, I dunno guys, it’s kind of hard to move at this size,” he replied. A minute or so passed, Kyle idly harvesting his crops, when a donation rolled in. “Oh! Thanks for the twenty bucks! Wow! Let’s see…” he waited for the bit donation message to scroll by. “If I give you $20 will you show us the baby bump?” it asked. Kyle rolled his eyes and smiled. “You guys drive a hard bargain, but ooookay,” he grunted as he got to his feet, his hefty body trying to weigh him down. He turned to the side and rolled up his shirt to show his smooth, large belly to the facecam. His baby visibly kicked from the inside, much do the delight of the twitch chat.

“Pog!” “Pog baby!” “Pogchamp!” “Pogchamp!” “Pog baby!!” “He’s our little pogchamp!”... his chat exploded. Kyle laughed at the reaction, causing his tummy to bounce slightly. “Hahaha! Yeah, I guess he is our little pogchamp huh?” he said, half genuinely, half ironically. Twitch slang felt weird sometimes, but Kyle had to admit, it got results. He held his belly from below and gave it a little bounce as about $55 in donations rolled in, all saying variations of “pog baby”. Kyle smiled to himself as he heard Tyler come home. “Oop! My lunch is here! BRB!” he said as he paused the stream and put up his “returning soon” screen. He yanked his shirt down over his huge belly and waddled into the kitchen where Tyler sat, groaning and cradling his massive gut.

“Are you okay?” asked Kyle, thinking Tyler just overate again. “Oooohhh… too many burgers…” Tyler moaned. “Why didn’t you wait until you got home to eat?” asked Kyle. “I was gonna… but they smelled so good… and pregnancy cravings won out…” he explained between breaths. “Dude, feel my belly...! It’s so full!” Kyle shrugged. He’d felt Tyler’s tummy a million times over his pregnancy, he didn’t expect this to be any different. He was wrong. “Whoa… dude, how much did you eat?” he asked, prodding his best friend’s massively overstuffed belly. It felt insanely firm, especially on the lower hemisphere. Tyler’s belly was already huge, what with triplets crammed in there, and he had a habit of gorging himself now and again. “For the babies” he’d always say. This felt different though. It was like he was… more pregnant than before…

“Uuuh, just like… two burgers, fries, a side of onion rings, and a large shake… a normal lunch!” said Tyler. Kyle would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t concerned. He compared the firmness of hIs own belly with his friend’s. Both were very full, sure, and had little give, but Tyler’s… his felt downright overfilled. Kyle rolled up his friend’s shirt to inspect the belly. It all looked fine as far as he could tell. More tightly stretched, sure, but no harsh blemishes or warning signs. “Soooo much pressure!...” complained Tyler. “Do you need to go to a doctor?” Tyler shook his head at Kyles question. “Nah dude, I’ll be fine… I just need some tummy rubs and time to digest…” he paused… “Wow, I must have overdone it more than I thought. I swear the burger just kicked…”

Kyle gave his friend a skeptical look. “Where did you get these? Burger King?” he asked. Tyler shook his head, placing both hands on his distended bare belly. “Nah bro… some new place that popped up next door. Nice portions…. I didn’t get the name though…” Kyle smiled at his friend. It’s just like him to order and eat from a place without knowing what it’s called. He glanced at the plain, brown paper bag the food came in, and grabbed his burger to examine the wrapping. “McPreggo? What kind of name is McPreggo?” he asked Tyler, who was zoned out rubbing his belly. “I dunno man… but the babies sure liked it and I did too… maybe too much, ough,” he let out a dainty little belch.

Kyle shrugged. It did smell amazing. He unwrapped his burger, and took a bite. “Oh my god…” he trailed off with a mouth full. “W-what?” asked Tyler. “This… is the tastiest thing I’ve ever eaten!” Kyle beamed. This was like eating his favorite food, while sating a craving for a different favorite food, while discovering a NEW favorite food all at once. The patty was grilled to perfection, the bun was fluffy, the veggies were moist and crisp, and whatever that reddish sauce was was simply astonishing.

“I can see why you would overdo it on this food Tyler, THIS… IS… AMAZING!” Tyler smirked at his friend. “And you doubted by tastes…” he said jokingly, patting his overfilled belly. Kyle continued to demolish the burger at a frightening pace. “Dude… I once saw you dip sweet potato fries in cake icing… your tastes are bizarre,” pointed out Kyle between bites. “Eeny, and Meeny wanted the fries and Miney wanted the icing!” Tyler defended himself, referring to his triplets by their nicknames.

Kyle felt the weight of his pregnant tummy tug downward, his sore back reminding him that standing for too long wasn’t a good idea in his state. He waddled over and took a seat between Tyler and the table of food. “Speaking of fries… you didn’t eat them all, did you?” he asked. Tyler shook his head, “Nah man, I specifically left yours alone. They’re in the bag, you gotta try them. They put some garlic salt or something on ‘em,” Uncannily, Kyle found himself craving garlic at the mere mention of it. He took the last bite of his burger, and stuck his arm down the bag to fish out his prize.

Tyler rubbed large circles on the distended sides of his massive belly, soothing both his overfilled stomach and his aching womb. He felt Eeny, Meeny, and Miney all snuggled in his gut… and he could SWEAR he felt three other bodies in there too, but that was impossible. He was just overfed, surely. He turned to watch Kyle basically drink the fries out of the carton. He hadn’t seen his friend put away food like this since his second trimester… dude must’ve been starving. He thought to himself.

Tyler furrowed his brow at the sight of Kyle’s tummy slowly pushing outward, his shirt visibly riding up as he ate. Kyle seemed too enamored with the food to notice. “And you got me onion rings?! God I love you Ty, you know how to treat a guy,” Kyle laughed as he found the second side hidden in the bag. “Y-yeah, no problem…” Tyler trailed off, still focusing on his friend’s tummy. “How are you feeling?” he asked. Kyle crunched on a perfectly seasoned onion ring, “Like I’m in heaven!” he replied, an adorable grin on his face.

Tyler felt his own tummy again, really taking the time to feel it. He felt for where most of the pressure in his belly was coming from. His stomach? Check. His womb? Also check… He felt around, outlining the tiny bodies in his head. 1… 2… 3… his eyes widened. He reached over and felt Kyles belly, a sizable crescent of bare skin showing as his shirt continued to ride up. Kyle was too busy enjoying onion rings to care. They felt each other’s babies all the time, so this wasn’t out of the ordinary.

Tyler concentrated on the movement under Kyle’s skin, feeling where the kicks and rolls where coming from. Kyle’s baby was really active in there… almost too active… “Hey Kyle…?” “Mhmmm?” Kyle finished off the last two onion rings in one bite. Tyler looked at him, and with the most uncharacteristically serious tone he could muster, said “Show me where your little pogchamp is,” Kyle snorted out a giggle. “You were just feeling him! He’s right there!” Kyle guided Tyler’s hand to his lower belly, right below his now exposed navel, where a tiny foot was pressed against his palm.

Tyler nodded. He felt movement stir in his own belly, and squinted in concentration. As if on cue, a stong kick pushed its way up into the top shelf of Kyle’s tummy, distending it. That made Kyle jump a little, “Wow okay… guess he’s up there…” Kyle paused. “Wait that’s not right…” he rolled up his shirt, now much tighter than it was this morning, and placed his hands on the top and bottom of his belly, Tyler’s hands taking up the front. They made eye contact as they both came to the realization that this felt familiar… on Tyler.

“Am I… carrying TRIPLETS?!?!” Kyle yelled in surprise. “I...I think so?” replied Tyler. “And I think I’ve got six… I think… the food…” he stared at the empty brown paper bag in the table. “Nononono… wait that’s not right…” Kyle explored his own expanded belly. His midriff was now undoubtedly larger than before and he felt three distinct bodies inside… “How does that work?” asked Tyler, drumming the top of his own sextuplet belly in thought. Kyle shook his head in bewilderment. “It’ll be okay… we’ll get Sarah, Bree, and Brook on the phone. They do this stuff for a living, they’ll be able to help us!” said Kyle, half to himself in an effort to stay calm. “Yeah! If anyone will understand spontaneous babies, it’ll be them!” said Tyler with a cautiously optimistic smile. “Problem solved!”

Kyle tried to stand up, but found himself stuck to his seat due to the new weight. He tried again, making little progress. “Uh… problem not quite solved,” he looked sheepishly at Tyler. “Will you… help me up?” he asked. Tyler jokingly leaned back, causing his truly massive tummy to stick out just that little bit father. “I dunno bro… I’m like… SUPER pregnant right now,” he grinned, his sextuplets visibly moving in his overburdened belly. Kyle crossed his arms and pouted. “Well I’M super pregnant and super SHORT so I need help,” he replied. Tyler laughed, “Well, you got me there dude, gimme a sec,”

Tyler scooted forward and spread his knees apart to make room for his pendulous belly, then he leaned forward, taking the weight off of his butt and onto his feet, before slowly straightening his legs. He pressed his hands into his lower back to help guide his torso into a vertical position, his mammoth belly sticking out far in front of him. The sudden change of position did not sit well with his cargo, and they roiled around in his overstretched gut. “Oof, guys, come on…” he pleaded with his babies, but they didn’t relent. He took his steps slowly, movement difficult at that size, and approached Kyle. “Alright dude, gimme your hands,” Tyler reached out, his belly reaching almost as far as his arms.

Kyle took his hands and, with a heave and some backwards motion from Tyler, got up to a standing position. “Whooo, okay,” said Kyle breathlessly. “God… how do you do this all the time?” he asked, cradling his triplet heavy belly. Tyler smiled, holding his own tummy in his hands, “Lots of food, lots of sleep, and lots of belly rubs,” Kyle smirked at the wholesomeness that was Tyler, and waddled over to his phone. “Alright… lets hope the girls aren’t busy…”

About an hour later, there was a firm knock at the door, no doubt from Brook. “Door’s unlocked!” called Kyle, resting on the couch, laying lengthwise to take up all three cushions. Tyler sat in the recliner, the footrest put up to support his legs, and his huge belly, which rested between them. The door swung open to reveal Sarah and Brook, Sarah herself sporting a solidly second trimester belly. “Sorry we were so slow, had to meet with a client,” apologized Sarah, patting her tummy for emphasis. “So what’s this about a ‘baby emergency’? If you’re in labor just to go the hospital!” said Brook, reading something on her phone. The two stepped inside, closing the door behind them, and Sarah was the first to see the thoroughly expanded boys.

“Uh, Brook, I think they have the opposite problem,” said Sarah. Brook glanced up from her phone to take in the sight of Tyler carrying six babies. “Oh my god did you go to a buffet?” she asked. Tyler shook his head, “Nope, just McPreggo!” he grinned, showing the cute gap between his teeth. “McWhat-now?” Sarah asked. “Some new restaurant Ty found, we think the food spontaneously fills your womb!” explained Kyle. “In fairness, the food IS amazing and almost worth it,” Tyler interjected. Sarah grimaced a little. She knew Tyler was a foodie, but was it really worth all THIS?

“Where’s Bree?” asked Kyle. “She’s, uh, getting us lunch. We were going to cook, but when we got the call from you we rushed over,” Sarah explained. Kyle nodded, “thanks for that, by the way,” he smiled. Sarah grinned sympathetically back, “so, uh, how many do you guys have now?” she asked. “Kyle’s got three now, and I’ve got six!” Tyler drummed the top shelf of his belly, stirring the occupants inside. “Yikes,” said Brook monotonously to no one in particular, back to looking at her phone. 

Sarah looked at the table, covered in McPreggo wrappers and pursed her lips in thought. Maybe the packaging had a clue? She walked over to the dining area and looked over the fry cartons and burger wrappers. She wished Brook would help, but she seemed too busy on her phone. Sarah examined the label on the wrapper and saw tiny font that read “Quantum Noms LLC” in the corner. As she puzzled over what it could mean, Brook put her phone in her pocket and sighed. “Sarah, I love you, but you’re doing it the hard way. I already figured it out,”

Everyone looked at Brook in surprise. “You did?” asked Kyle. “Yeah, dude, I googled ‘McPreggo’ and read like… half a news article. Did you guys forget you could look things up on the internet?” she asked sarcastically. “Yeah, kinda,” shrugged Tyler from his seat. Brook rolled her eyes. “It’s a marketing thing. McPreggo food is designed to taste amazing to pregnant people, so they make food that uses some quantum physics BS to get their customers pregnant with, like, I dunno… copies of babies from the multiverse or some shit. Then they come back, eat more food, get more pregnant, and McPreggo rolls in the profits. It’s all harmless and temporary, you’ll be fine…” Brook trailed off. “...In 24 hours,” Tyler sighed happily and leaned back, causing his torpedo belly to agle up slightly.

“Oh good, so Eeny, Meeny, Miney, and Pogchamp are all safe, and we don't have to birth and care for extra babies,” said Tyler. “Problem solved… and now I can eat there again guilt free!” he grinned. “No!” everyone shouted. Tyler pouted, “but… it was so yummy…” Kyle sighed. “Okay… ONE burger every 24 hours… and you don’t get to complain about being too pregnant to do things!” he offered. Tyler laughed, causing his belly to bounce a tad. “Yeah, I’m already there BEFORE the food! Ha!” his mouth curled into a shit eating grin. Then, there was a shuffling at the door.

“Guys…? I need some help!” called Bree. Brook rolled her eyes and went over to the door, Sarah joining the boys in the living area. Brook opened the door and her jaw dropped. Bree stood there, her arms full of fast food bags, and her belly jutting out farther than Tyler’s, bare and sporting a popped belly button. “Thanks! I couldn’t reach the door past my tummy!” Bree slowly waddled past Brook and into the kitchen, garnering stares from everyone else. “I found this new restaurant! It’s really really good! I wasn’t sure what you guys wanted so I bought one of everything, though I might’ve eaten a bunch of it on the way here!” she said, a smile in her voice. “It’s soooo good though, I couldn’t help myself! I went after picking up Mrs. Buck’s twins, and I ate so much, now the twins have a bunch of friends! Isn’t it great!? It’s like a party in my belly!”

Tyler smiled a huge, toothy grin, “one of everything you say?” Sarah shook her head, but caught a whiff of the food and immediately understood why Tyler wanted more. Kyle eyed the pile of food on the table and felt his mouth water. He looked down at his triplet heavy belly… surely one more wouldn’t hurt? Brook, the only non-pregnant person there, grasped the bridge of her nose as she felt a headache building. This was about to get messy.

Bree sat down in the wooden chair next to the table full of food, causing it to creak under her septuplet pregnancy weight. Her tummy stuck out past her knees, and forced her legs apart from its sheer size. She grabbed a double bacon burger and offered it out to Brook. “Come on Brook! I know you’re hungry!” she smiled, genuinely not seeing the problem with her offer. Brook shook her head. “No way. I’m going to have to take on enough brats from all of you, I don’t need to start brewing my own!” she said. Bree shrugged. “More for meeee!” as she was about unwrap the sandwich, Brook stepped forward and snatched it out of her hands. “Are you kidding me? Look at you?! You’ll pop if you eat this!”

Sarah eyed the table of amazing smelling fast food and considered her options… she considered how much Bree must have spent on all of this… considered how awful it would be for this delectable feast to go to waste. “Um… Brook, it’d be a shame if we threw all of this away…” she said meekly. Brook gave an electric glare and threw her hands up in exasperation. “FINE! You all stuff yourselves and get huge with a bunch of quantum babies! I’m not taking any off of your hands when you’re all to big to move!” “Too late,” Tyler chipped in. “Aw, c’mon Tyler! I’m bigger than you! Surely you can still walk?” Bree bubbled. “Well yeah, but I don’t want to…” Tyler eyed the burger in Brook’s hand. “Hey Brook, you eatin’ that or what?”

Brook rolled her eyes and tossed him the burger, eliciting a tongue click and a finger gun from Tyler. Kyle shifted on the couch and slowly stood up, his relatively small frame struggling with just three. He pushed his hands into his lower back, and his shirt rode up all the way, leaving every square inch of pregnant belly on display. He waddled over to the table to see what was left. Sarah quickly joined him, her singleton belly feeling somewhat empty. Brook sat on the now empty couch and gave everyone a scornful look in turn. She knew she was going to have to clean this up.

Kyle tentatively grabbed a mild chicken sandwich while Sarah scooped up the 4 sliders and a side of onions rings. Bree grabbed the spicy chicken sandwich and the last remaining food item, the double jalapeno burger. Kyle and Sarah each sitting on the floor in front of the couch, not wanting to get TOO close to the grumpy Brook, Tyler on his recliner and Bree in her kitchen chair, the crew got to work decimating the McPreggo.

Tyler unwrapped the double bacon burger and started in on it, taking large, heaping bites that required him to chew for a somewhat extended period of time. The lettuce, tomato, bacon, cheese, and patty all tasted so good together, the flavors melded perfectly into the exact thing he was craving in that moment. As far as Tyler was concerned, McPreggo had earned his business. It was hard to argue with food that tasted this good. One hand held the sandwich, and the other rested on the shelf of his belly. As he devoured the sandwich, he felt the skin of his tummy shift under his fingers. Was that kicking? No, he was very familiar with that feeling. This... was growth.

Kyle sat cross legged on the floor, his triplet heavy belly resting on his folded ankles, and began eating the chicken sandwich. The cheese was an unexpected but welcomed touch, and the sauce, whatever it was, went perfect with the breading on the chicken. He polished off the sandwich in record pace, and placed his hands on the sides of his pregnant tummy, feeling it swell up between them. He was about to be pregnant with quadruplets, and wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

Next to him, Sarah was in a frenzy. The usually demure and subtle woman was downing sliders in two bites, and eating multiple onion rings in one chomp. This was amazing tasting food, and was totally worth whatever pregnant discomfort awaited her. At least, that’s what she thought before she felt her pants tighten up, and the button pop open on is own. She looked down at herself to see her 24 week singleton belly slowly expand outward in all directions, filling her lap with addition after addition to her womb.

Bree had somehow already completely consumed the spicy chicken sandwich, and was most of the way through the jalapeno burger. She was a strong girl, and big muscles needed a lot of fuel. Big bellies, as it turned out, also needed a lot of fuel, as two more quantum babies filled her womb. With nine babies now roiling around in her belly, even Bree was having a hard time feeling comfortable, and slowly rose to her feet to pace, hoping to stretch her legs. Each footfall was heavy as her gargantuan nonuplet belly swayed in front of her.

Bree waddled over to Tyler, who was back to groaning and rubbing big circles around his tummy. “Whyyyy did I do this? This bellyache and pressure isn’t worth the taste of delicious fooood…” he groaned. His 7 babies rumbled in his belly, resting on the recliner’s footrest. Bree tentatively placed a hand on her friend’s tanker of a tummy, and nodded slowly. “Yeah, you’re really pregnant all right,” she said. “T-thanks Bree. I wasn’t sure there for a sec,” groaned Tyler, all in good humor, of course. 

Kyle struggled to unfold his legs under the weight of his tum. He swore he’d never complain about carrying his singleton son after this experience. He ran his hands around the equators of his belly, and leaned back against the couch, considering just staying there and sleeping this off.

Next to him was Sarah, who was in the process of seeing if she could still reach her bellybutton past her quadruplet belly. She could, barely. What she couldn’t do was fit in this shirt and pants anymore. She needed to get home and changed soon, having a big pregnant belly like this just hanging out felt so unprofessional. She moved to get up, but found she was too heavy to get off the floor with any real speed. Was it worth it for those sliders? It was, she decided, but only barely. “We should… urp… get home and… and digest,” said Sarah. “You buys gonna be okay?” she asked. “Mhmmm…” moaned Kyle sleepily. Tyler leaned back into the cushions of the recliner and grinned. “This… yeah, I can vibe with this…”

Bree took her hand off of Tyler’s belly, and waddled over to Sarah, one burning question on her mind. She looked expectantly at her friend as she struggled to get her feet under her. Sensing what was about to be asked, Brooks eyes lit up with exasperation. “On the way home… could we stop… for a snack?” 

[a-deed-without-a-name]

All John Winchester wants is for his sons - Dean, Sam and Adam - to be thin and have abs like him. All his beachball sons want is to eat... So what if Adam is the only one who can (just) get out of his chair now?

"You want to sell your soul to..." Crowley began slowly, "Make your sons thin? Am I hearing you right?"

Sitting across the kitchen table, John Winchester nodded curtly. "That's right."

"And you haven't tried - exercise? Dieting? Keto?"

"Trust me, I have tried everything."

"Normally, I don't pry. But are you absolutely sure? A demon deal's a big...well, deal, you know. I've got to do my due diligence here. You're positive there's nothing else you can do?"

Planting his hands on the table, John pushed himself up. "Come with me."

Reluctantly, Crowley followed John out of the exquisitely well-outfitted kitchen (if he still ate, he would have been jealous), down the hall, and to a door. Crowley could hear voices behind it, and simulated gunfire. John knocked once then, almost within the same second, shoved the door open.

There was a boy inside. Very early twenties, if Crowley had to guess, and engaged in what he understood was a normal pastime for that age group: playing video games, reclined in a chair and with a headset on, talking animatedly into the microphone as his hands jiggled around on a controller. What certainly wasn't normal was his size.

He overflowed the (oversized) chair, love handles sitting on the armrests, belly in his lap. His wobbling second chin brushed his microphone with every word he spoke, and the fat on his arms practically vibrated. It was no mystery how he'd reached that size, either, what with the veritable drifts of empty soda bottles and crisp bags surrounding him. In fact, as Crowley watched, he chugged from a half-full bottle, then winced and rubbed at a gurgling belly that must already be massively full.

"My youngest," John deadpanned. "Adam."

Adam started at his voice, pulling off his headset. He saw John, then Crowley, then heaved himself free of the chair with a grunt and an "Oh, hey!" as he reached out a hand to shake in Crowley's direction. It took a huge effort to get to his feet, and he didn't fully make it there, but he was vertical enough for Crowley to see his ass matched the rest of him before John shook his head.

"You're fine, stay where you are." He closed Adam's door, then led Crowley along to the next one, much quieter inside, where he repeated the same cursory knock-and-open.

Crowley supposed, based on your perspective, the occupant could be considered a man or a boy, anywhere from early to late twenties. The roundness of his face, however, probably made him look much younger than he was. It matched the overwhelming plumpness of the rest of him, from the chest the buttons of his shirt strained over, to the gut they'd burst open upon, to the rear Crowley could see raising him full inches, like a cushion, out of his chair. Which he realized swiftly was more motorized scooter than chair. Made sense, seeing as he was estimate something like five to six hundred extra pounds on the tall frame.

This one, long, wavy hair pinned back from his face, didn't notice them either until his father spoke. He was absorbed in the books that covered the desk in front of him, competing for space with mountains of sweets. Cakes, doughnuts, bags of gourmet candy, ice cream dishes going rapidly soft even as he shoveled them carefully into his clearly-greedy mouth.

"Middle," John said flatly. "Sam."

Sam started, then looked at John with pursed lips that suggested a less-than-warm relationship, though the effect was ruined somewhat by sugar-inflated cheeks. John shut the door before he could say anything, and led Crowley to the third in the hall. Crowley winced a bit as a loud belch practically rattled it in its frame before John could even knock.

When he opened the door, Crowley realized that it actually opened into the same room Sam was in, much larger than he'd realized. From this angle, he could see the bed. Utterly enormous, which made sense, seeing as it matched the man...no, blob reclining happily among cushions and food.

He simply couldn't call him anything else.

Not with so many creamy, freckled rolls piled on chest, on belly, all around him. He had a shockingly-handsome face, bright green eyes glued to whatever was playing on the television, but of course it was all but lost in the veritable sea of fat. His chubby sausage fingers could barely handle the remote.

He had no issues whatsoever feeding himself from all the junk food readily at hand, though. As he finished a burger and then lifted a slice of pizza from a box, plowing through it neatly, Crowley couldn't even help thinking about the veritable years of nonstop gorging it had to have taken him to reach this size.

He swallowed, then another huge belch set him shaking...everything except for his distinct gut, which seemed to be stuffed solid. Casually, without taking his eyes off the screen, he greeted, "Hey, Dad."

"And that's my eldest." John slammed the door. "Dean."

He looked at Crowley. Crowley looked back. For a long moment, they simply stared at each other. Then Crowley cleared his throat, pulling a tin of breath mints out of his breastpocket and popping one into his mouth.

"Well. Let's get down to business, shall we?"

[palbabor-writes]

Moniker

Hawks Week 2020 - Prompt: Rebirth

Character: Keigo Takami - Hawks

Warnings: Angst, some adult language, the drama of growing up

Word Count: 5433

“They need you to pick a name, Keigo. You’re old enough now and the data has shown that you’re learning how to control your quirk. The advancements we’ve seen in the last few months have been outstanding. The HPSC wants you to start making a name for yourself, publicly. We’re hoping, in six or so years, you’ll be operating on a professional level. 

So, look over those names and pick one. Once you do, you’ll no longer go by Keigo Takami. No, that name will be expunged from the records.”

Why? He’d wanted to ask. Why can’t he keep his name? Does it really matter? What were they going to do with him? Why was he even in this program? 

There were so many questions racing through his mind. But, he just nodded and looked out the window. What good did it do to ask? They weren’t going to tell him anything. This was all just another manipulation. They always tried, so, so hard to let him feel like he had a say in his name, in his life, in anything. 

In reality, he was just their little puppet, floating along on a tight string.

Notes: Part of Hawks Week 2020, Day 7 - Prompt: Rebirth.

This fic, like my Shigaraki exploration, Phantasma is part of a smaller series I’m calling Hopscotch. There’s a ton of kids in the BNHA universe that just need a freaking hug, man. But, all this trauma does give me some nice topics to write about...Not beta edited, so all mistakes are mine, and mine alone.

Moniker mon·i·ker /ˈmänəkər/ noun a name.

Keigo Takami is a ward of the Hero Public Safety Commission. 

He’s been a ward for most of his life. He’s used to the routine: the daily drills, the daily training, the daily lessons, the daily lectures, the daily monotony of it all. 

He’s never alone. 

There’s always a few of them hovering. They, being the agents who are assigned to his daily care and maintenance. They’re like black spots, bleeding out against the clean, crisp linoleum floors. He’s shuttled around like a chess piece. As if he needs a shadow to guide him. He knows this building inside and out. He knows just where to perch if he wants to avoid the cameras and he knows the secrets of at least five or six of his handlers. 

They blurt stuff out around him. People never think kids are listening. Too bad for them, cuz, he’s got enough dirt to take them straight to the top if he wanted to. Not that he wants to. Some of the handlers are nice, but Keigo has learned that sometimes nice is another way to say: manipulative.

So, he imagines that he can flex a little control over them, too. He’s got the information, he’s just not sure who to take it to. He’s never seen the head of the HPSC. They remain an enigma. The leader of this whole thing is the one piece he hasn’t slipped onto the puzzle. No, whoever they are, they’re mysterious. He only knows they exist because he’s seen their hen scratch of a signature on his progress reports and monthly, “how are you doing Keigo,” emails. 

Despite the mystery, the head of the HPSC is the one constant in his life. He can’t say the same of his handlers. Most of the people who surround him shift and change. They’re like a tide.

When he was younger, his father used to take him down to the beach. Keigo was always fascinated by the pull, the drag, of that dark blue water.

Yeah, these handlers of his moved in and out like a tide. Every month it was someone else. One or two might be familiar faces, but they never told him their names. Well, not their real names at least. No, no one ever revealed those. Keigo was accustomed to the secrecy of it all. It was kinda boring. 

But, most days were. 

It was just him and the various adults who were tasked with his lessons or training schedules. It was a never ending circle, a rotation of sameness that made his teeth ache. There were no other kids at the base. No, lucky him, he was the only one selected to receive this special training.

When he was smaller he’d been a little more excited. He’d wander behind the dark suits, clutching his Endeavor figure to his chest, his eyes scanning every room, every person, every crevice. 

You can never be too careful Kei, his father had told him, his golden eyes winking down at him. Always keep your eyes and ears open. 

“It’s a special program, Keigo. Starting today, you need to say goodbye to your name. You’re going to become a very special hero, okay?” 

It was a younger man who had talked with him that afternoon. He can remember looking down at his toy, the plastic heavy, sticking to his clenched arms. Keigo can recall his small voice asking the man two questions: “Can I be like him? Can I be a hero who beats the bad guys?”

At the time, they had felt so, well, important to him. They were all encompassing, vital queries that needed to know the answer to back then. He disliked them now. They were stupid questions. Besides, what self respecting adult takes the word of a six year old seriously? 

He’s eleven now. He’s way past those childish dreams. And, they still hadn’t taken his name from him. Oh, they hinted at it. He’d even caught sight of one of the lists. 

The lists were the long rows and rows of potential hero names for Keigo. Not that he was asked much about any of this. His opinion didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. He’d only managed to see one of the lists a few years ago. His handler hadn’t been expecting him back so fast. 

He wasn’t supposed to use his wings unless he was in the training facility. Little did they know, he’d been practicing. How could he not? He could feel each and every tiny thing with his feathers. It drove him insane. If he was drifting off to sleep he would feel the electricity humming through the walls. When he focused hard enough he could hear the distant conversations happening on the floors above him. 

It was an endless march of noise, emotion, and sensations. He felt like he was overstimulated all the time, his skin too heavy for his bones. He wanted to scream some days: get these off me, I can’t, I-I can’t take it. But, he had to learn how to grapple with his quirk. It was part of him. 

Still, sometimes he wished he was someone, anyone else. 

‘Turn it off’, they said, ‘dampen the urge to reach out with your feathers’. 

Yeah, right. Let them slip into his quirk, see how much they liked the all consuming sensation of it all. It was too much, too intense. Some days it’s a fight to make himself get out of his bed. Everything is just...too close, sometimes. 

He’s just a kid, he wanted to tell them. Like that would grant him a reprieve. No, he already knew what answer they would give him. The HPSC had selected you for a purpose, a reason, Keigo. 

They fed him such vague, well, bullshit. Yeah, he knows he shouldn’t say words like that, whatever. They shouldn’t be doing this, er, whatever it was that they were hoping to achieve with him. But, it’s not like the confirmed acknowledgement of their preposterousness would stop them. No, he’d learned to keep his mouth shut and his eyes open. It was the best way to survive the endless march of days and weeks. He would nod, practice, and then practice a little more in secret. 

It’s his quirk after all. If he could perfect it, maybe they would loosen his leash.  

His wings were still a little stunted. They could grow to longer points, but it took a lot of time and a lot of concentration. It was like his body knew exactly what he could, or could not, in this case, handle. More feathers meant more sensations. More sensations meant less sleep, less control, and, worst of all, less autonomy. There would be more tests, more training, more, more, more. 

Still, he worked at it. It was a double edged sword. He both hated, and loved, the improvements he saw within himself. 

Despite his impeded wing growth, Keigo could flap himself along now. He could even hover in the air for a little while, but his back would protest the strain after forty minutes or so. It hurt to hold himself up. His shoulders just weren't broad enough to maintain his weight. He’d been hoping that eating a little more would help. You know, beef him up a little. 

He’d brought the subject up with one of his handlers, one of the ones he actually knew. The man had nodded, his curly blonde hair bobbing around his ears. And, with that, his food rations were extended. He was also given some other choices too. Some steak, veal, higher protein foods. He’d stubbornly stuck with chicken. He liked the taste. Never one to pass up an opportunity, Keigo took advantage of the larger portions and he gorged himself on the succulent meat. 

Four weeks later, he hadn’t grown much. Maybe what, half a pound? Nah, most of that energy must have been consumed by his quirk. But, the more he ate, the easier it was to focus on it. Meh, still a win, win. At least from the HPSC’s viewpoint. 

He mentioned that there are never any kids around the HPSC training facility, right? 

Adults? You couldn’t swing a dead cat and not hit at least 4 or 5 of them, at any given moment. Keigo didn’t mind. He was used to adults. By nature he was quiet, observant. It was his habit to position himself in the corners of rooms. It let him see anyone and everyone who entered or left. He likes watching. But, he’s done that his whole life. Even before the HPSC picked him up he’d learned how to hone that skill. 

Now, the trainers and handlers were trying to break him of that tic. 

‘You need to curb that Keigo’, they’d say. ‘If you’re going to become a successful hero you can’t just sit in the shadows. We already have plenty of agents who are trained for that. No, you need to be more gregarious. Speak up, talk with people. You’ve been drilled in this skill, now show us what you’ve learned. We want you to be a hero’.

So, he myna birds what they ask. They’ll leave him alone that way. Sure, sure, he’s rewarded with gifts, with praise, with extra free time. But, it’s all so calculated. He can smell their intentions a mile away. He’s seen the books some of them read. They were books with titles like: The Psychology of the Child, The Developing Mind, Playing and Reality. 

If that wasn’t obvious enough, he’d heard some of the conversations they passed as they handed off their shifts, the words lilting back and forth, like secret notes. 

“Ignore his minor tactics. It’s just him responding to the attention. Only praise him when he’s behaving.” Or, “Give Keigo labeled praise. You know, build his self esteem. He’s so quiet, it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. Pack a snack for him. That way when he opens up to you, boom! Treat in hand.”

Do they not realize how much he can hear? God, adults are dumb. Smile and give them what they want, or, say what they most need to hear and they’re eating out of your hand. Meanwhile, as they’re congratulating themselves on a job well done, they had no idea what thoughts were racing behind his golden irises. 

No, Keigo is motivated by other things. One motivation trumps all the others: he wants to get outta this place. Just for a day, heck, he’d take an hour. Keigo is tired of the same walkway, the same lunch hall, the same dreary views of the city. 

It’s springtime in Japan and Keigo can make his feathers molt. It’s a newer skill, one he’s withholding from his handlers for the time being. Maybe if he feigns a cough, he can pretend to be sick? He’s gotten pretty good at acting now. That was another one of his classes. It was like a, how to deceive someone 101. Actually, it was prolly called something like ‘Espionage for Tots’. 

It was fun. He liked the smiles and serious faces he was asked to make. They should have slapped a big: “please, Keigo, don’t use these skills to deceive us” disclaimer on the door. He liked the guy that taught it, too. He was a short, unassuming man, but he would genuinely grin at Keigo each time he walked through the door for his session. Oh, wait. Was that just an act? He’d have to ask him. Boy, he’s good if it was. He needs to shore up his own skills…

He could always pretend that an imaginary sick day was part of the lesson. Look! My poor feathers, they’re molting, how sad. Also, cough, cough, I feel ill. No, ill is a bad choice of words. Ahem, I mean, I don’t feel so good. Can I lay down? Maybe prop open my window, for the fresh air. Oh no! I accidentally swooped out. Cough, cough.  

Keigo isn’t even sure what he’d do with himself if he could manage to sneak out. It’s not like he’s not noticeable. He’s sporting at least 7 feet of ruby red plumage now. Well, if he’s gonna plan an escape, he might as well do it-

“Keigo,” it’s a sharp voice, and it startles him out of his musings. It belongs to one of the head handlers. Kaori? Yeah, that’s her name. Eh, the one she’d given him at least. She’s nice enough, a little rough around the edges at times, but she’s fair. Maybe, oh, maybe he can ask her about-

“Are you listening, Keigo? We need to go. The provost was expecting us over an hour ago. Where have you been? Mai couldn’t find you so she asked me to look for you.”

“I was up there.” Keigo points, his chin lifting to follow his movement, wings fluttering against his back. Despite her tone, Kaori doesn’t seem too upset. Her heartbeat is normal. But, that didn’t mean much around here.

“Up there?” Kaori’s tone is faint and a little awed. She turns her violet gaze to his, pursing her lips into a thin line. “Since when?”

“It’s been, ah, three months and sixteen days since I first made it to that perch. They didn’t like that I went so far. Eiichi said he was going to document it though. I mean, it ain’t too far. Guess I can go for a lower spot next time. I just like that I can see more up there, it makes it-”

“No, no. It’s fine Keigo. Don’t say “ain’t,” it’s slang. I suppose it has been awhile since I’ve seen you. How old are you now? Ten?”

“Eleven,” Keigo replies, his back straightening, wings arching beside his head.

���Mmm, eleven. Gosh, you’re growing up fast,” Kaori’s reply is sharp, practiced. Keigo rolls his eyes. She wanted to spark a reaction out of him. See if he’ll puff up with joy or grow sullen with her mistake of thinking he’s younger than he is. It’s easier to assign him extra training than really deal with him. At least, that’s what some of his handlers seemed to think. 

“Have you seen the news?” Kaori asks, violet eyes resting on his amber ones. “There’s a mission coming up. Endeavor’s agency is taking it on.”

Keigo feels his wings lifting again, but he quickly suppresses the motion, his shoulders hunching forward. He never, ever, wanted to seem too eager. Not when they’d primed him for such an obvious tell. It’s not like they didn’t know what heroes he admired. 

Yeah, Keigo had seen the news. He was permitted two hours of television each day. Most blocks were taken up with watching the latest developments. Sometimes he would shift the channel to a cartoon, but the television time would be lessened if he watched nonsense for too long. No, the tv was for educational purposes only, not for leisure or fun. He’d heard that line enough to have it memorized. 

“What about it?” Keigo asks, falling into step with Kaori. She’s taking the long way back to his next lesson. Clearly, she’s wanting to glean something from him. 

“Well, I was thinking it might be beneficial for you to observe the mission.”

“What, like on CCTV or something?”

“No. In person. We would need to fit into the crowd, but this mission has been widely publicized, it’s a miracle the villain’s haven’t heard about it.”

“That, or they want the fight.”

Kaori laughs. “Very good, excellent observation. You’ve improved Keigo. Consider this a set date. I will personally escort you to the mission viewing point. At the end of the exercise, I would like to hear your opinion on the matter.”

Keigo bites his tongue. 

It’s too slick again, too obvious. The mission Kaori mentioned fits the profile of a raid, not the everyday, run of the mill, villain sting. Endeavor’s agency had been squaring up with the lower level fighting rings for months now. This was just another day for him. The number two hero promised to clean up crime and he was following through with that assertion. 

So, why take him to see it now? Why did it matter if Keigo saw it in person? The data and video would be uploaded the next day to the HPSC database, he could just watch it and take notes then. 

Why is she doing this?

Keigo chances a glance at her face. She’s pale, stern and stoic above him. Her heels click on the tiles and her back is ramrod straight. A few feathers bristle, feeling, listening, nah, her pulse is steady too. It’s hopeless. Maybe this is the challenge? Something to test him, to try and see if he can get a read on the unreadable?

“What’s the point of me going? What good does it do? My data sheets haven’t slipped enough to call for anything like this.”

“Don’t be so critical of everything Keigo,” Kaori scolds him, her purple eyes lingering on his spreading plumage. “It’s not a test, it’s not a drill. I just...I can remember what it was like to be a teenager and be trapped doing something I didn’t want to do.”

Again, Keigo is silent after her declaration. He’s not really sure how to answer. Pragmatic, logical, even angry responses, he’s used to those. This? What is this? Some kinda misplaced empathy? He never would have placed an empathetic bone in Kaori’s body before today. 

They pause at the provost’s doorway and Kaori places an arm on his shoulder, demanding his attention with her strong grip. 

“Let me know by tomorrow.” 

And, with that, she’s gone, pacing down the long hallway, her heels tapping a sharp tattoo against the flooring. Keigo narrows his eyes, avian pupils dilating, focusing. Sure, maybe it was just an opportunity, a chance for him to get out of the headquarters for a while, but there’s always a catch. 

******

The email comes a few hours later. 

Keigo is sprawled across his bed, his wings tucked safely along his shoulders as he flips through his textbook. He lifts his head from his pillow and sighs heavily at the familiar chime from his computer. It’s either more geometry problems or it’ll have something to do with what Kaori was discussing: The Endeavor mission.

His wings shift and rustle as he stands. He’s agitated, on edge. He dislikes being maneuvered into a corner. No matter what the email is over, he’ll feel obligated to say yes. Even if it’s by default. 

Keigo steps up to his computer, his long fingers racing over the keypad, typing in his encrypted password. As he waits for the screen to load, his eyes fall to the battered figurine beside his monitor. 

It’s the Endeavor toy. He’s kept it all these years, safe and sound, in each bedroom he’s moved to. The flames are dull and his bright blue uniform is more mottled than cobalt, but it’s still a tiny piece of his other life. 

His father had given it to him. It was years ago. He hadn’t thought he was going to get anything for his birthday, but then, his father had flown in, his own plumage glimmering against the dying sunlight and presented four year old Keigo with the toy. He had clutched it to him, his eyes shining and bright. 

“Dad! Ah, how did you know?” 

His father had beamed at him, his eyes softening at the sight of his son’s genuine smile. Keigo didn’t smile a lot back then. Their life was too tumultuous, too chaotic. There was too much at stake. His father had gathered him up and pressed the button that activated the toy’s internal voice box. Keigo had squealed with delight and wrapped his arms around his father’s neck. 

Now, Keigo traces a single finger along the top of the Endeavor’s head, running along the dimmed flames. He’s seen a decent amount of coverage on the number two hero lately. He’d even gone as far as studying his moves. Not that it mattered. His quirk would never be a match for the flame heroes skills. But, he had to admire the guy. 

He was constantly overshadowed, outranked and outclassed by All Might. Still, Endeavor pushed forward. He’s the only one who really tried to overtake the number one hero. It was both impressive and, well, kinda pathetic, desperate even. All the same, Keigo kept hunting for news of the number two. Once you have a favorite, Keigo reasoned, you tend to stick with them. 

Tearing his eyes away from the little figurine, Keigo clicks on the new email. He blinks a few times, even rubs his eyes. No, no way. He spreads his fingers along the computer’s trackpad, enhancing the words. Yeah, no, it’s really there. 

It’s the list. 

Remember? The one with all the HPSC’s approved names for him? 

It’s, well, it’s even more anticlimactic than he was expecting. Damn, it’s over three pages of the most asinine, inane bullshit. Two bad words, oh no, and in one sentence. In his defense, this crap deserved a whole string of curse words.  

There are names like: REDWING, Darkbird, Vulture, WINGMAN, Canary, Condor, RED Condor, Northwind, Zauriel, Red jay, WING. God, it’s just page after page of trash. Whomever they paid to create this, well, they needed a new day job. Might as well just call him: BIRDBOY or something. Sighing, Keigo clicks out of the email, his plumage lifting and lowering, feathers rustling again, perturbed. Yeah, he’s got wings. So what? That’s not all he is.  

Keigo is about to pace back to his bed when another email chimes in. Groaning, he doesn’t even look at the sender before opening it. Oh.

It’s from Kaori and the head of the HPSC. They were wanting to confirm the viewing of the Endeavor mission. Both felt that it was a good use of Keigo’s time and the HPSC’s resources. They just need his answer.

Funny, Keigo thinks, tapping a quick reply, they always like to pretend that he has a say in things. 

******

He’s never been a tall kid. He’s not sure if it’s his quirk or something genealogical. Quirk makes the most sense. It’s hard enough to lug his own tiny body around, he can’t even imagine trying to pull someone like Endeavor into the air. 

Keigo’s seen the number two plenty of times. God, hundreds and hundreds of times, really. But, he’s not prepared for the hulk of a man that is standing before him. Enji Todoroki, that’s his real name. Most heroes don’t hide their civilian names. No, they’re all listed in the databases of the HPSC and open for public scrutiny. Keigo shifts on the balls of his feet, his toes tapping against the pavement. Apparently, that’s not going to be an option for him.

Kaori had sat, prim and proper, next to him in the long black car as they drove to the mission site. Her violet eyes were dull flints of purple as she relayed the news: 

“They need you to pick a name, Keigo. You’re old enough now and the data has shown that you’re learning how to control your quirk. The advancements we’ve seen in the last few months have been outstanding. The HPSC wants you to start making a name for yourself, publicly. We’re hoping, in six or so years, you’ll be operating on a professional level. 

So, look over those names and pick one. Once you do, you’ll no longer go by Keigo Takami. No, that name will be expunged from the records.”

Why? He’d wanted to ask. Why can’t he keep his name? Does it really matter? What were they going to do with him? Why was he even in this program? There were so many questions racing through his mind. But, he just nodded and looked out the window. 

What good did it do to ask? They weren’t going to tell him anything. This was all just another manipulation. They always tried, so, so hard to let him feel like he had a say in his name, in his life, in anything. In reality, he was just their little puppet, floating along on a tight string. 

Keigo looked over the police tape to Endeavor again. Even the number two hero got to keep his name. What makes Keigo so different?

“They’ll be rushing the entrance soon,” Kaori says, her arms crossed, her pressed suit dark against the bright sunlight. “You might be able to see it a little better if you move to the other end of the street.” 

Keigo looks up at her, his eyes impassive. Kaori, sensing his gaze, blinks down at him. “Don’t go far. Consider this a small reward for good behavior. I know what I told you in the car can’t have been easy to hear. Don’t make me regret giving you a little more freedom.” 

For a long moment, Keigo is still. 

He wants to dash off. He’s never done that. It would be nice to place a little distance between him and his handler. Plus, he’s outside. It’s a beautiful day, just puffy clouds and the fresh, clean smell of springtime. Well, and the hustle and bustle of the raid that is unfolding across the street. He looks up at Kaori and her violet eyes lift away from him. She shakes her head and a small smile creeps across her lips. 

“Go on, you better hurry. Endeavor’s about to enter the building.”

It’s all the prodding he needs. Like a shot, Keigo is dashing through the crowd. A few people clamor around him, their voices distant, complaints and admonishments ringing over his golden head. He rounds the street corner and his wings lift, testing the air, trying to tug him into the skies. 

Amber eyes flash as he looks for the perfect spot. Ah-ha! There’s a low, tiled roof across the street. If he can get up to the second story he should be able to see into the back of the compound Endeavor is conducting the raid on.

His back aches, muscles tired and straining, but he ignores the sting. His wings lap against the warm air and, just like that, he’s landing on the roof, his sneakers bright against the dark tile. Keigo turns back to the compound. Yes! Perfect! He can see everything. His wings settle along his shoulders, still lifted as he crouches down, the plumage vibrating, listening.

Keigo can hear some of the transmission between the heroes. Their radios are switched up and the static sound makes his nose wrinkle. It feels fuzzy, almost like he’s stepped on a live wire. Apparently, Endeavor is about to move into the exposed courtyard and Keigo sits up straighter, his wings spreading, cupping under the low wind. He’s so focused on catching sight of the number two that he doesn’t hear the warning cry.

No, he only notices the danger when it’s too late.

His feathers bristle, arching, quivering, reacting as a set of talons rips into his delicate plumage. His wings throb. It stings and he feels the anger, the rage that is coursing through the culprit that’s attacking him. Their screams make his ears ache and he rolls away, his hands instinctively covering his head, protecting himself from the sudden onslaught. His golden eyes are narrowed and searching. What the hell-

The pieces fit into place when he sees her. 

It’s a hawk. She’s already taken to the skies, her dark wings wheeling her back to the roof. She lifts upward, the strong winds carrying her high, against the clouds. Then, she’s diving, her feathers bracing along her sides, propelling her at a terrifying speed. 

She’s headed straight for him. 

Keigo, unthinkingly, rolls out of the way, his own wings flaring open and flapping him a good ten feet or so, hopefully placing him out of range. The hawk pulls up, another scream echoing across the sky. She wheels around, her sharp beak and eyes trained on him. Keigo’s foot slips against the uneven surface of the roof and he bites his lip, his ankle twisting painfully. 

“Hey! Keigo! Oh, there you are. Come on! The raid is wrapping up, we need to get back.”

Kaori’s voice shudders up his spine, his oversensitive wings making her sound like a foghorn. Wait. The raid is over? He whirls back to the compound, his eyes scanning, flashing in his agitation. 

No. No, no, no. 

She’s right. Endeavor and his sidekicks are already back at the front of the building, he can’t even see them clearly from here. He’s missed his chance. Damn it. 

It’s not fair, he thinks, a misting of tears clouding his sight. He’d been so close. And now? Now, he’s gotta go back to that stupid building. Now, they’re going to take away his name and force him to do even more training. Who knows when he’ll get out again. It’s just, it’s not freaking fair.

Keigo wipes his arm against his eyes, pulling the moisture across his sleeve. He can’t let Kaori see him cry. He hasn’t cried in years. He’s not going to give them the satisfaction of knowing that he still...wait...what’s that?

Across the rooftop, close to where his original perch was, is a nest. It looks clumsy, like it might fall off into open space at any moment. It’s held together with a spattering of twigs and sticks, but there’s movement. Keigo lowers his arm, his wings lifting again, feeling. There’s one...no...there’s two chicks inside. They feel soft. Their heartbeats are fluttering, like a butterfly’s wing.  

He looks down at Kaori. She’s standing on the street corner, shielding her eyes from the sun as she peers up at him. Keigo lifts his hand so she can see, one finger raised, silently asking her for a little more time. Kaori groans, he can hear her exhale from here, and nods, lowering her gaze, one hand propped on her jutted hip.

“Be quick about it, Keigo.” 

He lets his wings bevel over his shoulders and he hops, carefully, slowly, across the tiles. As he gets closer, two pairs of yellow eyes peer at him, half hidden in the tangle of twigs. He grins and leans up, wanting to look a little…

The hawk, quick as lightning clatters in front of the nest, shielding her chicks from his curious observation. Her wings flare at his proximity, her beak open, sharp. She clicks a warning, her feathers spreading. Keigo mimics her display, his own wings fanning out and the hawk tilts her head, surprised. Her eyes blink, the dark orange shifting from agitated to quizzical. Slowly, her wings lower, draping along her back. Talons shift against the tiles and she chirps at him. It’s a different sound, less challenging. It's almost like a question.

Keigo lifts one of his hands, his fingers balled into a fist and gingerly extends his arm, his shoes sliding closer. She lifts her wings and glides a little nearer, her head still tilted in that exaggerated way. She chirps at him again and lowers her head. If he reaches out a little further he could stroke a finger down her feathers. Just a bit…

“Keigo!” 

The sound of his name startles him and the hawk. She yanks from his touch and launches herself back into the skies. Keigo watches her, fascinated by the ease, the grace that she moves with. As he’s admiring her fluidity, a single feather flutters to his feet. He almost misses it. The wind starts to catch it, pulling it away, but he snatches it up, his fingers careful to not crush the barbs. 

“Keigo, I’m not going to ask again...”

He uses his wings to help him down the side of the building. The verdant plumage is swelling, arching behind him. It feels different. Keigo lowers them against his back, mirroring the way the hawk had draped them, the feathers close to his skin. It helps. They don’t feel like something that he’s untethered from when he holds them like that. He’s still basking in his discovery when Kaori steps toward him, one brow arched.

“You know better than that, Keigo. Didn’t I ask you to not make me regret giving you a little more freedom? Come on, we’re overdue. What’s that in your hand?”

“Nothing,” Keigo replies, tucking the hawk’s feather into his jean pocket. She was so pretty, fierce and quick.

“You put any thought into any of the names on the lists? We were thinking your hero name should be-”

“Hawks,” Keigo replies, his wings stretching behind him, shimmering in the bright sunlight. “I wanna be called Hawks.”

Notes: bb Keigo is too cute, I couldn’t resist.

Tags: @hawksweek2020​, @spicy-skull, 

[refriedweeb]

UNDERNEATH THE MIDNIGHT SKY (HAWKS + READER FLUFF)

A/N: heyooo! this is a request from the lovely @alexandria-selina about a sweet, nice, slice of life date and evening with Hawks and his S/O! Only a smidge of angst, but generally soft, fluffy feelings of the leader just being loved by their bird brain

Prompt: “Second, a fluff date with Hawks and his s/o. Just a sweet slice of life”

Word Count: 2,133

It wasn’t very often that you and Keigo got to spend much personal time together. You were both incredibly busy with the work you were doing through your respective hero agencies. And what you did was important work, you didn’t think anyone would fault you for the work you put in day in and day out. But in the year or so that you had been dating Keigo Takami, otherwise known to the world as Pro Hero Hawks, you could count on one hand the number of times that the two of you had spent quality time together, going on dates that were romantic and special. Doing things that normal couples did. Except for the fact that the two of you were far from normal, far from ordinary. You had a civic duty to protect people in your community from rising levels of crime, of those who would rather seek out conflict and crime than live in a life of comfort and peace. Your relationship had certainly stood test after test in the early stages of your dating. There’d been missed birthdays, missed dates that had been planned weeks in advance, anniversaries, holidays. At one point there’d been a fight between the two of you that had been so monumental you’d thought a break up was right around the corner.

But there you were, a year and some odd months later. Still together. Stronger and more in tune with one another than you’d been in the earlier stages of your dating. You knew Keigo like the back of your hand now, and he knew you the same. There was a bond between you that ran deeper than anything you’d ever experienced with anyone else in your life before, and you knew that just wasn’t something you were going to give up on. Keigo was a part of you, as much of you were yourself. The reason that your relationship with one another had grown to be so strong, so indestructible, was your ability to understand one another without having to say much at all.

 It was something you cherished most about your relationship, and it was something you leaned on when Keigo started to shrink into himself when his emotions started to become too much for him to handle, as they did. After all, Hawks was still a toy for the commission to use, the trauma he’d suffered through as a child still resting fresh on his shoulders. He was much better than he’d been when you’d first gotten to know him, Keigo having gotten much better at communicating his feelings with you over the past year. Still, you weren’t surprised when he started to grow more withdrawn. The flush of his wings drooping a little more than usual, his quiet demeanor when he was no longer wearing his Hawks’ persona a little heavier. It was easy to tease Hawks, your cynical snark another thing that had you two getting along quickly. It’d fallen short in his replies over the past couple of days, and it was all you needed to know that Keigo was hitting a down cycle.

Which, of course, only meant that you were going to go all out for him.

“Keep your eyes closed!” You chided, tugging Keigo along while you led him by the hand. The two of you had just finished having dinner at Keigo’s favorite restaurant, a place that was only accessible through reservation and was booked months in advance. It’d been one phone call, having dropped your hero name as wanting a reservation. You didn’t often use your hero status to get what you wanted, knowing it was morally wrong. But the look on Keigo’s face, how it brightened and the spark returned to his eyes when you oh so casually mentioned you’d gotten reservations, had been well worth it. Keigo wasn’t the only person who could live in a self-serving, morally grey area. If it kept him smiling at you like that, you didn’t think there was much you wouldn’t do for the number two hero. 

They’d set you back in a private area of the restaurant, softly lit so that you wouldn’t be disturbed by any other patron walking by and happen to notice who it was dining out together. The two of you had gorged yourself on your favorite meals. The conversation had been quiet, soft, nothing too serious. You lived together, after all, and it wasn’t as if you didn’t see each other every day or in passing. But it didn't need to be any sort of deep conversation. Keigo’s hand never strayed far from where yours had rested on the table, at times his finger coming to trace over the back of your hand, the knuckles there and various scars from your time as a hero. His foot, underneath the table, never stopped resting against yours. The thing about Keigo that people misunderstood at times, was that while a part of Hawks existed in Keigo’s personality, the Keigo that not many people saw at all, was much more subdued. More private. Gentler, though still plenty capable of dishing out the shit you’d throw at him right back.

“Come on, kid, where are we going?” You looked back over your shoulder to see that Hawks had listened to you, his eyes squeezed shut as you led him up, and up. It’d have been easier for him to have just jetted you up the hill you were climbing to the top of, but you wanted this to be a complete and utter surprise for him. It’d been your plan from the beginning and it was going to be your plan until the end. Keigo wasn’t the biggest fan of surprises, and he’d already started asking questions the minute you’d told him that dinner wasn’t everything you’d planned. It was hard for him to trust in the unknown, but when the unknown was linked to you, he was far more willing to accept what was out of his control. 

The car drive out of the city had been torture for him, having to keep his eyes closed for the entirety of the ride. Keigo had half a mind to send out a feather or two to do some scouting and bring back whatever it was they could that could give him some kind of clue. He knew why you were doing this, he wasn’t that thick in the head. There weren’t enough words in the human language for him to be able to express what you’d done for him could mean, but he thought the closest feeling was the look on your face when he smiled. It’d been hard for Keigo to have ever imagined that there was someone out there in the world who could accept him for the person he was. For all the good things and all the bad things he’d done, and still love him. Still be able to look him in the eyes and tell him that they were proud of him, that he was safe, that he was loved. You’d brought that into his life out of the blue, and Keigo didn’t think he’d ever be able to repay you for the kindness. Out of all the scary things he’d shown you about himself, his moral compass, his childhood, the fact that sometimes he had to play the villain, you hadn’t wavered once. No...there was nothing that Keigo Takami could do to repay you for what you’d given him. 

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t spend the rest of his life trying.

“I told you, it’s a surprise, you goof.” Your laughter sent a thrill up and down his spine, and he squeezed your hand in response. He’d be a good bird, for now. The amount of effort you’d put into cheering him up was enough to garner his good behavior. “Besides, we’re almost here.” You’d definitely been climbing upwards, Keigo felt that burn in his thighs and felt a little bit of labor in his breathing. You hadn't brought him...you wouldn’t have...it was so far away. Though, it was certainly far enough away of a drive that lined up with how long you’d been driving...

Keigo felt his heart spasm in his chest, a heart he hadn’t thought worked for so long, as you let go of his hand. If you were where he thought you were... “Just a minute...” you said, sounding off to the side of him. There was the noise of a bag unzipping, of something rustling against grass. Keigo tipped his head back to the night sky, taking in a deep breath of fresh, crisp air that only came at night. He knew this place, he knew the smell of it. Had committed it to memory because it had everything to do with you and him.

“(Y/N),” he said, your name something of a prayer on his lips. 

“Almost there,” you said, holding either side of his arms. “Just...slowly sit down. There, just like that, careful, puff your wings out a little so they’re comfortable...” You instructed him, and Keigo rolled his eyes, swallowing the smile on his lips. You were taking your job very seriously and he didn’t want to bring any ruin to your fun even though he’d figured it out the minute he’d gotten a smell of the place. “Okay! Open!”

And when he did, Keigo didn’t think he’d ever seen something more beautiful than the image that had greeted him. There you were, illuminated by moonlight with a million stars twinkling in the background. Your skin glowed, it made you look other worldly in every aspect of the word. Yes. This was exactly where he thought you’d taken him. On the top of the very hill he now sat on, was the first time the two of you had ever met. It was a very different setting than the original, this time there was no villain you’d unintentionally come together to fight off. No havoc that was being wrecked, no immediate sense of danger or peril. It was just the two of you and the midnight sky. The fact that you’d thought to come this far out, just to make him happy...

He didn’t think he could ever love anyone else as much as he loved you. “(Y/N),” Keigo repeated, bright amber eyes fixated on you as you weighed his reaction. He held out a hand for you, which you took. He gave you a tug and you fell to your knees unceremoniously. Keigo was gentle as he pulled you back against his chest, red wings folding around you and acting as a barrier of heat. “You planned all of this.”

His hands smoothed over your hips, wrapping around you as he held you close. The sound of his heartbeat, rhythmic and soothing settled against your back. “Of course I did,” you answered, the top of your head resting against the curve of his jaw. “You were so sad, I just wanted to see you smile again. So...I planned a nice date that would do that.” You turned to look at him, to see him looking at you with widened pupils, and he nudged his face against your head. ”And I think it’s worked.”

Avian eyes shut for a moment, and Keigo hummed a response. There was silence between you in that stretch of time, Keigo holding you against his chest, your eyes turned to the thousands of twinkling stars that seemed to be spying on you the way that you were spying on them. The blanket beneath you added extra warmth, and you found yourself getting sleepy. Keigo was cooing behind you, the sound coming from the back of his throat. You think he’s fallen asleep, until he speaks.

“I’d only be the saddest if I ever lost this moment, right here.” His voice is soft, gentle. 

It was still impossible for him to fathom that there was someone out there in the world that loved him, cared about him, like you did. You. In all of the goodness that lived inside of your heart. Unafraid to show and express that you loved a cynical bastard like himself. You intertwined your fingers with his, feeling the rough callus of his palms. Hands that have worked so hard to become the hero that he was today. An unhappy child that had only ever just wanted love, and you’d given all of it to him and then some. His eyes shut when you answer him. “Then I guess it’s a good thing you never will.”

His life wasn’t safe. Neither was yours. But in that moment, underneath the midnight sky, neither one of you felt safer. There was an eternity in that time spent wrapped up in one another, and it was one that he’d carry with him forever. 

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Utterly Delicious - A Henry Cavill/Reader One Shot Story.

A quick bit of Henry smut, because it has been a while, my lovelies!

Tag list - @breakmeaswitchson @madbaddic7ed @ruelf-emedam@brexfrix @ xxphoenixflyerxx @geekyweed​ @holyhumorliteraturelight @jinaaaannnnn @alliyjane @notso-fetch @zoe-rachel-crisp @glowien @tranquility-or-chaos @bucky-did-nothing-wrong @shileen91 @boiled-onionrings@helloitsmeaime203 @cheritzie @hm-fck @mary-ann84 @skylarmorgan1899 @alwayshave-faith @alliyjane @shyen18@shadesofarrogance @justjulie1105 @soulmatelove96@agniavateira @stormnightsong @xmother-mortemx​ @gamingaquarius​ @pansexualpancakeslife @ jesseswartzwelder @elixasays @ayamenimthiriel​  @winchwm​ @romanoffs-heart @sasusakubae @jennfisher @somethinginthewayiam @snowbellexx​ @ohjules​ @debonaire-princess @notyourtypicalrose​ @hell1129-blog @living-in-the-darkness @romantic-freya @agniavateira​ @speakerforthedead0-blog​ @radaofrivia​ @hcfavoritegal​ @justaboringadult​ @serenitybloodmoon​ @thethirstyarchive​ @somethinginthewayiam​ @omgkatinka​ @sweetybuzz25​ @saintvirgo​ @littlefreya​ @bloodyinspiredfuck​ @sofiebstar @summersong69​ @michellemybelles-world​ @ladyreapermc @wolvesandhoundshowltogether​

Sometimes, all it takes is a look, one glance to spark the chain reaction that has you pushed into a darkened corner and left breathless by the press of a gigantic, hard body against yours and an eager mouth assailing your neck.

“Henry, you can wait until we get home,” you purr, although the way your body keens against his, these words are somewhat betrayed.

“I’ll be quick,” he murmurs, nuzzling your hair as his hands grasp your bum.

“We are not having sex at the Vanity Fair party, no! You shall behave yourself. For now.” Shaking your curls out you kiss his cheek and push past him, heading back out into the room full of celebrity, glitz and glamour.

He said he didn’t want to stay for too long on account of it not really being his scene, but for networking and publicity sake, you’ve been there for three hours. One more drink each though and you’re out the door and into your car, being driven back to your LA residence up in the hills.

As soon as you’re in the house, you let your dress fall onto the polished floor, pushing Henry back against the large pillar in the centre of the welcome hall, sliding his jacket off and undoing his tie as you kiss him passionately.

You can feel his cock stiffening against your abdomen as you hastily unbutton his shirt, your mouths locking together, hands stroking his chest before reaching to free that hardness from within his trousers.

A deep, baritone grumble fills the welcome hall after you’ve crouched down and sheathed his length in your hot, eager mouth, sucking him deftly as your mouth glides up and down his full shaft. 

You gorge yourself on his steely hardness, moaning as your mouth travels the length of him, his hands gliding through your hair as he watches your erotic display intently.

He twitches against your throat as you tighten your lips, mouth dragging, tongue swirling, his moans coming thick and fast as they always do when you have a mouthful of his colossal manhood.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” he pants, his loins pulsing with pleasure.

“Thank you. Mmmm, you should feel how wet I’m getting for you. I can’t wait for you to be inside me.” You purr, mouth sinking back down on him again, enveloping his cock in wet heat. 

He stiffens further against each of your diligent ministrations, shuddering rapturously when you replace your mouth with your hand, licking and sucking his balls as you pump his shaft.

Pre-cum seeps out onto your fingers, salty against your tongue as you return it to the throbbing head of his hardness, caressing him with swirls and flickers, watching his cock bounce in appreciation. 

You’re just enjoying taking him into your mouth again as your hand continues the stimulation when you’re suddenly pulled to your feet, Henry throwing you over his shoulder as he kicks his trousers and shoes off, taking you out to the garden.

“Oh yay, hot tub sex!” You chirp, making him laugh as he throws back the cover and switches it on, seating you on the side before stroking your beautifully coiffed hair, waves tumbling through his fingers as he kisses you with unmatched passion.

Once you’ve both rendered the other completely naked, he lays kisses to your neck as his fingers tickle your spine, crouching in front of you and lifting your feet to rest upon his shoulders as he introduces his hot, hungry mouth to your apex.

He sucks you masterfully, groaning around a mouthful of soft pink, tongue easing into your slit, hot and unyielding, seeking your clit to bathe it in expertly delivered licks. You moan his name, a chorus of praises spilling from your mouth as you grip the hot tub edge and gasp, his tongue working your bud back and forth.

Pleasure skitters through you, delighting your core, winding through your belly and sparkling up your spine, like champagne bubbles ascending, hot breaths fluttering over your wet cunt as he continues to lick at you greedily.

He draws gasps and squeaks from you, tongue invading, languid licks giving way to faster, more purposeful swirls, your hands fisting his curls and gripping his thick shoulders as he drives you further into ecstasy.

“You are utterly delicious, but I think I need to be inside you more.” He murmurs, kissing his way back up your body, denying you his lips in tease, pulling away as he laughs softly before kissing you with fiery lust. Climbing into the water, he pulls you down astride him, your wetness meeting his cock beneath the bubbles as you sheath him fully.

Satisfaction pours fluidly from your mouths as you embrace one another, his hardness filling you, kissing him as you begin to work yourself up and down on every last thick, steely, amazing inch of him.

You’re both sitting in close proximity to a water jet, the bubbles acting as perfect added stimulation to the gratifying feeling of his cock splitting you wide, your fingers flexing against his thick back as you kiss heatedly.

Moans bubble up from your throat, glimmers consuming you as you tip your head back and rock against him with ardent vigour, his mouth at your breasts, sucking your nipples hungrily as he groans without reserve.

The bloom of arousal flourishes deep in your core, sumptuous rigidity dragging your walls as his low groans play like music in your ears. The water stirs around you as the pace increases, a wanton need for more aggressive carnality consuming you both.

You pulse around him in appreciation of his thick, long cock, a shudder rippling his broad chest as you stare at him, appreciating him, your mouth claiming his and devouring him as your tongues swirl.

He is heavy and relentless inside you, invoking tingles within your slippery, fluttering cunt, moving beneath you with rhythmic purpose, hips colliding against yours as all begins to become wilder and uncontained.

You are each other’s sexual heaven, rushing towards your culmination with unbridled determination, Henry gritting a series of expletives as he feels your slick heat gripping him tighter and tighter, your orgasm rolling through you like a ball of white heat, illuminating you as his cock erupts and fills you with cum.

The hot, bubbling water feels soothing as you both recover, warm and entwined, your pleasure ebbing away steadily as you kiss, your passions spent. 

For that moment, at least, for if there’s one thing you can never resist, it’s staying in the hot tub with him until you’re pink, crinkly and very, very well sated.

[yungidreamer]

Fragile

Summary: It’s fall in Paris and the jazz club Le Chat Noir is bored immortal vampire Yunho’s favorite hunting grounds. Among the crush of bodies, there to see the show and dance the night away, San takes a seat at his table. Will San get more than he bargained for when he accepts a drink and a dance with the handsome stranger at the hottest place in town?

Wordcount: 5.9k

Content warnings: very much NSFW, vampire bites and blood drinking, references to casual sex with multiple partners, slightly subby San, slightly dom Yunho, oral sex, hand job, the risk of death, and two hedonists seeking pleasure with each other. It is heavily implied that both San and Yunho are bi/pan in orientation.

La Chat Noir, Paris France, 1924

Music flowed through the air of the club, moving languorously as if the smoke in the air slowed its passage. A faint buzzing sound hid behind it thanks to the low light of the new fangled bulbs that were tucked into sconces on the walls that mimicked the old gas lights that had been in use a mere decade or so ago. Such a small amount of time, Yunho sighed. Some days he missed their constant hiss, that sound just felt...calming. Like a constant whisper, telling the secrets of the nightowls and scoundrels who stayed out in the city during those hours that belonged to people like him.

Still, the place was as good a hunting ground as he had ever found. People didn’t change. They were always chasing that moment of pleasure that made their short existence worthwhile. Always drinking, gorging and *ahem* loving their way through life as much as their status and circumstances would allow. So small, so finite, so… fragile. It was sad really. They seemed to struggle, at odds with the desire to live like they only had today while, nearly simultaneously, trying to live those mere 100 years some of them might have. If they were lucky. Though why they would want to live so long as their bodies deteriorated with each passing day was beyond him.

Eternity was bad enough with eternal youth. When you had to age. Yunho shuddered.

Pushing through the crush of youth, Yunho made his way towards the bar. The smell of bodies, sweat and skin, mixed with the tobacco of cigars and thin cigarettes all of the liberated women kept between their manicured fingers as they drank and laughed. Over that drifted the smell of whiskey, wine, and whatever spirits the bartenders were deciding to experiment with tonight.

Perfumes swam by on the air that surrounded their wearers. Musk, ambergris, vetiver, and hints of the sharp floral notes of women who still wore the classic rose or jasmine. With each one that passed Yunho couldn’t help but pause for half a second to see how well it matched the wearer. Was it a scent that accentuated the character of whoever it was on, or was it a mask; something false they put on as they tried to pretend, just for tonight they weren’t some nameless bookkeeper on the third floor of one of the new steel and glass monstrosities that reached vainly for the sky?

In the back of the last room he found a small round table, flicking over the little card that said Reserved as he took his seat. It was his table, it was always his table. From here he could watch the throngs kick and sway on the open dance floor, or the beautiful dancers as they performed their numbers to the music of the band. He absolutely loved their outfits, all silk and beading, showing so much of their delicate skin.

Maybe some things are improving with time, he reflected, sipping his Southside. Little of the taste came through to his taste buds, but the chill of the mint slid down his throat and the sharp tannin of the lime was tacky on his tongue. Plus, his trifles seemed to enjoy the freshness it brought to his lips and who was he to deny them that last… little… pleasure.

On the floor in the glare of the spotlight two sisters danced in unison in their feathers and silk. The rhinestones on their belts and cloche hats glinted as they moved to the music, flashing lushous stretches of their shapely legs. This was their third night performing at the club and word had gotten around. The club had filled just a little more with each passing night with everyone who wanted to catch the appropriately risque performance. Gentlemen brought their friends, and occasionally, the lady they hoped to sway with the low lights, the free music of the jazz, and the sensual movements of the dancers.

The more free spirited women came in small groups, and very occasionally, alone. Finally they were allowed to go out as they pleased, they could have jobs, smoke, and support themselves. The freedom was well deserved, if not always well or wisely used. Then again, who was he, or anyone else frankly, to tell them what to do with that freedom. Over the centuries he had certainly seen plenty of men squander that precious thing called freedom. Perhaps, if fate had changed by just a hair, he would have been one of the poor souls, living and dying in a flash, leaving barely a trace of his existence. But, fate had chosen a different path for him and instead he had seen centuries pass before him, time flowing like a rushing river. It was all much the same even if he could never step into the same stream twice.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” A voice asked, rising just high enough over the hum of the room to reach his ear. Yunho looked up to find a young man with sharp features standing near the back of the chair on the other side of the table. A quirk turned the corner of Yunho’s lips as he gave him an assessing look. It was brave of him to come and ask to share the table; it reeked of a confidence that Yunho liked.

“Please,” Yunho gestured to the chair, sitting up just a shade straighter. The young man nodded, gracefully slipping into the black lacquer chair. He was dressed in a fashionable suit in crisp black and white, perhaps stylish but not rich. Yunho didn’t think he had seen him before; he seemed like the sort he would have remembered. His hair was dark and glossy, almost like the chair he had taken a seat in. It was cut in a clean, modern style that made him look like he belonged in a place like this. His face was lovely, high cheekbones and smooth creamy skin that seemed to shine from the inside out with that warm glow that only health and youth could bestow.

“Are they as good as they have been hyped up to be?” The young man asked, keeping his narrow, dark eyes on the ladies in the spotlight.

“They are good,” Yunho agreed, leaning in so he didn’t have to raise his voice to be heard. He sipped from his glass, held with a blase confidence using only two fingers, eyes staying on his table companion.

“They’re beautiful,” He commented, sparing a glance for Yunho as he too leaned in towards the table.

“They’re pretty enough, and lovely in their shape,” Yunho agreed, though his eyes seemed unwilling to look back at the subjects of whom he spoke.

“The music is quite good as well, isn’t it?” He asked, trying not to look like he had noticed the gaze on him.

“It’s… intoxicating,” Yunho agreed. “Can I ask your name?”

“San,” the young man answered. “Choi San.”

“Hello San,” Yunho extended his free hand over the table to him. “I’m Yunho.”

“Nice to meet you,” San took the extended hand, giving it a firm, confident shake. Yunho held onto the warm hand just a couple of seconds longer than he ought to, enjoying the dry warmth of the other man’s palm in his. San let him, only drawing his hand back when Yunho let go.

“Are you new around here?” Yunho asked, curious about the man across from him for a number of reasons.

“Just moved here a few months ago,” San nodded. “Got my first job as a law clerk. The money is good enough and if I do well enough the prospects for promotion are good.”

“How fortunate you are,” Yunho smiled, tipping his glass to him encouragingly.

“My parents were happy enough,” San gave a small chuckle. “After all they spent on my education, they feel like I owe them nothing less.”

“Such dullards aren’t they,” Yunho commiserated. “Stuck in the past along with all of their ideas and mores.”

“Well, they certainly wouldn’t think a place like this is where I ought to be spending my time or money,” San agreed, happy to have found a comrade in arms.

“What’s the point in youth if you waste it shut in offices and school rooms,” Yunho asked rhetorically, a hand under his chin.

“Exactly,” San gave a single nod. “I work hard. I can spend my free time doing something fun, whatever that may be.”

“Is this your idea of fun?” There was a teasing edge to Yunho’s voice, like the cool touch of a blade as it brushed flesh without cutting it.

“Not sure yet,” San sat forward, giving Yunho an assessing look as he moved his chin to rest on the heel of his hand. “It’s my first time here, but at least the company seems promising.”

“Would you like something; a drink?” Yunho questioned, emptying the last of his drink from his glass.

“I can--” San started to stand before Yunho stopped him, simply raising a hand and, a moment later, almost as if she had been conjured from nothingness, a waitress appeared beside them.

“Two more,” Yunho said, passing her the empty glass. Without a word she nodded and walked away to do as she had been bid. It didn’t take long for their drinks to appear and Yunho picked his up, offering a silent toast to San before taking a sip. San followed suit, bringing the drink to his lips.

“This is quite good,” San said, looking at the drink again, after having had a taste.

“Isn’t it?” Yunho agreed. “Refreshing.”

“Yes,” San nodded, taking another sip as he noticed the light dim as the spotlight was snuffed. As the dancers left the floor he observed, “They were decent but maybe they didn’t quite live up to the hype.”

“Life rarely does,” a jadedness filled Yunho’s tone.

“Do you really find life here so dreary?” San felt a sympathy for him, slightly sad that the other man seemed to feel the world was so dull.

“Often,” Yunho admitted. “But sometimes there is a glimmer of intrigue to things.”

“I hope I won’t find myself so easily bored by the attractions of life here,” San chuckled.

“Don’t worry,” Yunho promised. “I’m a bit of a special case. I have perhaps seen too much to find fascination so easily anymore.” The band struck up again and the lights raised enough to allow people to get up and make their way onto the dance floor. Couples made their way out onto the floor that had been the platform for the performance. The low light and the slow jazz made the room feel small and intimate even as the couples brushed against one another on the dance floor.

“Would you like to dance with me?” Yunho asked, leaning as close as he could to whisper the question.

“Can we?” San’s eyes widened slightly at the suggestion.

“No one judges here,” Yunho assured him. “Look.” He gestured out to the floor and San’s gaze followed. Nestled in among the pairs of men and women were a few pairs of girls, arms clinging as they danced closely, and men swaying in each other's arms. Surprise flickered across San’s face. These things, they just weren’t usually done, and yet…

“Shall we?” Yunho stood up and extended a hand to San. For a beat, he just looked at it. Did he dare? Pressing his lips into a hard line, San stood up and took Yunho’s hand. With a victorious grin, Yunho led San out onto a dim corner of the dance floor.

San hadn’t noticed just how tall Yunho was when he was just sitting across from him. It was only when the other man pulled him more tightly against his body as they squeezed in among the other pairs, that he noticed how Yunho towered over him by a decent amount. San swallowed past his nerves and snaked his arms around the other man’s waist and chest. 

Yunho held him close, pressing the side of his jaw to the other man’s temple and breathing in the smell of him. Everything about San was warm and vibrant including his scent. He wore no cologne, not trying to disguise himself or be anything more than he was. Beneath the faint smell of soap was the scent of him, of his skin. Cedar and sage with notes of grapefruit and lime, and somewhere below that was something warm and masculine… like the old leather of an armchair in a study that had taken on a hint of the cigars that had been smoked there over the years.

Yunho’s mouth practically watered, knowing that San would taste so very good. He would be warm and nourishing, bringing Yunho that little step closer to feeling alive again. It wasn’t that he missed that fragile mortality that he had lost so long ago. Rather he loved that heat. The borrowed, clandestine taste of vitality. He could have both if he chose; immortality and that feel of his heart beating in his chest. Well, for a moment at least.

One song bled into a second and a third as an hour ticked by nearly unnoticed by the pair. The couples around them came and went, getting a little more drunk and a little more boisterous as the time passed.

“Would you like to go somewhere?” Yunho murmured into the shell of San’s ear before pulling back and hooking his finger under San’s chin to bring his eyes up to meet his own. San gave a brief nod and Yunho smiled, leaning down to brush a barely there kiss to the corner of San’s mouth.

“Your place?” Yunho proposed, offering an inviting smile. San nodded again, his gaze falling hungrily to Yunho’s lips. Leading the way through the crowd, Yunho took them both out onto the street, hailing the first passing cab.

Yunho pressed San back against the door to his apartment in the dimly lit hall of his floor. He let out a small moan as he fumbled in his pocket for the key he knew was there. Yunho’s lips on his were insistent even as they moved at a leisurely pace against his own. San had always had wants, desires, but never dared to act on them. Women were pretty, they were attractive, too, but there had always been that part of him that couldn’t help but watch as a confident man walked by. That confident swagger of a guy who knew exactly how sexy he was; it just set something in his stomach tingling.

San pulled away when he finally felt the cool metal in his palm, just enough to work the key in the lock with his slightly shaking hands. The door popped open and Yunho pushed them both inside the small studio that was San’s place. It was dim, only lit at the moment by the shine of the streetlights outside the single window on the wall opposite the door. Clicking the door closed behind them, Yunho pulled San tightly against him. He was hungry for him in more way than one.

San groped for the switch on the wall, reluctant to pull away from the embrace of the other man. He was afraid if he gave them too much space, a second to think at just the wrong moment, whatever was going to happen… wouldn’t. Giving up on the switch, San guided the other man towards the small brass framed bed located towards one side of the room. He pulled him along, guiding him without pulling away until he felt the edge of the frame hit the back of his calves. Dropping to a sitting position on the bed, San started fumbling with the button at the waist of Yunho’s pants.

“There’s no rush,” Yunho chuckled, putting his long elegant fingers over San’s, stilling them.

“Sorry,” San said quietly, thankful for the darkness that would hide his blush, or it would have, to someone other than a vampire. Yunho found it charming, almost quaint, how eager and yet shy he was. This clearly wasn’t a regular thing for him, unlike Yunho. It wasn’t that any warm body was good, but almost any would do and some he felt better about leaving half drained in some dark room than others. He’d try to be careful with San, after all, it might actually be nice to see him again sometime and that couldn’t happen with a body in the morgue.

Yunho took a seat, the springs of the bed creaking under their combined weight. Leaning in, Yunho cupped San’s cheek, guiding his face back to his for another kiss. San gladly leaned in to his slightly chilled lips, something he attributed to the chill of the fall weather outside. 

Yunho’s fingers brushed over his cheek and down to hold the side of his neck, feeling the soft, warm pulse just below. Following the same path as his fingers, Yunho’s lips brushed over the flushed skin until he found the right place. He licked, his teeth gently running over it, testing the other man’s reaction. The last thing he needed was to have him pull away, rip the tender flesh of his own neck open with a careless yank. When San only moaned and tilted his head to give the other man better access, Yunho took that as permission to have just a little taste.

As he sucked in a small bit of San’s flesh into his mouth his hand traveled down over the other man’s chest to tentatively rest on the growing erection still hidden beneath the soft wool of his suit. San sucked in his breath but didn’t pull away. Yunho bit down, feeling the trickle of blood spill into his mouth as he palmed San’s member. He felt it twitch as he fed from him, pleasure slinking through him with each gulping tug of Yunho’s mouth as he drank. He needed just enough for now, enough to warm his skin and fill his aching member to fullness. Tonight he wanted to have everything. With a lick he closed the cuts on San’s neck and pulled back to look at him, still flushed, still beautiful in his youthfulness.

San took a deep breath, the ripples of pleasure still rebounding in him. He couldn’t help but wonder why he had stopped. Had he done something wrong. Feeling inexplicably tired, he had to make an effort to open his eyes and look up into the gaze of the man beside him. Yunho smiled down at him with lips that San would swear looked a little sweeter, a little fuller, a little pinker than they had a few moments ago. It’s the aphrodisiac of the pleasure, it’s all in your head, he told himself.

“Can I touch you?” San asked, his dark eyes searching Yunho’s for signs that he was having second thoughts.

“Please,” Yunho agreed, guiding San’s hand to his now full erection. San went to his knees on the oak parquet that covered the floor of his apartment. His fingers, still feeling a little shaky, went to the warm black bone button that held the waistband of Yunho’s pants closed. It only took a second for him to slip the fastening through the slit in the fine fabric. With his fly open, Yunho lifted his hips to allow San to pull the clothes on the lower half of his body down and off, letting them pool around his ankles as the other man took a moment to gather his courage. Not yet ready to look up as butterflies fluttered in his stomach, San took a moment to gently pull off Yunho’s shoes, socks, and pants, carefully placing them near the foot of the bed on the floor. He turned, finally looking up to see Yunho, his shirt half unbuttoned from his collar down, leaning back casually, his long, hard dick framed by the inverted V from the last button on the placket as it opened down to the lower hem. He had never seen anything so tempting in his life. From the muscled smoothness of his chest and the breadth of his still covered shoulders, to his thick muscular thighs, Yunho was temptation.

“Won’t you taste me?” Yunho asked, running the fingertips of one hand up the inside of his thigh. San nodded, scooting forward and sitting on his heels to bring himself just a little higher between Yunho’s legs. Using one hand for leverage, San wrapped the other around the base of Yunho’s cock and brought it to his lips. He had never tasted another man, but, having been on the other end of such a thing more than once, he had a fair idea of where to start. Taking just the head into his mouth, he swirled his tongue around the tip. Yunho let out the sweetest low, rumbling moan San had ever heard.

The hand on Yunho’s thigh dropped so that San could reach down and stroke himself lightly, needing just a little relief, a little sensation as he strained against his pants. When Yunho’s hand caressed his cheek, San opened his eyes to look at him up the plane of his body. A shock of lust pooled in his stomach and he slid his mouth further down, watching pleasure flow across the features of the other man, lit only in profile from the dim light outside. The dimness and quiet of the room somehow made every sound, every movement just that shade more intense.

“You have a wonderful mouth,” Yunho complemented, a breathlessness suffusing his voice. Part of San wanted to say thank you, but most of him just wanted to show the other man just how good his mouth was. Sinking down until the tip brushed against the back of his throat, San tested his limits. He wanted all of him, he wanted to devour him with pleasure, but Yunho was not small. He wasn’t even average, if San would have taken a guess based on himself and on peeks he had gotten of others. Yunho was big, and even when he had sunk down until he felt him fill his mouth and brush the soft skin at the back of his throat, he had barely taken 2/3rds of him in.

San bobbed up and down a few more times, practicing letting his jaw move loosely over Yunho’s length as he built up a slick of saliva that eased his movements. Trying again, San sunk down to see how far he could go, pushing past that discomfort to feel the head slide down against the back of his throat. A tickle built in his throat and tears pooled in his eyes as he pulled off to cough.

“It’s okay, sweets,” Yunho leaned forward, cradling San’s teary cheeks in his hands. “I know I’m big, it feels good even if you can’t take it all.”

“I—” San started before the tickle built back up and he had to cough again, sniffling as his nose ran slightly from the sensation and his tears. “I know, but I like the feel of you, I like the way you slide into me.”

“Just don’t force yourself,” Yunho agreed, swiping away the tears with the pads of his thumbs. “We have time and those sweet lips feel wonderful wrapped around me.” San nodded, blinking away the blur to his vision a few more times before he parted his lips and took Yunho back in his mouth, a little more cautiously this time.

Sliding his head up and down what he could take of his length, San sucked and licked and tasted the salty treat that was Yunho. As he worked him, he could taste the gooey tang of his pre-cum coating his tongue now and again as his pleasure built. Yunho watched him, eyes hooded as the sight of San throwing himself into what he was doing with near abandon added to the rising tide of pleasure that was flooding him.

San still pushed himself, diving down the length of Yunho until he couldn’t struggle past his length and gagged or had his throat spasm at the invasion. Each time Yunho groaned, often twitching at the sensation of the muscles in San’s throat stroking him. When he managed to slide him particularly far down his throat he was rewarded with the sight of Yunho throwing his head back and letting out a breathless gasp.

“Ahh, fuck,” he panted, one hand gripping the sheets and another fisting in San’s soft hair. “I’m close… I’m so close.” San took this as encouragement, moving faster, then, going as deeply as he could and pausing for as long as his body would let him. It took only a few times of San repeating this to push Yunho over the edge and he was rewarded with the feel of the pulsing gush of the other man coming down his throat. It was warm and slick and moved slowly as it slid down into him, savoring the sensation.

“You’re an angel,” Yunho praised, guiding San off him and bringing his pink, swollen lips to his own for a kiss. He licked away a little of the saliva that glistened on the lower lip of the man still kneeling between his legs. He could still taste a little of himself there as well, an enchanting addition to the sweetness of the other man’s hot lips.

“Can you touch me?” San asked, steadying himself by putting his hands on Yunho’s spread knees.

“Come sit with me,” Yunho coaxed. San nodded, wiping the dampness off his chin and he pulled himself up. He started to move to take a seat beside Yunho on the bed, but, catching him by the wrist, the other man guided him to sit between his spread legs. Yunho’s hands went to San’s chest, pressing him back against him. San relaxed in his arms enjoying just the moment of being held in the other man’s long and lean arms.

“Do you mind if I undress you?” Yunho asked, running his hand down over San’s taught stomach. San nodded, using his own hand to press Yunho’s more firmly against his own body. Yunho chuckled, pressing a kiss to the other man’s temple before he freed his hands to start working on removing the slightly rumpled looking suit. His fingers were quick and efficient with the buttons at the front of his shirt, flicking them open with barely any effort. When the shirt was completely open, Yunho slid it and the jacket off San’s muscular shoulders, bearing his smooth and muscular chest to the room. Yunho hooked them both to the nob of the headboard, letting them hang so they wouldn’t get any more wrinkled than they already were. When that was done, he brought his hands back to San’s smooth body, letting his palms run over the line of his ribs and down to his hips, before making their way forward to the fastening at the front of his pants. Yunho couldn’t stop himself from running a teasing hand over the front of his trousers to feel the tempting length just barely hidden there.

“Lift for me,” Yunho instructed when he had undone San’s pants and hooked his thumbs into the waistband of both his pants and underwear. San eagerly lifted his hips, pushing his weight onto his hands and feet to allow Yunho to slide the fabric down and let his erection spring forth. When he put his weight back down, Yunho pulled him back into the V of his thighs and against his half bared chest as San kicked off the last of his clothes.

“Can… can you take off your shirt?” San asked without turning around, having felt the abrasion of the round buttons against his shoulder blade.

“Of course,” Yunho pressed a kiss to San’s bare shoulder, then leaned back enough to finish opening the last of the buttons before taking his shirt off and tossing it onto one corner of the foot of the bed. With both of them fully naked, Yunho scooted back until he could feel the wall against his back, scooping San into the cradle of his body so that he could resume his exploration of his form.

“Please touch me,” San breathed, leaning his head back against Yunho’s broad shoulder. “It feels like I’ve been waiting so long.” San’s restless hands moved up and down the textured length of Yunho’s hard thighs.

“I will, sweet,” Yunho soothed. “I just want to get to know you.” San could feel the smile that pressed against the side of his face as Yunho spoke. He felt harder than he could ever remember feeling and his body begged for release. Yunho could sense his impatience. It was written into every squirm and the tense line of his body. “Shhhhh,” he soothed, rubbing his nose in the loose locks of San’s hair.

“Just hold me, there,” he pleaded, guiding Yunho’s hand to his length. “You don’t have to move yet, but just touch me.”

“Alright,” Yunho agreed, his hand loosely gripping San’s hot, hard erection. It was soft under his hand, like velvet or suede covered steel. San let out a tense sigh, closing his eyes and enjoying the way Yunho’s slightly cooler hand seemed to envelop him. Keeping his grip light, Yunho moved his hand up and down, letting that first hint of sensation tingle over San’s nerves, half teasing and half relief. His other hand held San to him on his chest, just the tip of one finger moving to abrade the hardened nipple it could reach. Goosebumps rose on San’s skin and he shivered under the combination of sensations. San’s fingers gripped Yunho’s thighs just above the knees with a careless strength that would have left fingermark bruises on anyone else. Luckily Yunho couldn’t bruise, not that easily at least, and he loved the feedback that was telling him he was touching him just right.

“Tilt your head a little,” Yunho coaxed. “I want to reach your neck.”

San gladly tilted his head to the side, his member twitching just at the memory of the sensation of whatever he had done to his neck before. Yunho brushed his lips over the pulse in San’s neck as he began to move his hand a little faster, his grip just a little tighter as he did so. San moaned and shifted impatiently under the touch. Everything felt so good and he wasn’t sure why. It hadn’t been that long since he had been satisfied and by more than just his own hand. And it had been good, she had been good. The faint memory of sucking a soft nipple on the soft mound of a breast fluttered through his mind, as transient and insubstantial as a leaf caught in the draft of a strong gust that dies as quickly as it rose.

The sensation of Yunho running the pad of his thumb over the slick slit of his tip brought him back to the present. San sighed, his toes curling at the sensation. Pleasure washed through him, stealing his breath and stopping his mind from focusing on anything outside of the circle of Yunho’s arms.

Yunho’s lips teased the soft skin just under San’s ear, taking in his scent as he waited for the moment to bite. He wanted to feed at the moment he came, extending that pleasure and sweetening the taste of his blood with the rush of adrenaline and delight. Slowly increasing the pace of his movements, he varied his attention between stroking the whole length and giving the tip special attention, careful to not go to the point of over stimulating it.

“I’m so close,” San brought a hand up to hold the back of Yunho’s head as his lips sucked harder at the skin of his neck. “Please, whatever you did before, I want it again.”

“Patience, sweet,” Yunho hummed against him. “Almost there. Almost.” In a moment the pleasure suddenly crested and San held his breath as that first second of pleasure shocked through him before Yunho bit down. The bite magnified the sensation, making it reverberate through him with the resonance of a pitchfork struck against a hard surface.

Yunho sucked and fed, pulling every ounce of pleasure he could from San as he did so. San seemed frozen under his touch, unable to do more than just feel the power and the delight as it danced along every nerve in his body. It only faded as his limbs grew heavy and black spots began to float in patches in his vision. 

Yunho closed the wounds and pulled away when he felt and heard that tell-tale stutter in the beat of San’s heart. He could continue. He could draw out that pleasure until the thudding stopped. It would be so easy and San was such a willing victim. He would never find it in himself in that moment to utter the word stop. It just felt too good. But Yunho did, he pulled back, holding San as he went limp, losing consciousness and falling into a blackness that was deep and quiet.

His heartbeat was slow but steady and Yunho was relatively certain that he would wake sometime tomorrow, perhaps sore and surprised to feel so hungover when he only had that one drink. Yunho gently laid him down in the bed, drawing the covers up over his beautiful naked body, making sure that he was in something that looked like a comfortable position. As he looked down, in his chest, his heart moved faintly in something that could almost be mistaken for beating. Almost.

Picking up his clothes, he carefully redressed, trying to look his best, despite a few wrinkles and creases that were too stubborn to be pulled or brushed away. He paused at a mirror, smoothing down his hair again, leaving it almost looking untouched by the events of the night. Casting a glance back at the man lying so prettily unconscious in the bed, Yunho couldn’t help but smile.

Going over to the desk, Yunho shuffled through a few drawers before he found a small pad of paper with a page he could rip out to scribble something.

I hope the morning finds you well, he wrote in a flowing hand that belied his age if someone paid enough attention. If you ever feel like a repeat performance, you know where to find me. He signed the bottom of the page with an ornate Y before picking up the page and folding it in half. Taking a moment, he neatly arranged San’s discarded clothes in the hopes it would make his morning just a little bit more pleasant. He pocketed the key taking it from San’s pocket where he had slipped it after letting them in. Taking the note, he slipped it into one of San’s shoes, sure that it would be secure there and not lost in the shuffle of papers that might belong on one of the counters in his home.

With one last caress of the other man’s cheek, Yunho stood up and quietly made his way to the front door. Slipping out into the hall, he clicked the door shut behind him, turning the key in the lock before dropping it back inside though the mail slot. With a fresh vigor and a skip in his step, and with the faint smell of cedar and sage clinging to him, Yunho made his way out of the apartment building and onto the cool, damp streets of Paris in fall. It really had been the best night he’d had in ages. With any luck, someday soon, that sweet, fragile man would step back into Le Chat Noir and back into his life. Until then, he’d have to be satisfied with other passing fancies and the memory of a very lovely night.

Masterlist

[incognitajones]

gift fic

for @fulcrumstardust​‘s champagne birthday! 

Cheers to you, friend! Here is your wedding meet-cute, as requested; my apologies that it’s a bit late, but better late than never...

———

As a rule, Jyn didn’t much enjoy weddings. She didn’t particularly care about marriage as an institution. And as far as parties went, they were usually boring and staid, at least until everyone got drunk on cheap wine and the reception turned into a seething mass of bad dancers and handsy drunks.

Not that she’d expected Baze and Chirrut’s wedding to be like that, but still. The general principle applied.

She was glad she’d come today, though. It was genuinely moving to see Baze and Chirrut stand up in front of their friends and family and join their lives officially (though they’d been loving partners for years). The venue, and the day itself, were beautiful: an understatedly elegant restaurant on the riverbank with a view across the water, and a crystal clear autumn day with sunlight sifting through the bronze-gilt leaves.

There were maybe more guests at the wedding banquet than Jyn had expected, but again—not a wedding person. And both Baze and Chirrut tended to draw people to them (Chirrut by force if necessary, as Baze always said). Jyn recognized a few people, mostly students from the martial arts studio, though she was content to nod at them from afar and keep grazing her way through the astoundingly delicious buffet. She��d given the grooms her best wishes and a little red envelope of money already, so as soon as she’d finished eating her own body weight, she’d be on her way.

Just as she was starting to think about leaving, Baze came up beside her, took her by the arm, and said, “Come meet Chirrut’s newest stray.” She’d just about reached her quotient of new people for the day but Baze was like a (much older, grumpier) brother. Jyn didn’t want to say no to him on today of all days. So she let him lead her through the crowd sipping wine and gorging on hors d'oeuvres to where Chirrut was standing beside the dessert table.

“I brought Jyn to say hello,” Baze announced. He slid an arm around his husband and rested his cheek on the top of Chirrut’s head.

Jyn was so occupied trying not to giggle at this uncharacteristically sentimental display that she didn’t notice the other person in the group until Chirrut started an introduction.

“Ah, thank you, husband! Jyn, this is Cassian Andor—“

“Oh.” The bitten-off syllable escaped Jyn before she could hold it in.

Cassian said in a similar tone of bewilderment, “It’s you.”

“You know each other already? Really?” Chirrut asked, with an irritating note of glee in his voice. “And here I was just thinking how well you’d get along.”

“Not exactly.” Cassian’s low voice was just as magnetically attractive as Jyn remembered it. And then she wanted to kick herself for remembering. “But we’ve met.”

Baze cleared his throat. “I see Mrs. Jiang over there, Chirrut, we should thank her for the gift.”

“Yes!” Chirrut agreed, grinning. “You two enjoy yourselves. Try the chocolatines, they’re excellent.”

Jyn glared at Baze, but he only shrugged and abandoned her. Traitor.

She directed her stare back at Cassian. Why should she run away, after all? She wasn’t embarrassed by running into the Tinder hookup from this spring who’d ghosted her and led her to delete the app out of spite (not because she was that disappointed, no matter what Shara said). And she was not remembering what was underneath those clothes, or the way he’d kissed the hollow beneath her ear with just a faint rasp of stubble… Absolutely not.

She grabbed a pastry and bit into it deliberately, refusing to look away.

“How do you know the grooms?” Cassian asked in a mechanically polite tone, with a death grip on the glass in his hand.

Jyn swallowed a mouthful of flaky puff pastry without tasting it. “Baze is my godfather.”

She snatched up a plate and loaded it with three more chocolatines—maybe enough sugar could make this bearable—before asking an equally inane question. “So you’re taking a class with Chirrut?”

“My physio recommended it to work on my balance,” Cassian said. There was a moment’s awkward hesitation as he waited to see if she would speak, but Jyn had just taken another enormous bite of pastry so he plunged ahead.

“I was in an accident in May,” he said. “Hit by a car. My phone got smashed and I was in the hospital and by the time I managed to get a new one, um…”

“Oh.” Jyn’s eyes widened as she did the math in her head. It had probably happened right after that night. “Oh, shit.”

“I was going to call you. Honestly. I really wanted to see you again. But when I was able to log in again your account had disappeared.” He raised his glass and drained a long, desperate swallow of his drink as though to keep himself from talking.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry. Are you doing okay?” Even to her own ears, Jyn’s attempt at sympathy sounded stilted and clumsy.

He nodded. “Getting better, yeah. The pin in my leg is a pain but hey, at least I can walk.”

He was maybe a little skinnier than a few months ago, but otherwise she couldn't see anything that looked like a healing injury or scar. She shoved back the momentary impulse to check him over, head to foot, very thoroughly, to explore his body with her hands and soothe anywhere that might still be in pain.

Jyn set down her empty plate on the table and shifted from foot to foot. “I wanted to see you again too,” she admitted softly, her chin tilted down.

More people arrived to plunder the dessert table and the two of them were displaced around the corner. In the process, Jyn wound up much closer to Cassian than before. She stayed still, waiting to see if he’d shift away again, but he didn’t.

They shuffled a little farther from the dessert table as yet another group of guests congregated around it. Now they were so close to one of the doors to the terrace that when someone slid it open to come inside, the draft blew a strand of Jyn’s hair over her eyes. She lifted a hand to push it back and watched Cassian track the movement of her fingers.

“I need some air,” she said abruptly. She tipped her head toward the terrace overlooking the water, looking up at him with a question.

Cassian set his glass down and opened the door. The breeze off the river flowed past them, crisp and pure. It had been a gorgeous fall day, but as the sun began to set the temperature would also drop quickly. Jyn was glad she’d worn a long-sleeved dress and tights, but was starting to think a jacket would’ve been a good idea too.

She walked toward the railing overlooking the drop to the river and propped her elbows on it. Strands of her hair were falling out of its knot and the wind teased them across the nape of her neck like a stroking hand. She remembered Cassian’s fingers cupping her there, holding her as he moved inside her, and a long shiver drew up her spine.

“Are you cold?” Cassian shrugged out of his suit jacket.

Jyn opened her mouth to refuse, but he said, “Please?” and the memory jolt of hearing him say the same word on a low groan short-circuited her.

She nodded, mumbling, “Thanks.”

He placed it carefully over her shoulders without touching her, but the sensation of being surrounded by warmth that smelled like him still fogged her mind. She wrapped her arms around herself inside the satin lining to hold in the heat and to keep herself from reaching for him.

“We could go back inside,” he suggested, but Jyn was reluctant to give up the lingering golden light. And the company of Cassian.

She shook her head. “It’s nicer out here,” she said inadequately, hoping that she sounded like she wanted him to stick around.

He leaned on the railing next to her, mimicking the casual drape of her body. “Anyway, I’m sorry that our wires got crossed.”

“Don’t apologize!” Jyn ordered, feeling like a heel. “I’m sorry. I take back all the nasty thoughts I had about you.”

“All of them?” he said, turning his head to look down at her. “I don’t blame you for being angry, given what it looked like.”

“Maybe not every single one.” She licked her lips.

The honeyed light of the setting sun caught in his dark brown hair, and Jyn found herself trapped staring at the way it fell across his face and brought out the amber in his eyes. His mouth had lines around it that looked like they could be from pain, but when he smiled at her they deepened into something like real happiness.

She lifted up on her toes, just a little, and pressed her lips to his: a soft, light kiss as gentle as she could be despite how badly she wanted to consume him. His hands went to her arms and held her up, sustaining the contact as they opened to each other and the kiss sank deeper, hungrier. She leaned into Cassian and he let her weight press him tight between her body and the railing at his back. At the smoky burn of alcohol on his tongue she made a shameless noise, pushing closer still.

He jerked in her grip and she pulled back, terrified that she’d hurt him. “Cassian?”

“Jyn,” he murmured in response. His hands lifted to cradle her face and he kissed her again, lips dragging along her cheek until her skin kindled at his touch. She wasn’t cold anymore, she was a blazing fire.

She whispered, “It’s probably rude to start making out at someone’s wedding.”

“Probably.” His voice was roughly gravelled, and his breath on her cheek made her shiver again. “Should we stop?”

She pulled his mouth back to hers and kissed him once more, twice more—and forced herself to stop at three before she lost her head completely.

“Come on,” she said breathlessly, rocking back on her heels and taking his hand. “Come with me. I’m going to give you your jacket back. And then you can give me all the rest of your clothes.”

[captainsuke]

Yusuf should be asleep, he should be wrapped around his husband's body, taking strength from the warmth he's never quite felt anywhere else.

Instead he's in the kitchen, the cool metal grip on his pistol warmed by his hand wrapped white knuckled around it.

He'd heard a noise.

He'd dreamed he'd heard a noise.

It doesn't matter. It's late and the little cottage they are currently calling home is empty, except for his sleeping husband, and Joe, standing vigil in the dark.

(rest of fic under the cut for all you ao3 haters)

There's a small gap between window and wall, and the wind flows through it with a whispering wail. Once all houses creaked and swayed and whistled with the wind, little leaks with pots that were emptied in the morning, a row of fine dust along the window sills and under the doors gifted from a night of wild wind. Now these things are considered nuisances, problems to be torn down and rebuilt new and unremarkable. His heart feels heavy tonight, the feeling of long years catching up on him and curling it's fingers around his soul.

Joe looks out the window of his and Nicky's little Maltese cottage, the moon shines bright enough behind shifting clouds that even the slivers of light allow Joe to see the branches of the apple tree in the front garden sway with the cool night's breeze. Many summers ago they'd laid in the shade of that tree, eating the sweetly tart fruit until they'd made themselves sick. He has a sketch - or eight - of the passing shadows dappling Nicky's face as he'd laid back, full and content.

A memory stacked upon another memory from the days they'd done the same with Andromache, years and years ago, four, five hundred years ago, filling their bellies with overripe apricots after several long hard years of fighting and barely being able to tell if they had even made a difference, let alone actually helped anyone. Even now Joe can close his eyes and see Qýuhn's hair blowing free in the cooling winds coming up along the Peloponnese peninsula. Andromache's fingers sticky with pasteli, her cheeks rosy where she laid them on Qýuhn's thigh. Nicolò, sunbleached and glowing in the golden of light of a Mediterranean sunset.

He remembers retelling the apple story when they'd all met up again, Booker with his ever present flask, Andy sharing long drinks from it, all them tired but smiling, leaning heavily of the heavenly taste of crisp apples and the folly of gorging on enough fresh fruit to upset their stomachs. Because it made Booker laugh. Because it gave them all something to laugh about, to distract themselves from the weather turning and Sèbastien's eyes growing cagey as the winter's teeth started to bite.

Nicky had stoked the cottage's fire til they'd been sweating in front of the tiny hearth, toasty and ridiculous in their undergarments, with thick woolen socks on their feet in respect for the wild weather that battered at the windows. He'd felt happy that they'd managed to turn that haunted look to smiling eyes that crinkled at the edges. Had that moment meant something? Anything? Nothing? Was the glow in his eyes merely momentary? A trick of light and the gleam of drunken eyes?

Would this be the rest of his days? Questioning every moment, desperately searching for where he went wrong, where he should have noticed Booker's pain. Looking for the moment that had been Sèbastien's last straw.

It's funny, Joe can joke, he can laugh, he can make vague reference and yell angry accusing words, he can recite a bit of original poem he's writing as he speaks, but he can't work out how to open his mouth and say the words why did you hurt me?

He's always horribly envied Nicky's ability to put his hurt away, to shelve it for later, or never if he feels it best. Even as he's pulled his hair out in frustration as his other half willfully tears himself to pieces in an effort to find a way to please everyone.

Oh, he knows they're both different shades of Not Dealing Well, both of them like a purpose to distract themselves.

Foolishly, stupidly, for a wild moment Joe wishes for someone else to try for them, to attack them, just so he can slip back into the head space of being a unit, a simple moving part in a machine much larger than himself, Nicky and him working hand in hand, two halves of a whole.

He desperately wishes for that feeling, for anything other than devastated, tearing, hating hurt that sits on his lungs like peine forte et dure, each time he feels like the worst of the pain has occurred he remembers some other occasion, some other memory now colored by betrayal.

He can forgive, he can sympathize, he can hold his brother close and cry for the losses he's suffered.

But anger stabs through at the thought of him not returning that empathy. Like he and all the kin before Booker haven't suffered days of death and nights of death. Day after day, month after month of unimaginable loss, not knowing how to stop it, how to help it, just enduring as time pass uncaring of the pain felt.

He's held Nicky as he begged for the end, for them to finally (please, please, please) be released from the unrelenting years of horrors, just as Nicky has pulled him close while he cried, screamed, wailed for even the slightest chance of reprieve. From the widow with dead eyes and fevered blush, burying her last child and going back to work at the sick houses, for the children with nothing – nothing - yet who could still muster a smile, for Nicky spitting blood, choking, drowning, dying, then coming back to do it all over again. Never ending and relentless.

This is stupid.

He is being stupid.

Awake in the middle of the night, stalking around their Malta house gun in hand, the most unnatural state of himself, but unable to rest, convinced that if he relaxed, if his guard dropped for a moment, he would lose it all.

He places the gun on the table, sits down, there's no peace or answers to be found in an old cottage kitchen by the sea at midnight.

All there is, is the long shadows of moonlight between furniture, the evening dishes neatly washed and drying on the sink, a glass full of pens on the table, Joe's gun now sitting atop Nicky's latest writing attempt. Never long, never complicated, Joe found himself devastated by each small letter his husband left for him, even the three thousand that merely read I love you ♥♥♥♥, he held each one to equal esteem, though Nicky barely seemed to remember writing them, he would just smile and say I was thinking of you.

you unmake me.

you remake me.

everyday

Doodled across cheap lined notepaper, tucked under his dinner plate. They'd shared that meal just a few hours ago, Nicky's eyes had been tired but he'd kissed Joe's curls with a soft smile as he'd served dinner.

A meal that had taken more than half the day to create because if Nicky had the time he found peace in simmering oil and tomatoes, in adding all the extra ingredients that might make an Italian swear but had delighted them so when they'd first tasted them, that now they'd add them to whatever meal they could.

It'd been less than a week and Nicky was already on first name basis with the halal butcher a few blocks away, and many a day they stroll the streets, collecting fresh produce from the little garden markets, stopping by Zakaria's so he could wrap the evening meal with a only my finest cut for my favorite customers and a wink, despite having claimed the same to the little Italian grandmother before them, blushing and waving her hands in a flustered, delighted stop motion.

Joe closes his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, like his heart would be beat out of his chest, fall out onto the floorboards that they'd sanded and placed lovingly when they'd first started rebuilding this little cottage. Nicky could live his life with just Yusuf and the sea and be happy, but Joe needed people, needed to see people living their lives no matter how mundane. No matter how out of sorts he's been since they arrived, exhausted and devastated from London, Nicky hadn't forgotten that.

And so Nicolò knows the butcher by name, and, in turn, Zakaria's fisherman boyfriend, who stocks the butcher shop with the freshest of catches and shies away from company, with deep sad eyes and ankle bones that jut out like he needs a Nonna to fuss over him.

And so he's befriended the old ladies from the markets who give him unsolicited advice on his roses, on his apple tree, on the lush green vine that flowers bright bursts of color, on how to keep That Nice Young Man He's Always With happy.

And so each of these people is a friend of Joe's as well.

Joe takes one last long look out the window. Daring anyone who might be out there to take the moment. To give him a reprieve from his thoughts.

But the apple trees branches are the only thing moving. Wind rustling leaves the only sounds to be heard over the soft ebbing crash of waves in the distance.

There's no respite to be found tonight, he thinks as he put his pistol away. Part of him aches to remain armed, to keep vigilant, because last time, last time, but he won't walk into their bedroom with a loaded gun in hand. Not tonight when he feels like his very soul has been twisted, not when he still feels as if unseen eyes are watching him.

As Joe closes the bedroom door behind him, eyes open slow but sharp, immediately awake, perhaps awake before Joe came in. His Nicky is a light sleeper, more prone to 3 or 4 hours sleep before waking alert and ready to face the living hours,.

Nicky's eyes go soft, the faintest of gentle smiles curling his lips as he focuses on Yusuf.

“Where are you, my love?” he asks with quiet rasping voice of someone newly woken.

He doesn't know, he feels adrift, but Nicky's hand moves, reaches out and Joe crosses the room to take it as the lifeline he needs.

“What do you need?” His voice is steady and calm and ready to promise anything in his power to Joe.

And Joe feels his heart constrict, he can't live without this man, he thinks wildly

(a flash, a dagger in the dark, Nicolò on the ground, a halo of his blood, his beautiful skull, his precious brains scattered across the floor without second thought)

he wants to know Andy's okay, he wants her and Nile here immediately so he can see for himself that they're safe, he wants Qýuhn in his arms so much it physically aches. He wants her dark humor and her sharp eyes. He wants to hear her screech like stepped on cat whenever something delighted her. He wants Booker snorting into his wine at some stupid joke, he wants to know he's alive, that he hasn't thrown himself into another stupid situation.

In the morning, he thinks, in the morning he'll speak to Nile, her occasional furtive texting isn't quite as secretive as she perhaps thinks but none of them had felt the need to tell her to stop.

In the morning, he can wait til morning to soothe the lies and worries that his anxiety haunts him with. Til then, he threads his hands tighter with Nicky's, lets him pull Joe to bed, lets him rearrange them til he's flat on his back with Joe's head is resting on his chest, Nicolò's heartbeat in his ear.

He keeps a hold of Joe's hand, brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to where they're joined, then curls it close to Joe and his chest, as if shielding it against the rest of the world.

“You, just you.” Joe tells the darkness.

“You have me,” Nicolò says, his breath, his lips, his jaw moving against Joe's curls.

“What do you need?” He asks again, free hand coming to rest, cradling Joe's head, gently gently he feels fingers move lightly in tiny soft circles.

“Tell me something.”

Joe pulls their joined hands close, presses his own kiss against Nicky's long fingers, holds it close enough for his breath to warm skin “Please. Tell me something good.”

It's a hard ask, he knows, he knows, every good moment of their lives can be tied to a bad one, the past could be a minefield with no directions or signs. But Nicolò rarely shied from a challenge.

“Did I ever tell you of the time Qýuhn demanded to know my intentions with you?”

“But she loved you!” He mumbles against their joined hands.

“Yes she did, but she loved your heart just as fiercely.” Nicky's chest moves against Joe's cheek as he snorts, amused, “We'd had to have been intimate for almost a year by this time, but she had me feeling like a sham of a man standing before the most beautiful man's guardian, offering a pauper's dowery.”

Joe starts shifting to argue but the hand on his head keeps him still, gentle but firm.

“It was good. To be reminded that you had someone else who would fight for your happiness, that my love for you was visible enough to be challenged, a reminder that we both still had family even if it looked very different to what we'd been born with. It'd been nice to know no matter how much I felt I didn't deserve, I'd been ready to fight for the right to let that be your decision.”

“You do deserve me,” the gentle circles on his scalp are making him sleepy but he puts a token argument, the principle of no one was allowed talk shit about Nicky, not even Nicky, one he was always ready to defend.

“Hush, you asked for a story, this is my story.”

“Scusi, scusi,” he kisses Nicky's hand again, “tell your story, tell me how you convinced me that Qýuhn you were worthy of my hand in marriage.”

He swears he can hear Nicky smile in the dark.

“I didn't, Andromache came in and declared they should leave us to make our mistakes and then stab which ever of us was most in the wrong.”

Joe can't help but laugh. “Qýuhn like that?”

He feels Nicky's soft laughter vibrate through his skin, he wants to die like this, in a moment like this, just the two of them entwined.

“No, she called Andy soulless and unromantic, they went outside to spar. We didn't see them again til morning, and Qýuhn never mentioned it again, so maybe Andy had a little romance in her.”

“How have I never head of this story?”

Nicky's answering chuckle is a delight.

“You came back and we had the house to ourselves for the entire night.” The hand on Joe's head flexes, like he wants to hold Joe as tight as he is can but its as much as their position allows. “It was a good day. We were loved, we are loved.”

He wants to crawl inside Nicolò, live forever embraced by his heart, to feel every lung full of breath press against him

“Sleep my love,” Nicky says leaning low to press his cheek against Joe's curls, to place an unaimed kiss to his forehead.

Sleep.

Nicky’s heartbeat is a sure and steady thing against his ear

(a monitor screaming as his lives hand falls limp against restraints)

Joe squeezes his eyes tightly shut then forces himself to relax, to hear the beat that's been by his side for a thousand years. He thinks of crinkles at the sides of Qýuhn's eyes when she grinned, the way she'd look to Joe when she found something fun to share.

He thinks of the way Booker's face grew soft in the late of the night when the game had long ended and everyone had gone to sleep and it was just the two of them, keeping the sleepless night company.

He thinks of the glow of Nile's face when they walked the halls of the National Museum, her excited but obviously knowledgeable commentary, how he itches to draw the lines of her joy over and over til he gets it just right.

He thinks of Andy in Marrakesh, the feel of her ribs reverberating with the force of her laugh as he swung her around. She's mother, weird aunt, odd stranger, honored elder, pain in the ass know-it-all older sister and so many more things he can not think to name, but she's theirs, and it's going to take a lot more than mortality to take her from them.

He swears it.

Finally he thinks of Nicky.

Nicky with long hair in his face, of the ever changing color his eyes across the firelight, of the weight of his body passed out, sated atop Yusuf, of the weight of his body lifeless as Joe pulled him somewhere to revive safely. The heaviness of his gaze and the weightlessness of even his smallest smile. Of his hands as they held Joe together, the gentleness of his touch as he put him back together. Of the unique light in his eyes, the fire that burns brightest when his sword is out. He thinks of words freely given when speech was hardest, he thinks of the uncountable I love you's, the innumerable languages he's learnt just to speak them and hear them back.

He thinks of hot blood spattered across his face and the way Nicolòs eyes would fight to meet his own when the end was coming. He thinks of the tightening of hands before they became unbearably limp. He thinks of the bad deaths, of eyelashes glued together with tears as hes gasped alive and the watery smile that followed. He thinks of Nicky moving, his sword swinging, on broken ankle, spitting blood and still moving.

His head, his heart, his life is full, and sometimes it feels like he'll drown with all that's in it.

Nicky's hand moves from his head, moves to stroke down his spine, long and slow in repetition.

Sleep he says again, his own voice thick at the edge of sleep himself.

Joe hugs a small breath, then slows his breathing to match the deep level breathing of Nicolò asleep. He thinks about the first time they slept like this, arms around each other, tangled and holding tight. He thinks of the countless times he's rubbed his nose against the back of Nicky's neck as he tried to catch just a little more sleep time.

There's a heaviness growing in his limbs as he half dreams of Nicky as he wraps himself around and burrows himself closer to Nicky. Slowly, steadily and then suddenly all at once, the sense memory of nine hundred years in this man's arms lulls him into sleep.