#middle of the week snippet

[whitepeachrum]

Just Like Me, They Long To Be

Fandom: Hetalia (personified) Pairing: Ivan x Kiku (RusPan/PanRus) Content Length: Short (~1200 words)

“Do my ears deceive me, or is my little birdie singing?” Ivan peeked around the corner at his boyfriend, who was lost in his own world as he washed dishes.

“Ahh!” Kiku jumped, dropping dishes into the sink at Ivan’s unexpected presence. When did the door open? Was it nighttime already? Why was Ivan suddenly interrupting his usual dish-scrubbing time?

Ivan chuckled at Kiku’s startled reaction and walked over to make sure nothing had broken—neither the plates nor the delicate skin of his partner.

“Ivan,” Kiku said, a hint of anger in his eyes and a flush across his cheeks. “You’re back early. I didn’t expect you until dinnertime.”

“Mm. Half-day,” he smiled back and placed a kiss on Kiku’s forehead to ease his worries.

“Why?”

“Oh? You’re not happy to see me! I should go back to work then and tell them they’ve made a mistake.” The larger man turned to walk away, but Kiku instinctively grabbed his arm, making sure he wouldn’t stray far.

“That’s unnecessary, Vanya. You’re already home…”

Vanya? He can’t remember the last time he called him by that name. He’s probably pouting right now, Ivan thought. A cheeky grin returned to his face as he looked over his shoulder at Kiku and confirmed his theory. It was almost too easy.

“You don’t want me to go… Is that right?”

Kiku let go of his hand and nodded.

“Well, lucky for you, I don’t want to let you go either.” Ivan turned around and lifted Kiku, sitting him down on the kitchen counter and placing his arms on both sides of him, making sure he couldn’t run away. Startled by the sudden move, Kiku stared at Ivan with wide eyes, his cheeks not showing any sign of losing their vibrant hue.

“W-What are you doing?” Kiku asked, feeling his own breath bounce off Ivan’s face and back at him.

“Waiting for my little birdie to sing again,” Ivan said, tilting his head, locks of hair charmingly flopping to frame his round cheeks.

“I wasn’t singing.”

“You’re being modest, Kiku,” Ivan continued to grin.

Kiku looked past his eyes and at his fluffy hair, hoping he wouldn’t pester him to sing. Not that he had been singing in the first place. Now that Kiku looked at him more closely, it had been a while since Ivan cut his hair. It was getting longer, making it harder to see his cute face. Kiku’s gentle hands combed through Ivan’s hair, testing the weight of his silky strands. It was like raking his fingers through fine sand. If they had been in the sunlight, Kiku might have even thought it would glimmer like fine sand.

Ivan leaned his face into Kiku’s hand, planting soft kisses on it and holding his palm close.

“My little birdie won’t sing for me…” Ivan said quietly to himself.

“Ivan, I don’t like doing it when people around me can hear it.”

Ivan raised his eyebrows, then looked over one shoulder at the empty dining room, then over the other at the dishes in the sink, then back at Kiku. “There’s no one else around.”

Kiku paused for a moment to look into Ivan’s puppy eyes. There he goes again, Kiku thought, making it harder to say no. But even if he couldn’t say it, Kiku slowly and hesitantly shook his head.

Ivan sighed with slight dramatics and straightened up, releasing Kiku from his temporary cage.

“Alright. If you say no, you say no. What can I do?” Ivan shrugged and turned to walk away from the kitchen.

Kiku watched Ivan walk off, a newfound guilt blooming in his chest. Why was this such a big deal to Ivan? It wasn’t something massive to fixate on, but it must have been interesting to him. Perhaps… No, he couldn’t have possibly sounded good. The water was running, his hearing was jumbled… and… Kiku couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse.

Well, if that’s what he wanted, here goes nothing.

Kiku tightly closed his eyes and softly spoke some words until a melody slowly formed, decorating the air with a velvety tune, just loud enough for Ivan to hear. When Ivan realized Kiku was trying to tell him something, he stopped in his tracks, listened to his song, and smiled widely. He put a hand to his chest to calm his heart, which beat louder than the gentle stream of words.

Ah, so that’s why he called me that, Ivan thought. He ventured off to his room and quietly gave Kiku the space to perform his song.

“Just like me, they long to be… so… close…” Kiku sighed, “…to you,” his final words trailing softly into spoken word. As he finished, he sat on the kitchen counter and waited to see if Ivan was coming back—or if he had actually left the house again. Kiku’s eyes scanned the entryways to the room and found it quiet once again. No pants swishing with every step, no chuckling from directly around the corner, not even a lingering whiff of his cologne on the hand Ivan had kissed.

Oh.

Perhaps… I shouldn’t have pushed him away like that, Kiku thought. He looked down sadly at the floor, climbed off the countertop—making sure he wouldn’t slip on the wet floor—and returned to washing dishes. It’s not like they were going to wash themselves.

After several minutes of washing and drying, Kiku decided to go looking for Ivan. Maybe he had hurt his feelings by telling him no. Either way, Kiku should apologize. He should have been more open with Ivan.

“Ivan…?” Kiku called out softly as he searched for his partner.

“Yes, my little songbird?” Ivan replied from the living room. Oh, there he was.

“Did you…?” Mm. No. He shouldn’t ask that again. He’ll probably ask me to do it again. “I didn’t mean to make you upset. I’m sorry.”

“You made me upset?? You couldn’t possibly!”

“I thought I did…”

“I was just intrigued by your hidden talent, that’s all,” Ivan chuckled and hugged Kiku, thinking he needed the comfort more than he did.

“It’s not all that great, honestly,” the smaller of the two mumbled.

“Kiku, do you know why birds sing?”

He looked up at Ivan, listening carefully to what he was about to say.

“They use songs as a way to express themselves. Some birds sing because they’re happy, some sing because there’s danger around the corner.”

“Mm, I see,” Kiku said.

“So then… why did my little songbird sing today?”

“Mostly out of boredom.”

“Oh,” Ivan blinked and contemplated his response. It was probably really quiet at home when he wasn’t there. And lonely. …It was no wonder Kiku felt the way he did.

“I’m glad you’re home earlier, Vanya.” Kiku slipped his arms around the playful giant and rested his head on his chest. Ivan’s body softened as he heard Kiku’s words, feeling his own uneasiness about his worried partner slowly dissipate.

“You’ve decided to give me a nickname,” Ivan smiled.

“That’s the song my heart wants to sing.”

[peaches2217]

New fic coming sometime this week — and it’s a doozy! It’s nearing 6k words, which is like. Twice as long as my previous longest oneshot.

I hope y’all like bittersweet angst~

[stellewriites]

fuck i just realised i completely forgot wip wednesday this week,,

[kumakuma-circus]

i think i have too many wip persona fanfics. just a hunch-

[jade-of-mourning]

some wips and doodles from summer

[propagandaagainstbrownies]

played re2, wasted all ammo on the first zombie despite getting a headshot (by some miracle in my panic) and exited the game unsaved cuz i couldn't open the door without ammo

[prlssprfctn]

The first time, Tim notices someone observing them from afar, it is when they are all settled for a brief dinner together. It is the middle of the week, and Bruce gathered all of them together to... relax. Which is strange but not unwelcome. Everyone is so involved in chattering and bantering that they don't notice a lingering gaze through the window; they don't, but Tim does.

It takes him a few seconds to figure out that it is Jason.

He is not sure if Bruce reached for him to invite, and Jason just declined, or there was no offer to begin with, but Tim knows for sure Jason lurkes behind windows for a few minutes before disappearing in the night.

And the funniest thing? Tim understands him.

He thinks he is not Jason's replacement — never truly was, despite what the other thought — but in a way, they did swap their places. Because in the past, it was Tim, who hid on the rooftops, staring at Bruce and his family, listening to the snippets of their conversations. And now it is Jason.

It is still different, of course. Tim had a choice, and it was his... enthusiastic project, if anything — Jason doesn't really. But if anyone understands the feeling of standing far away from everyone, it is still Tim.

That's why the next time in happens, Tim reaches out.

It is after the particularly easy mission, when Tim spots the red motion on the rooftop. He slips away from Nightwing and Robin, who debate about something with Batman through the comms, and finds himself standing behind Red Hood.

The way Red Hood taps his fingertips on the balustrade makes Tim remember that he is not included in their comms anymore. He wonders how lonely it is, to hear the voices of his brothers, but never being able to grasp the whole conversation they have.

'Hood,' he calls for him.

To Jason's credit, he doesn't scramble in panic, even if it seems that he is surprised by his appearance.

'Red,' he mutters back, instantly defensive. 'What, came to mock me?'

Tim rolls his eyes; he wishes things would be easier with Jason, but they are not, and he can't really blame him for that.

'Had I ever mocked you?' He copies his stance, arms folding in the chest. When Jason tilts his head, almost asking, "Really now?" Tim rolls his eyes again. 'Okay, I did a few times. But it mostly were jokes about your death.'

Jason chuckles.

'Good one, punk. It changes everything.'

'You like jokes about your death,' Tim protests. 'And I know you allow Arsenal to joke about it, so it is not entirely closed topic.'

'I don't remember allowing you to joke about it, though.'

...

This conversation is so fucking stupid. Tim didn't even came here for this, but-

But fine. He still can win.

'So, you only allow it to your friends. Fine. Let's be friends,' Jason chokes on his own exhausted sigh. 'Do you need some friendship questionnaires to fill to be my friend? I can arrange that.'

Jason kindly flips him off under his breath before disappearing in the night, leaving him alone with whining Nightwing and irritated Bruce in his ear.

The next time he stalks down Jason, who in turn is stalking Damian and Bruce, he shoves in his hand twenty three papers filled with bunch of friendship questions — half stripped from internet, half made by Tim that involve the specifics of their jobs.

He doesn't expect anything to come after it, but in two weeks after Jason returns to the city after his mission with Outlaws, Tim finds these papers filled with surprisingly neat, calligraphic answers.

And he gets the printed copy of the same questions, with one page of an additional one, written in the same handwriting, and with a little sticky note atop of it.

Your turn, Timbo.

Tim smirks.

Oh, he will so drag Jason back in the family, somehow.

[theonlyadawong]

trailer 2morrow...

[stottlemorgan]

A Dog is a Dog / Low Honour Arthur Morgan x Female Reader (Smut 18+ MDNI)

Summary: Arthur returns to camp in the middle of the night after being gone for weeks. Will this time be any different? Tags: Smut, 18+, MDNI! Angst within smut. P in v mostly, kissing, grinding, Arthur bring a rude bastard and not in a fun way. He's a little bit pushy and very aloof. Word count: 4,250. Author’s Note: This fic is purely self-indulgent but after posting snippets, I've had people very interested in it, so thank you my loves! <3 I'm not suuuuper enthralled by parts of it but my enthusiasm at my own writing tends to wax and wane quite rapidly. I hope you enjoy, my dears. Ao3 Link. All photos above are sourced from Pinterest.

Blankets and pillows unbelonging to you grow heavy with the floral musk of your sheened skin in the early summer warmth. Yet another sennight has passed and the cot you doze in feels as though it belongs less and less to the man who owns it. Days spent growing quieter with each morning that you wake alone; your stomach clenching alongside your fists as you anticipate the abrupt return of the wild dog who has so firmly locked his jaws into your rump.

The camp is draped in a slumbersome blanket of indigo; the communal campfire bidding the previous day a farewell with its last lingering smoulder. The warm whispering breeze weaves between the strong legs of a Hungarian Thoroughbred as it slows to a thumping trot before halting, followed by equally heavy boots meeting the dirt. The clunk of spurs and the whip of reins being thrown over a hitching post disquiets the still night air. Two firm pats to the horse’s neck sound out as a hand sinks into the satchel at its side, retrieving an apple and guiding it to the horse’s mouth with a satisfying crunch. Steady steps soon follow, working a purposeful path through the camp and into the tent where you lay amidst your dreams.

“Girl.”

A baritone voice grates through the gentle sough of the soft summer wind and your sleepy breaths.

“Girl.”

The word is reiterated, low and impatient as hands move to pull off boots, dropping them loudly one after the other. A brief furrow of your brow is met with a deep nasal huff and a palm coming to roughly shove your shoulder, “Up.” Another shove of your shoulder streamlines your senses further. Blurs of bronze and blue blend through your fluttering lashes as you stir. Your upper lip curls, a weak grumble croaking through your throat. Yet another rude shove into your arm strengthens your gentle grousing into a truculent groan. The rustling of the sheets as you turn over toward the object of your annoyance clashes uglily with the shucking off and discarding of a jacket.

“Mmhn– Arthur?” You rasp, inhaling deeply, your hands coming up to rub some focus into your vision before your muscles tingle with the urge to stretch. A slow shudder streams up through your body as you reach above your head, your back and hips arcing. As a quiet strained sound leaves you, your blinking eyes are greeted with the sight of Arthur unbuttoning and pulling off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor.

Through the dim and fuzzy night, you drowsily register the soft and strong shapes of his body. The faint gleam to his unwashed skin, the hug of his jeans around his thighs as he pushes his hips forward to unfasten his gun belt and lets it drop with a clank. The slight plushness of his stomach that bunches at the waistband of his jeans as he takes a hefty seat on the cot beside you. The warm, thick veins that snake through the skin of his hands and arms as he unbuttons his jeans with one hand and reaches out with the other to palm greedily at your hip through the blanket before moving to your waist, then your breasts. A surprised, shaky gasp fills your lungs and he subtly responds with a low hum as he clumsily lifts his hips, yanking his jeans and drawers down in a few jagged motions before kicking them off to the floor. You bring your hands down to bat his away but it quickly moves from your chest to pull the blanket draped over you down, his eyes trailing over your wrinkled chemise.

He shifts to face you more, taking a deep breath, savouring the special way your flowery musk mingles with the sharp remnants of his own. Your attention is drawn to the peek of his flushed cock as it bobs upwards from between his thighs, and then to the tug of a smirk which bares his teeth for the briefest moment.

“My bed comfortable enough for you, Miss?” A tilt of his head and a raise of his brow only adds to the cattish tone of his voice. Your mind lags, snagged on slumber, on the rosy tip of his cock, on the acrid scent of his sweat as he leans in over you, his hands grabbing the hem of your chemise. “Up, sit up.” He grumbles and before you can properly follow, he tugs the garment up, bringing you with it.

“Arthur.” You protest, your voice cracking, but he keeps pulling, forcing your arms up and taking it off over your head, baring your upper half. He presses the bunched up chemise to his face for a moment, his eyes closing. The quiet meaning behind the covetous gesture muddles your annoyance with a hot flash of yearning and you very almost whine. He throws it to the floor and leans back in. A strangled sound bursts from you as his mouth opens against the softness of your stomach. You sit up further, swaying a little as you push a palm into his head, knocking his hat off in the process. He glares up at you and bites down, his teeth smarting your flesh.

“Arthur!”

“Quit your whinin’.” Arthur warns as he climbs onto the cot, it dipping greatly with the added weight. He pushes your thighs apart and ducks down, mouthing at your ribs. You writhe and sigh, a hotness flowing from his mouth down through to your core, your drawers starting to stick to your skin from more than just the humidity. With a huff, you push yourself up the cot with your feet but he’s quick to grab your waist and firmly pull you back down as if you’d not even tried. You grunt and push his head but he grabs your wrist and thumps it back into the cot. His eyes flit up to meet yours and they’re dark, the usual springy hues of his irises clouded over by a familiar and nasty hunger. Your hand twitches, about to move again but the way his eyes widen slightly gives you pause.

“Stop.” He breathes against the skin of your breast.

“You drunk?” You whisper as he closes his lips around your soft nipple, swirling his tongue until it grows hard. Your mouth drops open and you shudder out a sigh to which the edges of his mouth curl into a smile. He continues until he draws a whimper from you. Until your head lolls to the side. Until he feels your back delicately bow. He teases with his teeth briefly, and his hands squeeze low on your hips, dipping into your skin. His breath draws and releases, deep and shaky through his nose, and a quiet rumble of triumph vibrates in his throat when he feels the faintest buck of your hips. Gotcha.

He releases your nipple with a quiet pop and licks his lips, “No.” He murmurs and palms about your sides, fiddling with your drawers until he pinches the fabric and drags them down. You huff as he unceremoniously bends your leg and pulls the drawers to your knee, and repeats with the other leg. He then slips your drawers from your calves in one move, throwing them away, and uses the moment where your legs are raised to press down against you, your underthighs warm against his solid chest. His cock throbs as he presses the underside flatly against your clit, his balls resting warm and heavy against your ass. A sigh seeps from his chest, tired and low, soothed.

“Then what–”

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head, his brow furrowing and you let out a little vexed breath in response. A moment passes quietly between you. He thumbs at behind your knees, his head tilting as he just watches you. Your flushed, aggrieved expression. Your chest rising and falling that bit quicker. Your arms resting either side of your head, no longer making any attempts to move. He loves it when you wait for him. He loves it when you accept what he so desires to give you. You feel his cock twitch and he feels the tension move through your legs as your toes curl. He takes in the faint wince that curls your upper lip and pinches your brow. A lazy smirk pulls at his mouth and in tandem with how his grip on your legs tightens, so does the ticklish want coiling through your gut. It takes you another moment to find your voice again, 

“Where you bee–?” He thrusts and your eyes roll back, a tight whimper bursting from you as he warms his thick cock between your slick folds. He groans quietly, rocking his hips languidly, his hands finding your breasts. He circles the pads of his thumbs gently over your nipples, the sensation drawing the hairs on your skin towards him as your skin tauts and prickles. “Where–” You huff out but cut off with a sharp gasp when he laps at the sensitive skin behind one of your knees. Your corresponding foot kicks in the air, your leg seizing and he hums into your skin, the roll of his hips picking up.

“Where I’ve been don’t matter.”

Pleasure and aggravation swirl in your stomach, making you feel drunk with both the want for Arthur and the burning urge to smack him. You find yourself reaching for his head, trying to pull him down, to kiss him, but the column of his neck stays locked straight as he watches his cock glisten with your arousal, his lips parted. You join him in peering down at the sight and a shaky moan slips from you before you look back up to his steadily flushing face. Through the haze, you notice that his beard has grown, the scar on his chin buried beneath bristling hazel hair. You also notice that his hair isn’t in fact pomaded back as you’d thought but tied back.

His eyes flit to yours and immediately back down in response to the sudden doting look on your face, “I miss–” you squeak only to watch him swiftly press down onto you, catching your mouth with his. Stop talking. Stop looking. Light traces of rum and something savoury coat your mouth as Arthur’s tongue licks at your teeth and curls against your own, moving in sloppy tandem with each thrust of his twitching cock between your folds. Your hands grasp at his hair, feeling the leather strap tying it back and pulling him ever closer, letting him in as you always do, as he always hopes you will. The both of you moan into one another’s mouths, so similarly heated that his breath shakes at the vulnerability of the moment. You feel his hands squeeze your waist before one trails down to stroke your swollen clit, teasing the building pressure between your thighs. The way your thighs push at his inner arms, trying to open further, and the huff from you that warms his mouth draws a strained gasp from him as he pulls back. He brings that same hand to your mouth, palm up, resting the tips of his fingers against your bottom lip.

“Spit,” he orders breathily, and you lift your head a bit, pooling some saliva into your mouth before dribbling it onto his flattened fingers, “Gonna need more than that for me, darlin’.” He gives a slow thrust of his hips and you shiver, having to force yourself to pay attention in order to drool into his hand further. He grunts in appreciation before brushing the remaining spit from your lips and moving to slather his cock with it, his gaze drawn to your soaked core. He returns to slowly rocking his hips, his now fully slickened cock pulling a gasp from you as your slightly cooled saliva makes contact with your tingling warm tissue.

“Arthur, please, it’s been–”

“You know I ain’t here to talk.”

Arthur takes hold of your underthighs yet again, holding them apart and pushing them upwards until your knees brush your shoulders. You yearn to pull him down again, to hold him close, but the set of his jaw stops you. He arches his back, pulling his hips back a little more with each thrust, his cock slowly sliding down your centre until his tip notches into the rim of your core.

“We can talk some other day.” His hands come to hold your shoulders. Despite the gulp that thickens in your throat and the way your hands grip the blanket as you realise what’s coming, you snark up at him, 

“When’s that, then?”

“God, just shut up–” He bares his teeth as he pushes his cock slowly but firmly all the way in, a growl in his throat underscoring the keening moan that slips from your gaping mouth. Your mind blanks, your thoughts simmering down to just feeling as he uses your shoulders to keep you steady and carelessly starts up a rough rhythm that makes your feet bounce either side of his head. His body rolls against you, the soft ridges of his length rubbing against your plush walls with each eager thrust. A whine shakes in your throat and your head falls back into the cot, your core squeezing around his cock and your back begging to arch. Arthur bites down on a curse, his hands sliding down your chest to massage your breasts, pinching your nipples between his thumbs and the sides of his forefingers. “S’nice, ain’t it? You shuttin’ up for a second?” He stickily mouths his way up your chest to your neck. Your response is a breathy mewl, your hands snaking around his shoulders and threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. He hums into your skin, suckling and steadily biting harder and harder until you cry out. He keeps his teeth locked into your purpling flesh as he picks up the pace, the familiar buzzing pressure forming in your stomach causing you to dig your nails into his scalp.

“Oh, Arthur–”

He releases the skin of your throat with a wet sound, his voice ragged, his teeth tacking against your glowing skin as he speaks, “Better not be another question, girl–”

“Don’t stop!” Your voice comes out loud and pleading, your toes curling. Arthur feels your walls starting to pulse and a shivering groan tears through his chest. Driving himself deeper, enough so that his cock meets your sweet spot, he circles his hips, grinding his pelvis against your clit. His curly pubic hair burns at the soft tissue and your moans only louden. The cot beneath squeaks and groans along with you, growing egregiously noisy when Arthur grasps the top edge of it, pulling and using it to keep both depth and speed. A sonorous whimper bursts from you, out into the quiet of the night, and Arthur licks his lips,

“Yeah?” He breathes, his cock throbbing as he grinds into you.

You give a dumb low-lidded nod, your hands clammy and pawing around to grab hold of his face. His lips press into a thin line and he growls, so close to release that he quells the ache in his chest at the feel of your affectionate and needy gaze flickering about his face, instead roughening his movements and forcing you over the edge.

“Arthur– Oh, my Arthur!” You keen breathlessly, squeezing his cock with your walls and his head with your hands. Your hips rock as much as you can muster in an uneven rhythm as your orgasm snakes through your spasming muscles, tingles of bliss gracing your sheeny skin. Arthur almost looks pained, his lashes fluttering, his breaths strained as he maintains a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the cot. He draws out his thrusts, deciding to fuck out the sweet feeling threatening to bloom in his heart. Each whimper you let out, the way you let him carry on, your shaking thighs, the glimmer of tears in your eyes– he finds himself itching with the compulsion to evade the tenderness but he can’t.

His orgasm strangles him, a shuddering groan searing his throat and you take the chance to tug him down into a messy kiss that very almost makes him spill within you. With a panicked gasping moan into your mouth, Arthur arcs his hips back to quickly slip out of you before slamming forward, his warmly slickened cock sliding up your centre and spurting his release over your stomach as his balls tighten against your clit. His weight drops to his elbows and he partially smothers you as his heaving chest brushes your own. Your legs fall open as he releases them and slips his hands beneath your back. He cradles you, lost in the sensation of your lips gliding against his again and again. You gently hold his face, feeling his jaw muscles flickering as he kisses you and a small laugh puffs from your nose when you feel some of his hair fall forward and tickle your cheeks. He feels the smile in your lips against his own and he pulls back, a stuporous expression melting the usual tension from his brow. Your smile fades slightly, a stirring of worry in your gut, the usual question suffocating you both.

Will he leave?

Arthur lifts himself with a grunt and moves to kneel back on the cot but, as he’s halfway there, he gives a heavy sigh and ducks back down. He plants a singular, firm kiss to your mouth before pulling back again, standing up. You remain where you are, your lips slick with his spit, your skin tightening with his drying spend as you blink up at him. A nervous hope spindling around your spine, you quietly watch Arthur wipe himself down with his shirt before he passes it to you. You clean yourself up as much as you can, casting him the occasional glance while he unties his hair and runs his fingers through the knots. He lifts his head and gives a scrunch of his nose, avoiding your attention as you sit up and drop his shirt to the floor. His voice is slurred and overly casual,

“Ain’t got nowhere to be ‘til Sunday.”

“Sunday?”

“Mhm.”

You recall how you had laid in bed that morning, having woken to the sounds of Uncle playing the banjo and to the dull aching yen in your lungs at the thought of being three days from yet another Sunday parted from the man who seems to not fully understand that he tucks your heart into his satchel along with his revolver each time he leaves. Three days until Sunday. Is he suggesting that he’ll be staying for three days? Arthur sinks back down onto the cot and you watch his throat undulate as he tries to form actual words in place of snapping, “I know it’s been a while–”

“Just over a month,” you answer and shift, curling up on your side, facing the canvas of the tent, exhausted and ever used to his excuses. You let your eyes flutter shut, letting the gentle throb in your core and the tingling of your mouth remind you of the fleeting affectionate embrace Arthur had held you in moments ago.

“Don’chu start with me, woman,” he grouses firmly, climbing into the cot with you and grabbing the blanket that had made its way to the bottom. His tone makes you tut, sensing his already thinning patience that, despite its innate fragility, wears slower when it comes to you.

“Start what? Ain’t nothin’ to start when you keep endin’ things,” you peck back at him, and barely a second passes before he sighs irritatedly and forces his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him.

“You’re lucky I didn’t end what was just happenin’, darlin’.” His chest hair tickles your back as he pushes your hair out of the way with his face, whispering lowly against your neck, “Lucky you kept your mouth shut long enough to give us both a good time.”

He begins to mouth slowly at your throat, one of his hands grasping your hip, the other coming up to knead your breast. In spite of your enjoyment of his touch, you frown, slapping his hand. You let your head grow heavy against the pillow as you grumble,

“You’re a bastard.” His shoulders shrug with a quiet chuckle as he continues his ministrations and speaks between lapping at your neck,

“I been tellin’ you that, sweetheart.” You sigh, your mind and body aswirl with tiredness, hurt, and the bubbling arousal that lingers in your loins at the presence or mere thought of Arthur. Your voice softens into a slur as his repetitive movements and warmth begin to lull you into sleep,

“Whatever, Arthur.”

“Mm, whatever, darlin’,” he responds quietly. He rests his head on the pillow behind yours, letting his focus glide up and down your spine, seeing the way you tuck your feet up, the way your hands lay against the cot. He feels the rise and fall of your chest as sleep fully takes you, relaxed and deep. He takes a bigger breath in and holds it, savouring your soap and the sweet tang of your sweat. A cold guilt settles into his bones before it freezes into a stiff and sick self-loathing. He sighs out the breath, and it blows gently into the back of your hair, along with the spark of desire he had to stay. He can’t do this. 

Taking a sliver of your dreams along with him, Arthur is uncharacteristically careful as he quietly detaches himself from you and collects some fresh clothes from the chest at the foot of his cot. As he dresses, he casts half-glances over at your sleeping form, your mussed hair and the way your cheek is smushed into the pillow drawing a soft curse from his lips. Longing flows through his chest, heavying his breaths as he pulls on his boots.

Steady steps exit the tent, working a purposeful path back toward the Hungarian Thoroughbred. With two firm pats to the horse's neck, the whip of reins being retrieved from the hitching post and the clunk of spurs sounds out into the quiet of the night as Arthur mounts the horse, landing weightily with the burl of his stature but also an awful load of feelings and questions choking him of much thought other than get out of here.

“Girl,” he grunts, tugging the reins and guiding the horse away from camp, gradually falling into a trot.

An inappreciable breeze breaks through a small gap in the tent flap, creeping up your bare back and through the hair at the nape of your neck as if to mock the touch of your lover. You fight the heaviness of your eyes as you rouse, the muggy summer heat already having set in for the day, blinding your bleary vision with the vivid bluish hues of the tent canvas. Kneading at your oily face, you lift your hips to turn over only to halt with a whine when a familiar string of discomfort threads through your abdomen. “Bastard,” you whisper to yourself, an equally familiar upset flooding your limbs and soon enough your eyes. Your watery gaze drifts about, steadily picking up on a few unwonted items strewn about the floor.

Arthur’s gun belt. His hat. His jacket. The shirt and pants he had stripped himself of are sprawled across the grass. For once, the tent looks lived in, as lived in by Arthur as your heart is. Dreamy visions of the night before begin to dance through your mind as well as warm your sticky and sore body.

The kiss he gave, awkward but filled with something. How he held you until you fell asleep. How he held his tongue more than usual, lacking the venom but maintaining the usual aloofness. A gentle whirl of tentative affection flurries in the depths of your chest, shaking your breath. He has left behind things which he knows he’ll have to come back for within a day. Within the stifling summer heat, which pales in comparison to the overwhelm of your realisation, you lay back into the cot. Unfocused, you stare up at the canvas, wondering whether these hiccups in his usual behaviour were due to anything in particular, wondering about the permanence of them. Overhearing the early morning goings on of your fellow camp mates, you debate whether to exit Arthur’s tent so soon. You know there is no way you hadn’t woken anybody with your mewling pleasure, with the creaking cot, with Arthur’s grunting and the smack of his skin against yours. You have done many, many times before to the displeasure of some and the ardent curiosity of others.

You shift onto your side, facing out to the rest of the tent, trailing your sleepy focus over Arthur’s belongings and dangling an arm toward the floor. You graze your knuckles over his gun belt, your nails catching on the bullet casings with a quiet, twinkling rhythm beneath which the distant thumping trots of a nearing horse sounds. The thwip of reins followed by a wary greeting call of his name from John brings your heart into your throat; whether it be from excitement or dread still remains elusive to you but one seed of hope nestles itself into the far too long barren garden of your stomach.

He’s come back to you.

Tags for my sweethearts: @thundermartini @zae-heeyyy @pinescent-and-gingerbread @frillydolle @arthurmorganist @thesweetestapplepie @thoughts-of-bear @kayyqua @thedilfdiaries - Apologies if I miss anyone, just dm me or comment below to have me tag you <3

[yuechihua]

one hundred paper stars.

summary: There's an old story from your childhood where if you make a hundred paper stars, then you're granted a single wish. However, it's not you, but your infuriating partner in Section Six whose wish you want to come true instead.

notes: 7.4k words, author's notes, spoilers for harumasa's backstory, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, fluff

It’s during a drowsy, sunshine-drenched afternoon, a brief moment of respite where there isn’t any paperwork to file or field missions to carry out, that Yanagi appears at your desk, giving you no time to hide what you’ve been fiddling with during your break. 

Though there’s no reason to feel guilty, it’s still slightly embarrassing for Yanagi to catch the rainbow strips of paper littering your desk, interspersed with fruit-flavored candy that Soukaku left earlier that morning as a present. In the center of it all, there’s a jar brimming with paper stars, the results of two weeks’ worth of progress made whenever you have a snippet of free time.

However, Yanagi doesn’t pause to acknowledge the way your hands are trapped in the middle of folding a half-finished origami star. Lips pursed in familiar frustration, she asks, “Have you seen Asaba anywhere?”

“Not since this morning, when we were doing reconnaissance in a Hollow,” you reply.

She sighs. “He’s supposed to have finished his break half an hour ago.”

“Do you need him for something?”

“I need you two to follow up on the work you did this morning. The ether readings have changed, and they wanted someone to check it out,” Yanagi says. “If you could find him and get him to come with you…”

“I get the gist. I’ll head out as soon as I find him,” you say, folding the ends of the paper expertly and tossing a newly formed red star into the jar. 

“Thank you. I’ll make it up to you for cutting your break short,” she says apologetically. “Since you’re his partner, Asaba tends to listen to you a little more.”

“He barely listens to me at all,” you grumble. You pat the daggers tucked snuggly near your thighs, and Yanagi’s eyes drift to the mess on your desk.

“I was wondering where Soukaku got all those pieces of paper,” she says thoughtfully. “Did you bring them into the office?”

“Yeah. She thought the stars were candy, so I had to stop her from eating them. I taught her how to fold them, and in exchange, she gave me these.” You gesture at the hard candies littering your desk.

“It’s nice to do some crafts to relax.”

“There’s also something special about these stars. If you fold a hundred of them,” you say, “you get a wish. It was a popular story back in my elementary school. The local convenience store used to sell origami paper, and I would buy them with my allowance. I never did make it to a hundred, though.”

“Then there must be something you really want to fold a hundred now. I hope your wish comes true,” Yanagi says.

“I hope so, too,” you murmur.

A few minutes later, you’re cutting down the halls and up the stairways of your workplace, climbing until you reach the entrance to the roof. Barricade tape and warning signs block the landing, but with practiced precision, you duck under the tape without slowing and nudge open the door with your shoulder, which gives way without a fuss.

Cool wind whips at your face, and you scan the rooftop, nothing but a broad expanse of concrete and whirring, blocky machines, caged in by a metal fence. You jog down the length until you find who you’re looking for, lounging on the floor like a cat soaking up the golden afternoon sun, limbs askew and eyes closed. 

Harumasa looks like he’s asleep as you approach him with silent steps. You crouch over him, your shadow cutting across his face, and he still doesn’t stir. For a few seconds, you watch him quietly. His headband flutters in the wind like a loose sliver of sunlight. His face is pale, splotches of dark ink forming under his eyes. Maybe he isn’t sleeping well.

“Admiring the view, partner?” Harumasa says without opening his eyes.

“Hardly,” you say. “I was just thinking about the best way to wake you up.”

“All you need to do is call my name and I’ll respond.”

“Right. Just like how the last few times I tried to do that, you kept pretending to be asleep until I used physical force.” You emphasize the last few words and Harumasa groans as he cracks open an eye, propping himself lazily up with his elbows.

“Come on. We’ve been working together forever at this point, and you still can’t be a little nicer to me?”

“I’m only nice to those who deserve it,” you say. 

“Right, right. I bet Yanagi sent you up here.”

“How did you know?”

“You usually let me slack off otherwise,” he says easily. “It’s only when there’s something important that you bother me. Huh. If you think about it, that’s pretty nice of you. Isn’t there a word for someone who acts abrasive to hide how much they care about someone else? Ts–”

“Keep talking and I’ll tell Yanagi just where exactly you like to hide during break,” you threaten. 

“Aw, don’t do that!” Harumasa gives you an exaggerated pout, and you roll your eyes. “Come here, partner.”

“Why?”

“Come on. Come closer,” he wheedles, and you reluctantly lower yourself until you’re sitting next to him, face to face, legs folded under you.

Once you do, Harumasa drops his head against your shoulder, leaning all the warm weight of his upper body against your side like he’ll fall apart without your support.

“What’s this about?” you grumble, but you don’t move away. It’s become a familiar routine at this point: he teases, you complain, but you still gravitate towards each other. Maybe it’s because you’ve been paired with Harumasa on so many missions that you’ve developed a habit of putting up with all of his mischief.

“I’m not feeling well,” he says. “Lend me your shoulder.”

“It’s a little too late to ask when you’ve already done it.”

“You know what they say. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.”

“I’m sure you know all about that,” you say dryly.

“Now. now. I’m just being pragmatic.”

You usually don’t come to the roof at all, not unless you’re looking for Harumasa. But when you do come here, the air feels refreshing and cool, the sunlight more gentle. Though you pride yourself on being efficient and responsible, the first one to file your reports and to take notes during meetings, you can understand why Harumasa likes to nap here.

It’s comfortable. Or maybe it’s Harumasa that makes the place so comfortable. It feels like your own private corner of the world, one where it’s just you and him. Not that you could ever tell him that, of course, or it’ll make him insufferable.

“Yanagi needs us to follow up on the Hollow we investigated this morning,” you say.

“Again? We just got back.”

“The ether readings have changed. They want us to investigate.”

“Hm… but I’m on break…”

“Your break was over half an hour ago.”

“You’re on break!” he protests.

“So? I’ll be reimbursed for it.”

Harumasa groans. “You’re way too serious. You need to learn to take it easy. I’m not feeling well, you know.”

“Is that so? Well, if you want to nap the day away, I can investigate by myself–”

“Wait.” Harumasa’s weight shifts off your shoulder, and now you’re face to face with him again, close enough to see the way his smile slips off his face, the intensity of his liquid gold gaze. “I’ll come with you. Don’t do it by yourself.”

“You don’t think I’m capable, Harumasa?” you try to tease, but his lazy smile doesn’t return.

“You’re capable,” he says quietly. “You’re more than capable. But I want to be there to back you up.” He’s the first to look away, and you feel cheated, even though you don’t know what you would have said in response. “So, let’s get going. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can clock out of work.”

“Of course,” you say, a smidge too quickly. “I’ll need to file reports for Yanagi when we’re done.”

At least the awkwardness of the moment on the rooftop blows over quickly as you prepare for departure. Working with Harumasa feels like being a part of a well-oiled machine, every movement in efficient, coordinated sync, the consequence of a well-established partnership. You fall into a routine as familiar as meetings or paperwork as you prepare to enter the Hollow: checking your weapons, gathering your supplies, escorting your Bangboo guide, and then striding into the Hollow at the designated entry point.

Within the Hollow, you and Harumasa alternate who takes the lead as you follow your Bangboo, slipping through half-hidden pathways and narrow crevices, all the while avoiding lurking Ethereals. There’s little need for words with Harumasa when all you need to do is read the tension of his body, like a bow pulled taut, and simply follow what it tells you. You have your own private language of body gestures, flicks of the hand or turns of the head, refined over years.

It’s not as if you always worked this well together, of course. The first time you were paired together with Harumasa on a mission, both of you were fresh recruits to Section Six. You couldn’t stop arguing with him. His lax manner and sloppy dress infuriated you, but what was worse was how he always delivered results with minimal effort when you never did anything less than your best. In turn, he made fun of you for being a stick-in-the-mud and being unable to relax.

“You’re going to go grey if you keep stressing yourself,” he would tease, looking much too pleased with himself, as if he enjoyed your little spats.

Harumasa touches your elbow lightly, and you’re drawn from your thoughts. “Did something happen?” you murmur. The Hollow stretches before you, twisted metal and broken concrete buildings stitched together with corruption that shimmers like an oil spill, but there’s no sign of anything unusual.

“Nope. I’m just bored,” he says. “We’re not any closer to finding the disturbance Yanagi told us about. We might have to head back soon if we still don’t find anything usual.”

“We haven’t even gone that deep in the Hollow yet,” you say. “We should at least cover all our bases. What, scared of doing overtime?”

“Yes,” he says seriously. “Maybe a workaholic like you wouldn’t get it, but overtime is the public enemy of every government employee out there. So, what were you thinking about?”

“About… the past,” you say, relenting. “And how we used to fight all the time.”

“Oh? Thinking about me?”

“Only about how annoying you used to be.”

“Rude. Is this how you talk about your precious partner?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s too late to find someone else. You’re stuck with me,” Harumasa says cheerfully.

“I never said I would find another partner. You’re the only one I want.” You try to keep your voice casual, just like Harumasa, but something honest creeps in, something a little raw and unfiltered, like light through an unsealed crack.

And maybe he senses it, too, your inability to play the blithe role as well as he does, because he doesn’t jump in right away with another joke. The silence lingers, throwing the rhythm of your banter off-balance.

“The only one, huh…” From the way his hair shades his eyes, you can’t make out his expression or read his tone. 

“Harumasa,” you begin, but a sudden beep cuts off your words. You glance at each other, all awkwardness vanishing as Harumasa glances at a device in one of his pockets. 

Your Bangboo guide jerks to a sudden stop. This is the end of its automated guidance, as far as its data will take you. The two of you have reached the top floor of what must have once been a tower, a spiderweb of uneven, rusted metal and crumbling walls exposed to the low, grey sky. The floor slopes down to a sharp drop, leading to nothing but open air.

“Ether spike,” Harumasa says. His hand is already drifting to his bow. “But I don’t see anything. Where…”

It happens in a split second. Your body reacts before your mind can, years of training ingraining in you the necessary reflex to spring back as an Ethereal drops down from above, crashing like a meteor where you and Harumasa once stood.

Your daggers are already in hand, and you leap forward as an arrow flies from above, distracting the creature long enough for you to slash along one of its appendages. It roars, and you’re already darting behind it, Harumasa running along its other side.

It’s an Ethereal like none you’ve seen before. A Thanatos? A Duhallan? No, none of the existing classifications match. It’s eerily beautiful, its core pulsing with multi-colored light, corrupted growth framing it like a star, delicate, vine-like appendages darting out momentarily to propel the Ethereal away from your reach. This must be the source of the disturbance Yanagi told you about.

Harumasa calls your name, and on instinct, you fall back as he lunges forward with a dizzying series of slashes with his blades. You’ve faced worse than an unclassified Ethereal of unknown strength. Even if neither of you have expected to engage an enemy, that doesn’t mean you aren’t prepared to. 

The battle continues back and forth, a waltz of sharp steel and split-second communication between you and Harumasa as you implement all the maneuvers you learned in training. It seems like there’s no end in sight, but you’re tiring the Ethereal, slowly but surely. It’s only a matter of time before you find an opening to destroy its core.

And then, Harumasa stumbles. It’s only a brief moment, his body dipping as something like a cough shudders through him before he steadies, but it’s enough time for the Ethereal to lash out several appendages like a bolt of lightning. You’re helpless to do anything but watch as Harumasa flies backwards, his body bent like a doll discarded by a careless child.

Before you can think, you’re running, propelled by some instinct deeper than habit at the sight of your partner on the ground, throwing your daggers with wild precision as the Ethereal howls like a wounded animal. There’s not enough time to do anything except to throw your body in front of Harumasa before the Ethereal lashes out again in a brutal, sweeping arc.

Your body explodes with pain. Then, you’re weightless. The Ethereal has sent you flying, and briefly, it’s like you’re back on the roof, Harumasa leaning against your shoulder, the wind in your face, before you’re tumbling over the edge of the tower.

In the field of your vision, something gold flashes. Harumasa’s headband. It’s all you can see, the afterimage of it burned into your eyes like the sun as everything goes dark.

—

From your earliest memories as a child, you had always been lonely. Maybe that’s why you were drawn to things that reminded you of the sun, searching for anything to give you stability or warmth.

Your story wasn’t particularly unique: your parents were killed in an accident in a Hollow. You were shunted from relative to relative who never knew what to do with you. You clung to academics and books to prove yourself because you had nothing else.

You had a decently high Ether aptitude, so when you got the opportunity to join an elite academy on a scholarship, why wouldn’t you take away your chance to escape away from relatives who never cared for you? At the time, you had been living with one of your mother’s older brothers–what was his name? You’d long since forgotten, and he hadn’t bothered to keep in contact once you left.

Either way, you graduated with honors and a flawless academic record. When Miyabi selected you to join Section Six, despite your lack of experience, you were excited.

“I believe you’ll deliver results,” Miyabi told you simply, that very first day. “That’s why I chose you.”

A flush of pride made your face glow. “I won’t disappoint you!”

It was so nice to be relied on. To find a place that needed you, where you were valued. You were tied to Section Six through more pragmatic things than fragile family ties that easily dissolved.

You did your best, but it was hard when you weren’t the only new member–Asaba Harumasa was assigned to Section Six at the same time as you. From the very start, your work ethics, lifestyles, and attitudes couldn’t be more different.

“Could you try to finish your paperwork on time? When you don’t, it slows the entire process down,” you would tell Harumasa.

“It gets done, though. Does it really matter when I do it?” he would reply.

Frustratingly enough, even then, the two of you did so well on missions together that you were always assigned to be each other’s partner. Maybe his work on the field earned him a little respect in your eyes; it was the one thing you couldn’t really criticize him on. But at the same time, it was infuriating that you had to put so much time and effort into delivering flawless results, and Harumasa always skated by with minimal effort. 

One particular fall, the two of you were assigned to a mission to investigate high-level Ethereals in a local Hollow. Soon enough, you and Harumasa were surrounded. As skilled as you were, parrying several different Ethereals meant one could easily slip into your blind spot and strike. Too late, you only noticed when it was already moving, and you could only grit your teeth, bracing for impact–until its limbs met a flash of steel. Harumasa had leapt in front of you, pushing the Ethereal back and giving you enough time to strike its core.

“Harumasa–” you began to say.

“On your left!”

And then you were flung into the heat of battle, with no time to process what just happened until the threats were neutralized.

It was only then you saw the gash running along Harumasa’s arm, blood soaking into his rolled up sleeves. Without a word, you took out your medical kit, and started applying disinfectant. Harumasa didn’t even wince as you dabbed away the blood with cotton balls. You knew, from the location alone, he had got it while protecting you.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, wrapping bandages around the wound. “This is my fault.”

“What are you talking about? I did this on my own.”

“But if I hadn’t been so careless–”

“You’re my partner. I’ll always have your back,” Harumasa said. His tone was as blithe as always, but there was a strange, tenderness underlying it.

His face was coated in dust and drying blood from battle, and yet, his eyes were still a startlingly pure gold, vibrant and warm. When he looked at you, it was like he was seeing you, all of you, warming you like the sun. He didn’t avoid your gaze or look past you, like your relatives had.

After that, you settled into Section Six, not because you were needed, but because you were wanted. Your arguments with Harumasa melted into something softer, something more playful. He was your partner, and you no longer grumbled about taking the same missions as him.

One day, when you were sent to fetch Harumasa for some mission or meeting (a favorite errand of everyone’s to send you on because you had developed an uncanny sense of knowing where he liked to hide), you found him hunched him over in an empty office, knuckles white against a table as he coughed wetly, the force of it shuddering through his entire body. 

Harumasa, who had always looked for any excuse to slack off, who slept on the job, who acted like nothing could bother him, looked more vulnerable than you had seen before.

You knew he had a medical condition, but he never talked about it. Even when he did, he always made it seem so trivial. A minor inconvenience, and nothing more.

“You need to go to the infirmary,” you said, rushing over. “Or the doctor. I’ll call someone right now. I’ll–”

“Don’t,” Harumasa rasped. He grabbed your arm with more desperate force than you expected. “It’s fine.”

“You’re–”

“It’ll pass. Just let me… lean on you for a little.” Half-crouched on the ground, he collapsed his weight against you, and you both sank to the floor. You wrapped your arms around him and he leaned his head against your collarbone. You rubbed circles along his back, a meager offering to soothe him until the coughing subsided.

Harumasa’s breathing was shallow, and you wondered if he could hear the racing of your heart, the fear making it pound uncontrollably. His illness was more serious than he had ever let on.

“Are you okay?” you asked quietly.

“I’m fine. It’s just all the pollen and dust, you know,” he said. There’s that familiar carefree, teasing edge to his tone, but it’s strained by his recent coughing.

“You don’t have to joke with me. I’m your partner. If there’s something I can do for you, you can let me know.”

There’s a moment of silence before Harumasa sighed, a soft, resigned sound. “I just don’t want the others to know.”

“I won’t tell them,” you promised.

He took a few more shallow breaths before speaking, voice cheerful, deceptively light and hollow, like a bird’s bone. “I have Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome. It manifests primarily in my heart and lungs, but in exchange, I have high Ether aptitude. It’s the reason my parents… left me, a long time ago. A doctor took me in, but… Well. I was recruited to an academy, graduated, and ended up here. But you know about that part.”

You’ve known Harumasa long enough by now to know that he was only giving you carefully curated bits and pieces of his past. There was something he wasn’t not telling you, but that didn’t change the fact he had decided to place his trust in you, regardless. 

You understood what it was like to be left behind, to have nothing but yourself to cling to. Sympathy and pity weren’t what he wanted. No generic condolence could change his past or his fate.

Instead, you drew him closer to you. Harumasa let out a small, strangled gasp as you sheltered him in your arms. “I’ll be here for you, so thank you for trusting me.” 

Sometimes, words were cheap. The only response you needed was Harumasa’s arms wrapping around you in return, a tentative promise. 

It’s only a few weeks after that, when you were passing by a convenience store on the way home from work, that you saw the origami paper strips lining the shelves at a discounted price and remembered the elementary school pastimes of your classmates. 

As a child, you had wanted to make a hundred stars so you could make a wish for your parents to come back. But now, there was something else you wanted: not to make someone come back, but to make someone stay with you.

—

Your body aches. It’s all you’re aware of at first, a throbbing pain, spreading through your body in waves.

Your vision is blurry, the Hollow wavering in front of you like smeared paint, black protrusions and metal platforms blending together, a nightmarish portrait.

You drag your arm in front of your face, flex your fingers slowly until the world stops spinning. 

You’re alive. Against all odds, you’re alive, but you have no idea where you are or how much time has passed. You’d probably fallen into a distortion.

With any luck, Harumasa has already left and called for back-up. You could survive in a Hollow longer than most ordinary people could, but you didn’t want to test your limits. For now, you would have to do your best to survive. With agonizingly slow movements, like you’re dragging your body through water, you check your daggers and equipment, and survey the area around you. It’s full of twisted metal structures corrupted with black growth, platforms and stairs jutting from rocky walls, like a building that’s been swallowed by a cliff, with no particularly distinguishing feature.

It then takes even longer to convince your legs to support your weight, and to take a few steps without leaning against the wall.

Something clatters in the distance, heavy limbs dragging on the floor. Ethereals. This part of the Hollow is infested with them, a mutated sea of green and pearlescent black cores, though you’re temporarily sheltered in the area where you fell. As long as you avoid them, you should be fine; you’re no longer in any condition for prolonged combat.

All you can do is slowly drag yourself around, daggers at the ready, sneaking past any Ethereal you see. It’s agonizing work to be so careful, especially when you’re occasionally hit by waves of dizziness and your injuries make your reflexes slow.

Is Harumasa safe? Did he escape? Did he destroy the Ethereal? Or did something worse happen to him? There’s no point thinking like this and driving yourself insane, but your thoughts scatter like a flight of migrating birds, and no matter where they go, they always end up drifting in Harumasa’s direction.

Maybe you can blame Harumasa for distracting you when an Ethereal catches sight of you before you can fully conceal yourself. You can do nothing but mumble curses under your breath as more Ethereals are drawn to the noise and you’re forced to draw your weapon.

It’s harder to fight without Harumasa to cover your back. You’ve gotten too used to having him at your back. Several times, you open your mouth to call his name, but he’s not there to answer. It’s just you, clumsily dodging blows and aiming weak strikes at Ethereals you normally would have been able to dispatch with ease.

You might die here. The thought comes, unbidden. You’re weakened, surrounded, when an Ethereal looms over you. You twist your body around trying to dodge, but your body refuses to move as fast as you need it to as the Ethereal prepares to strike–only to still, stagger a few steps, and then collapse onto the ground, a spray of arrows protruding from its back.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you whip your head up in the direction the arrows came from. It can’t be, but it is. It’s him. Your partner, his mouth set in a grim, furious line as he draws his bow back. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look so angry.

In what feels like no time at all, the remaining Ethereals fall and your body feels light as you fight with renewed energy. Hardly any of them could get near you before Harumasa has shot them down with enough force that their bodies slam into the floor with a shattering crack. As soon as the last threat is neutralized, you’re running to Harumasa, but he’s faster than you.

“Harumasa—” Your words are muffled as Harumasa pulls you into a hug. His fingers dig into your shoulders, his grip tight. There’s something possessive and desperate about his touch, as if he might never hold you again and he has to memorize the shape of your body while he still has the chance.

His skin gleams with sweat, his white shirt sticking to his torso. Has he been running around this whole time, looking for you, without resting? You press your ear to his chest, where his heart rabbits in his chest in a frightened run.

“I thought you died,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

“I…”

“I thought I lost you. And I couldn’t stop until I found your body, and I would have to tell the others that you… because of me, you…”

“Harumasa, I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hear that.”

You tentatively bring your arms around him, and a shudder wracks through his body at your touch. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

“Then don’t do something so reckless again! If you die… If you die, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do…”

“I can’t promise that. You’re my partner. I told you I would have your back. If I see you in trouble, I can’t just run away.”

“That’s not fair.”

“I want you to live,” you murmur. “I want you to live, no matter what.”

“Then you have to live with me.” Harumasa pulls back abruptly, bringing his hands to your cheeks, and pinching. 

You attempt to reply, but you can only make a garbled noise of affirmation. It’s hard to talk when Harumasa is pulling your cheeks like taffy, but maybe he isn’t ready to hear your response.

You place your hands over his, and Harumasa stills, your touch a soothing balm. He lets out a breath. “Let’s get out of here. You need to get your injuries looked at.”

For the rest of the time until you leave the Hollow, Harumasa clings persistently to your side, refusing to move a step unless you have as well. You would call his pace leisurely if not for the tense way he holds his body, poised for threats from any direction. You’re half-tempted to ask if he would feel more at ease holding your hand, but you have a feeling he would never let you go again if you did.

Harumasa doesn’t relax even when you’re back at your workplace, where he escorts you directly to the infirmary and paces outside the entire time, causing the nurse’s eyebrows to crease in irritation at the sound of his rapid footsteps.

“I’m fine,” you announce the second you step out of the infirmary. “Okay? The nurse said I had no major injuries, though I’m not supposed to be on the field for a week. And I have to do a few more check-ins.” 

It’s only at your words that Harumasa finally relaxes. “This is probably the first sick day you’re going to take,” Harumasa says, but his teasing doesn’t quite match his eyes, which keep roaming your body for stray injuries which the nurse might have missed.

In the office, you’re immediately assailed by Yanagi, Miyabi, and Soukaku, who fuss over your bruises, the bandages peeking under your clothes, and the patches on your face.

“I’m glad you two are okay! I was so worried when I heard what happened. I know you’re capable, but you shouldn’t be so reckless,” Yanagi scolds lightly. 

“Take the time to rest and recover completely,” Miyabi says. “Section Six needs you, and we can’t function well if you’re not around.” 

“Take these snacks! They’re tasty, and they’ll help you feel better!” Soukaku says earnestly, shoving an armful of packaged chips at you.

It’s been a long time since anyone has worried over you like this. It’s a little embarrassing how everyone’s attention is focused solely on you, and you can’t keep a small smile from creeping onto your face. “Everyone… I promise I’m fine! You don’t have to fuss over me like this.” 

“Don’t forget to go back for your checkup,” Yanagi interjects. “All right? I don’t want to see you on the field until you’re cleared. And you, Harumasa! You need to take care of yourself, too.”

“Yanagi is right,” Miyabi says. “Maybe you should get a check-up as well.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Harumasa says, holding his hands out placatingly. “My injuries aren’t as bad as theirs. In fact, I’ll be a good partner and take care of them, promise.”

“That’s a first,” you interject, “Since when you were so excited about doing work?”

“I’m only excited when you’re involved,” he says, and you don’t know what to say to that.

The rest of the day passes by pleasantly once Section Six is satisfied that you’re doing well, though they keep making excuses to stop by your desk and leave you drinks from the vending machine or little treats. You fill your time with paperwork and organizing files, and when those are done, crafting paper stars at your desk.

“What are you gonna wish for when you have a hundred stars?” Soukaku says, sprawling across your desk and picking up a strip of paper to fold with clumsy, childish joy. 

“I’m actually not going to wish for anything. I’m going to give my wish to someone else.” 

“What? You can do that? Then I wanna give wishes to you and Nagi and Miyabi and Harumasa!” 

“Thank you, Soukaku.” 

“Who’re you going to give your wish to?” Soukaku asks as you hand her more origami paper strips. 

“Hm…” You survey the star you’ve just finished folding. “It’s for someone important. It’s a little embarrassing to talk about it out loud, though.”

“Why? I think whoever it is will be happy that you’re thinking about them!” 

“Do you think so?” 

“Yeah!” Soukaku says. “I would be happy if you gave me a wish!”

“Then should I make you a hundred paper stars, Soukaku?”

“Really? Yay!” 

By the end of the work shift, you’ve finally filled your glass jar with the necessary number of stars. You should feel happy, but what you didn’t tell Soukaku is that you wonder if it’s too presumptuous to give this to Harumasa. After all, you still remember what it’s like to be rejected by people who were supposed to love you and take care of you.

You cradle the jar in your hands, the product of all your meticulous work over the past two weeks. It’s heavy with the weight of your feelings and your ridiculous wish.

“Hey, partner.” Harumasa’s sudden voice makes you stiffen and whirl around, keeping the jar hidden behind your back. 

“Harumasa.” You take a breath. There’s no point in being embarrassed. “Do you have time right now?” 

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow. “What a coincidence. I was just about to ask you that, too.” 

“I assume we’re both free, then. Come over to my place,” you tell him bluntly. 

“Your place?”

“Yes.”

Harumasa tilts his head like an inquisitive bird, considering. “Sure, but I didn’t realize you were that excited to see me after work.”

“Oh, don’t get full of yourself.”

The two of you are back to your usual banter, but it’s devoid of its usual lightness. The events from the Hollow still linger over you, and Harumasa sucks in a breath before giving a casual smile. You respond with a roll of your eyes, but it feels wooden, everything unsaid thickening the air like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. 

The journey back to your apartment is peaceful. You take the train, watching the familiar strips of buildings and city lights streaking past, soft smudges against the glowing sun, sinking like a pat of butter in a red, syrupy sky. 

You live in a relatively nice building, the salary from your job affording you a lobby as well as a doorman and a fast elevator. At your apartment door, you fumble with your keys, fingers heavy and clumsy as you’re aware of Harumasa’s presence behind you, waiting.

The door clicks open and you step into your apartment, a one bedroom, one bathroom affair with sturdy, comfortable furniture, books and knick-knacks lining the shelves of the joint living room and kitchen. More books are stacked precariously on the single table you use for both work and meals, situated in the center. 

You slip off your shoes and into your house slippers, offering a pair to Harumasa, who after putting them on promptly walks over to one of the shelves in the living room and pokes at a little Bangboo statue. There’s a whole forest of them lining the shelf, all in different outfits and poses.

“I didn’t realize you were such a fan. Hey, do you get the public security ones to help you cross the street?”

“Don’t touch it. It’s a collectible and I’m trying to get the last one in the series,” you say crisply. “And of course I do. It makes the ones patrolling the streets happy to help.”

“Wait, really?”

“They’re adorable, Harumasa. I don’t know what else you want me to say.”

“It’s not a bad thing! I just think you have a surprisingly cute side, that’s all.”

“Thanks,” you say, trying to keep your face schooled in a neutral expression, before gesturing to the table in the living room. “Take a seat. I’ll make some tea.”

You brew a pot of bitter green tea, taking out a plate of crumbly packaged cookies to snack on. They’re the least sweet snack you have in the house which Harumasa would be happy to eat.

For a few minutes, there’s only the clink of your cups and the crunch of cookies, a pleasant way to spend your time after work. Neither of you talk, the food giving you an excuse not to. It’s ridiculous how such a small gift could make you feel so nervous. You need to do it now. Otherwise, what would the point be of inviting him over?

You run your finger along the rim of your teacup, pressing hard enough to feel the edge of smooth porcelain dig into skin. “There’s something I want to give to you.” 

“A present? For me?” 

“Don’t get too excited. It’s nothing fancy,” you say, before standing to retrieve the jar of stars, which you had shoved into your work bag.

You hold it behind your back until you’re in front of Harumasa, at which point you place the jar on the table and slide it over to him.

A hundred stars for one wish. You explain the story to him as Harumasa cups his hands around the jar, peering intently as if he could see the hours you spent painstakingly crafting each individual star. 

“I know it’s a little silly,” you say quietly. “But I want whatever you wish for to come true, no matter what.” 

Harumasa’s eyes when he looks at you are just like stars, warm, bright gold, that you would trust to guide you no matter what path you tread.

“I want you to be happy,” you say, the words falling from your mouth like a wish of your own. 

“Happy, huh?” Harumasa closes his eyes briefly, stars winking out of existence. 

“I’m sorry if that’s presumptuous. You don’t have take this gift if you don’t want–”

“Whoa! This is mine now. You can’t have it back now that you’ve given it to me. It’s just… there are some things about my illness I haven’t told you.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” you say.

“I want to tell you, though. People with Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome don’t typically live long lives. The illness is terminal. The oldest-recorded person lived only to be 26.” Harumasa says it matter-of-factly, the numbers rolling out of him like he’s simply reciting information from a medical brochure. “In late stages, the body breaks down. And if someone with Ether Aptitude Regression Syndrome is in a Hollow when their body breaks down, then they’ll turn into an Ethereal.”

This is the knowledge Harumasa has been carrying with him all this time and hiding from everyone in Section Six. It must have weighed him down like stones, knowing that if things take a turn for the worse in a mission within the Hollow, he’ll become one of the monsters you and Section Six have to put down. How long has he carried this by himself?

No matter how you try to hide your feelings, Harumasa knows how to read you just as much as you know how to read him, because he raises a hand and lazily waves it through the air. “Don’t look so worried. It doesn’t bother me that much.”

“I’m your partner. Of course I’m going to be worried about you,” you say quietly. “I told you, didn’t I? I want you to be happy.”

Harumasa gazes down at the table, away from you and the jar of stars in front of him. “You are, huh? Can I trust you with something else, then?”

“What is it?”

“If anything happens to me,” he says, “and I turn into an Ethereal, you have to promise that you’ll kill me.”

There’s no other answer for you, not when he looks at you like that. “I promise. I won’t let anyone else do it.”

“Then I’m all yours, partner.”

“But…” You reach for Harumasa’s hand across the table, slowly and reverentially sliding your fingers under his, feeling the press of each callous on his slender fingers. These beautiful hands, which you have saved and which have saved you again and again. “I gave you a wish, you know? So you can have anything you want.”

“Eh? Didn’t I tell you what I wanted?”

“It doesn’t count,” you persist. “If it helps, I’ll tell you what I want.”

“All right, what is it?”

“I want you to live forever.”

“That’s way too long,” Harumasa protests.

“Then live for a hundred years at the very least,” you say. “I wanted you to be happy for a long, long time. I made you a hundred stars, so each star is worth one year of happiness.”

It’s ridiculous, you know. It’s not pragmatic at all. And maybe it’s cruel, too, to ask Harumasa something like this. But if he’s going to be selfish, then you’re going to be just as selfish. 

“A hundred years? Then you need to live that long, too.” Harumasa shifts his hand and hooks your pinky lightly with his own. “It’s not fair if I have to live that long without you. That’s going to be my wish.”

“Then I’ll make it come true,” you say. “I told you, didn’t I? We’re partners. Where you go, I’ll go.”

In the window across from you, ink-blue shadows flood the world. The sun had set while the two of you were talking, and the city lights wink like scattered gemstones across dark velvet.

“If you talk like that, then I’m not going to want to leave,” he says quietly. “You make me want to act selfishly.”

“Then act selfishly. I’ll forgive you.”

He lets out a sigh, squeezing your pinky. “You’re not fair at all.”

“Good,” you say archly. “Stay the night, Harumasa.”

Harumasa stills at your words, and you can feel the faint tremor of his hand. “I have nightmares. It’s not going to be a good time for you.”

“That’s all right,” you say. “I’ll take care of you.”

It’s easy having Harumasa in your apartment, where he fits seamlessly into your normal routine, the same way he does at work. You lend him towels, and baggy pajamas, and then the two of you take turns using the bathroom. You order cheap takeout from a local restaurant, which you eat in front of the glow of your television, watching the news. As you wash up the dishes, Harumasa perches on the counter, cracking jokes that make you roll your eyes or smile. 

Harumasa, framed in the soft glow of kitchen lights like a halo behind him, hair askew, wrinkling his borrowed clothes, makes your heart ache. It would be nice to have him around like this, all the time. You’ve forgotten the warmth of having someone in your home until now.

You should bring out the futon you keep for guests, but you don’t mention it, and Harumasa doesn’t ask. So he follows you to your bedroom, knees bumping against the side of the metal frame as you pull out an extra pillow for him. 

Harumasa dutifully takes out his rows of medicine, orange bottles lined up your nightstand, brightly colored pills falling down his throat with each sip of water from the glass you’ve brought him. He folds his golden headband neatly next to the bottles, and finally places the jar of stars to stand guard over everything. It makes you feel ticklish that he wants to keep your gift so close.

Your bed is too small for two people, but neither of you complain as your legs tangle together, Harumasa resting his forehead against yours. In the dark, you grope for his hand, entangling your fingers with his, where they belong.

“Good night, partner,” he whispers. He’s so close his breath tickles your face.

“Good night.”

“It’s too late to turn back now,” he murmurs, but you can’t tell if he’s saying it to you or himself.

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t,” you say, tracing nonsensical letters on his back with the fingertips of your free hand, a message he can’t read.

“I know. I guess we’re stuck together.”

“I told you. We’re partners. I’m yours forever,” you say.

Harumasa squeezes your hand. “And I’m yours, so let’s take good care of each other.”

If you strain your head, you can see a faint strip of moonlight from your parted curtains illuminating your nightstand where a hundred paper stars glow. Like a promise, a wish, of a hundred years of happiness.

[merbear25]

Heeeeeyyyy

So I discovered this blog through that breeding kink request with Katakuri, Crocodile and Mihawk and may I request the aftermath? Like I want pregnancy and baby stuff, I want the domestic bliss. Please

Oh, how cool that you found me through that! Thanks for sending in a request. I hope you enjoy this just as much as the other one.💜💜

CW: SFW, fem!reader, pregnancy and childbirth mentioned, fluff, a touch of angst, defined relationship 

His two loves (Katakuri, Crocodile, Mihawk)

Katakuri: Waking up in the middle of the night was becoming a common occurrence. Dreams that bordered on nightmares flooded his mind, refusing to allow him any peace as your due date approached. The worries of his family interfering, harming the hair on your or your precious child’s head were more often than not at the forefront. However, the dread of his potential incompetence at being the father he needed to be was that night’s perpetrator. 

Snippets of the not so distant future played in his mind, some of which came with a tinge of anxiety. Wrapped up in his arms, sleeping the early dawn away, you were glowing even in your sleep. With the remnants of the nightmare still fresh in his mind, he held you closer worrying that at any moment you’d wake up and make his greatest fear a reality. But, you didn’t and you wouldn’t. Deep down he knew you wouldn’t. 

You stirred in his embrace. The murmurs of discomfort tugged on his heartstrings. His long fingers stroked the side of your face, to which your huffs silenced and returned to gentle hums of slumber. The morning was creeping on the horizon, and despite being wide awake, he chose to stay next to you, not wanting to miss a moment.

The sun casted and set in the sky with the cycle of the days, each one pressed with preparations for the bundle you would soon be welcoming into the world. The room had already been completed due to his eagerness to have it be perfect in every way, so now the waiting game needed to be played.

He was sure to remain nearby, especially in your third trimester. Adamant in keeping you happy, he couldn’t deny you even the slightest of requests: rubbing your feet, adjusting your pillow, fetching you whatever would satisfy that week’s craving. The favors he did for you were repaid with a thank you and a peck on the cheek. How could they not be when he was doing everything in his power to keep you happy?

When the time came to finally meet your child, the world that had been swirling with nerves and fear began shifting. There was no more room for them anymore—replaced with the jittery elation of becoming a new father, new parents.

Long hours that felt as if there would be no end, until the cries of your little baby, your precious girl, put the grueling wait to a halt. She was placed on your chest, shivering and whimpering in the new world she found herself in. Your exhaustion could never overshadow the joy you shared in that moment. You cooed at her, whispers of affection that she couldn’t yet understand, so your tone carried the pure love you felt to her.

Hair clinging to your forehead with sweat, your face flushed from the physical toll you’d been put through, and the daze you were in from the whirlwind of emotions: even though you’d disagree, he saw you as a vision of beauty. As he placed his lips against your temple, a shaky sigh left you. The smile you held began quivering the longer you looked down at your child.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you.” Your voice cracked with emotion.

Hearing your words tremble shattered any anxiety that’d been harboring within him. He adored you, there was no denying that, and the child you just gave him only strengthened his love. The two loves of his life; neither of you would have the misfortune that plagued him growing up. He’d act as a shield if it came down to it. The burdens that came with being tied to his family, to his mother, to him: he vowed not to let them shatter this image of perfection.

He sat down beside you and wrapped you in his arms as carefully as he could, wanting to hold both of his beautiful girls at the same time.

Crocodile: Longer work hours that pushed into the late evenings were a distraction for the inevitable. Your due date was creeping up on him, enticing a nervous bug that hadn’t bitten him in a long time. Although you understood the reason for his absence, that didn’t stop the bed from feeling cold and rather lonely.

You nudged his office door open, peeking behind the wood to get a look at him working diligently behind the desk. He puffed at his cigar, allowing the thick smoke to cloud his workspace. When you inched closer, his eyes flickered to you. Your silhouette casted a shadow across the floor as you stepped in front of the fireplace. Putting out his cigar, he then waved his hand to clear the gray surrounding him.

“There aren’t many more nights you’ll be able to get a good night’s rest. You should take advantage of that.”

“I haven’t been able to sleep well the last few months because of the size of me,” you laughed in an airy, light-hearted way that never failed to fall on his ears just right. “And you know you’re in the same position as me. You’ll be up with the baby too, won’t you?” You couldn’t hide the slight tinge of sadness in your question. He was clearly having a difficult time adjusting to this change on an emotional level, even though he desperately wished that wasn’t the case.

“I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do it.” His eyes soaked in the sight of you: you were in your ninth month, hair tousled from sleep that couldn’t find you, and held a look of concern on your face. Looking back down at his paperwork, a glimmer of self-reflection reached him. He sighed before getting up from his office chair. “I suppose it’s time for me to turn in.” A gentle place of his hand on the small of your back led you to retire with him.

The howling wind made the windows rattle, making you shudder along with them. A slight pull of your body against his ceased them, though. His large frame offered you protection even over the most trivial things like the sounds at night. Nuzzling his face against the top of your head, his body soon found that fragment of peace it’d been after the past few months. The gentle hums of your breaths mingling, your soft skin against his, and your round belly carrying the most precious thing imaginable: there was a part of him that didn’t want these quiet moments to end. 

Having kept himself preoccupied with work to avoid the reality of fatherhood was now weighing on him. He cared about you, and it was true that he wanted this child. However, his role as the primary provider, the one who you and your child depended on for everything, had him going above and beyond to ensure both of your safety. Every deal, contract, employee, and everyone who came within spitting distance had to be dealt with, because if they weren’t and anything happened to either of you, he would only have himself to blame.

Time ticked forward to the delivery room when you performed a miracle, giving him a baby boy who was almost too perfect to touch. But, he wanted to hold him, both of you, and never let go. Holding him in his arms felt surreal; those soft yawns and grumbles were sounds he didn’t know he could adore so much. While you watched him cradling your bundle of everything that was right with your relationship, the hours of labor finally caught up with you.

As you drifted off to sleep, he kept his full attention on your little boy. His eyes memorized each detail, hoping that he wouldn’t lose such precious moments to time. Every vow he made would be kept, that much was certain. He would do everything in his power to make even the impossible possible.

Mihawk: As you lounged in the shade while reading your book, he caught himself glancing over at you more and more often. The swings of his swords weren’t striking the targets head-on anymore, instead merely nicking the sides in a sad attempt at training. It couldn’t be helped, though. You were stunning. The roundness of your belly and your hand resting on top of it, perhaps feeling the baby kick as you lost yourself in your book, was too much of a distraction.

He stood facing you for a good minute, his eyes never wavering from his typical stare. Those gentle breaths pairing with the rise and fall of your chest were simply too much for him to handle. His steps carried through the tall grass back to the castle.

“Where are you going?”

“I can’t focus here,” he called behind him. Despite the potential harshness of him just up and leaving, you knew better than to take it to heart. As he ventured back inside, you couldn’t help the tugs at the corners of your mouth.

Throwing blows to the training equipment set up inside couldn’t even help him regain his focus. Images if you through all the stages of your pregnancy flooded his mind, taking a toll on his performance. Sloppy swings, kicks, punches: he suddenly grabbed the punching bag. Firmly, he placed both hands on it, his eyes practically burning a hole in the fabric. 

The memories of your tender touches and soft smiles were accompanied with the hopes of what was to come—a family that he kept safe and happy. His fingers dug into the thick skin of the bag as he considered the threat that would undoubtedly take you two into consideration when hunting him down. It was a future which, although inevitable, was something he’d fight against until his last breath. The final punch he threw was for all of those who had already placed a target on his family.

You were in the kitchen when he made his way back around. The kettle was heating up over the stove top and teasing a whistle.

“You shouldn’t be around an open flame and should be resting.” He guided you away from the iron stove towards the sofa. 

“It’s just tea. I’ll be alright.”

“Let me make it for you. You’re the one who’s constantly complaining about swollen feet, remember?” He ignored the slight hmph from you, knowing full well that you’d be glad you took his advice.

Handing you the hot beverage, he then brought over foot rest. Patting it, he reminded you that it would be good for circulation. “You’re always looking out for me, aren’t you,” you sighed at him.

He wasn’t really sure what to say to that. Of course he was, why wouldn’t he be? With him sitting down next to you, you could feel his eyes on you with the same intensity as when you were outside. You winced slightly from the sudden kicks.

“I think our kid is ready to get out,” you laughed softly. “Would you like to feel them kick?” 

His hands gently laid on your belly, instantly feeling the little kicks from inside. His breaths shortened as a surge of emotion took him off guard. Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss where the baby was the most active. “I can’t wait to do that with you in my arms,” he whispered.

Caring gestures and loving support helped carry the both of you through the remainder of the ninth month. The cries of your new baby girl soon filled the room, painting everything outside of it as a mere backdrop. Once she was placed in his arms, he knew he could never love something as much as he loved that little girl. Nothing and no one would touch a hair on her head.

Watching him hold your child only solidified your love for him. A man who was stoic and seemingly immune to emotion was looking down at your baby girl with nothing but the soft love of a new father.

“She’s perfect, isn’t she?”

He nodded while gently stroking her little hand, “Yes, she most definitely is.”

[magickizu]

Shop Repairs

Crossover dp x dc. So I've got this time line in mind, for my crossover AU and this is a snippet of it. Master Post: Lost Retirement

Jason has to find a solution, quickly: during the last mission his bike received more damage, than he had planned. Bringing it back to the cave will take too long, not to mention the repair time, that he can't make time for! And here's another thing: for like the past week or so, the pits have been acting extremely weird. Bubbling and flaring up randomly, like this pissed off but not revenging rage, if that makes sense?? What is going on???

Jason absolutely hated his luck: not only did these bastards get away, not only was it a pain in the ass anyway to hunt them down, not only did they take their goods with them as they fled after, not only kicking Hood's ass- ohohoho no! Of course his sweet baby had to be pulled into it! They used his bike as shield!! HIS FUCKING BIKE-!!!

The silvered raven groans annoyed, the pits are flaring up again too! He can't even get to the bat cave and fix her up, because he needs her by tomorrow and he does not have the right parts. Let alone the time, since he's got this meeting with this building company to talk over the plans for the Alley's new community gardens he wants to build. So naturally he's on his way to bring her to the only guy he trusts with her, when suddenly the pits flare up again!- right, rightrightright... Of course that wasn't enough, since the pit seemed to have even more problems in the past week, with him feeling like he got run over by trucks. The constant whispering and screeching and hissing about an intruder in his territory, inside his head- ...at this point it's just tiring.

Red Hood was deep in thought, in fact he was so deep in thought, that his feet have carried him all the way to the little mechanics shop and maybe, just maybe, he could be a little lucky today? Please? And they have everything and the damage wasn't as bad as it seemed? The pit is rumbling and gurgling disgustingly and he can see the green tinge slowly creeping into the corners of his eyes. Panic floods him, there's not a single one of the birds or bats around to help him now-

Hood tried his best, to take deep breaths. Steady his thoughts and fight back, imagining Dick would be there helping him concentrate. The mental image of his family just being there for him, helped a little, lately their bond has gotten better and Jason can definitely tell- snap out of it! He can't have a panic attack in the middle of the road! Not as the Red Hood at least... With one last, deep breath Hood's feet begin to move again, as he rounded the corner and pulled into the open garage door or the workshop.

"Ah-hah! The Red Hood," the old man behind the little counter laughs and stands up, Hood's shoulders relax at the sight and sound of him. "Tell me, tell me niño, what can I do for you? Have not seen you in a while, eh?" Mateo, the owner, shakes the vigilante's hand with a big smile and a small hug.

"Hey Tío," he greets back, hugging back briefly and gently. "My bike got... Involved in the action... Please tell me you can fix her by tomorrow, Tío." If it wasn't for the modulator in his mask, Hood would have sounded tired, which Mateo must have known, as he started to laugh out loud before answering.

"Alright, alright. I'll take a look, eh? But no promises." Mateo leaned down slowly with a huff and a grunt, until the man kneeled in front of the motorcycle. He called out for someone, after trying his best to look at the machine. Hood couldn't hear what Mateo said, he was too distracted with suddenly being confronted by Mateo's high age. Neither Jason, nor Red Hood have been here in a while and he mentally scolded himself for it. Jason helped out here and there, ever since he came back, ever since before Bruce... Mateo has always been there- been right here. Hood just wasn't ready yet; Jason wasn't ready. He hadn't realised how old the man was really getting, until now. Now that he sees him squinting at the details, sees him having trouble with finer motor skills of the machinery and now even so much as getting back up again after kneeling down. Hood forced himself back to reality, when Mateo tried to get back up but only grunted, he was about to take a step closer, help, something when-

"¡¡Tío!!" Suddenly a young man was faster. Analysis; same blue overalls as Mateo, just that the upper part is tied around his waist, dirty white t-shirt, work gloves, steel toed work shoes and one black sleeve, seemingly some kind of compression cuffs, on his right arm covering it completely- must be working here, well enough acquaintaned with Mateo, was in the back probably does the work now. Pale skin, dark raven hair with a few snow white streaks- good style! Hehe... And bright blue eyes, that are full of worry and- "Tío, how often did I tell you, just say something! ¿¡Eres estúpido!?" The young man scolded the older, grinning and chuckling one, but Hood didn't listen he was just staring... Jason couldn't look away from these electric blue eyes, that reflected in a strange neon green, that he just knows. The pit was bubbling over, growling and screaming at him and panic rose up like a lump in his throat, nearly clogging it and slowly suffocating him, as his vision is tinging green, bit by bit. This is not happening now, not now!! Shit!! What is he supposed to do!?

Suddenly the same voice breaks through to him; "...fuck, it's you..." And they both look at each other for a moment, then Hood reached for his gun immediately, the second the other man moved- He is the intruder! Shred him... "Wait! I-I'm so sorry! Ancients... I had an offering, but I forgot it at home. I swear, I do not mean any harm, to your haunt nor people nor you! I never meant to be disrespectful." The man held his hands up in surrender and the green subsided slightly from Jason's vision- how?? "-look; if it's good for you, I'll have her ready by tomorrow, as you asked, free of charge. Can that be my offering? Would that be acceptable for you?" And the pits calmed down... Hood stood there, frozen in place, overwhelmed and absolutely shocked, yet strangely relieved. The man also didn't sound hysterical, just calm enough to make it believable that... He wasn't scared... Against every bit of sanity left in his brain, the Hood nodded, his hand no longer hovering over his gun's holster. He straightened up.

"Explain." He growled, shocked by himself how much venom there was in his voice and how deep the rumbling of the growl was... As if it's coming from his chest. But moreover: what does this guy have to do with the pits!? And why the F U C K can he calm it down by T A L K I N G!?

"Okay, listen..." The man sighs, then contemplates something, looking Hood up and down, asassing him. "Alright, uhm... Name's Danny, my siblings and I just got here. We won't make any trouble and just need a place to stay, for now. The only reason I'm entering your haunt is because I work here and it's the only place that would hire me. Again my offering of doing a full round up on your bike still stands. If you don't wanna accept, that's your choice and I'll find something else, somewhere else. Okay?" Hood did listen; the man's alone, apparently desperate for money or else other places would do, he takes care of his siblings and cares for people seeing his instant worry about the old man, peaceful indeed with immediate surrender... And even a useful offering. ...what?

"Fine." Hood sighed, the other man, Danny, also sighed probably from relief. Wait... Where the hell did Mateo go?? Upon realisation, the larger one looked around,

"...Mateo's in the back office. I just... I just sent him back. Uhm..." He fidgeted a little, then stuck his hand out awkwardly. "How about this: Hi, I'm Danny. I take care of the work here now... And you're the Red Hood, that's kinda cool- I mean you are cool, like,... Sorry, I'm new to Gotham." Then Danny smiled awkwardly at him, as if he didn't just threaten to get shot. Hood stared but slowly reached out to grab the hand and Danny's smile widened, revealing the smallest hint of fangs. Hoods guard should be up but for some reason... This somewhat aggressive friendliness was welcome, somehow. "Right! The Ducati!" Danny reminded himself and moved his attention and body to the machine straight away.

"...and you'll be able to get her ready by tomorrow?" Hood asked after a moment of watching him looking through his bike. Danny perked up, seemingly ripped from his focus;

"Huh? Oh, uh... Yes, definitely! Seems like nothing too vital got hit. The tank is still good, the engine and the battery are also unharmed; a blessing in disguise, it's just...maybe a handful of tubes and a couple cables. I'll get you a round check, change the oil and clean up the painting. Be back at..." Danny thought about it. "Would five sound good?" He offered and that was admittedly fast, yes. Hood hummed in agreement.

"Make it six, deal." The vigilante held his hand out to the mechanic, who shook his hand for the deal and then made a little surprise yelp, as he got hoisted back up. Surprisingly light, but lean built. No directly visible muscles, but Danny still holds up strong. With one last look at his baby, then a warning glare at Danny, who ironically seemed to understand as he lifted his hands in surrender again and a small smile.

"I promise, I'll take good care of her. Will make her purr like a kitten." Because if not... What is he talking about? That guy has his family waiting at home and can't even change locations properly. As Hood walked out and began to his closest save house, it suddenly clicked in his mind, when he realises one fundamental thing, as he listened to the streets in Crime Alley and nothing else... That's exactly it, for once Hood didn't hear anything from the pit... As if it's completely gone. The static sensation in his mind, only picked up again slowly, the further away he got.

So this Danny guy has something to do with the pits and Jason will find out how...

"Ta-da!" Danny grinned proudly, as he showed Red Hood his bike, looking brand knew right out the factory. His eyes grew wide under the mask,

"Holy shit..." Hood rounds the machine, softly gliding over every visible surface. Checking even some of the nooks and crannies, after all he has to make sure it's all in proper order. Danny crossed his arms, sure of himself. "... I'll admit, that's good work." Danny nods, his smile widening in appreciation for the man's work.

"Rev her." The smaller man instructed, Hood for once did what he was told without hesitation and it paid: as he ignited the engine and let her reel, the machine simply purred. Litteraly just purred. Low, menicing bass and silent efficiency...

"Holy shit!" He shut her off again, for now. "That..." Hood gestures in slight disbelief, "that's real good work. Thanks man." He holds out a hand, Danny looks down at it, less smiles and a little more perplexed but nonetheless, the shorter one grabs it. What he seemingly didn't expect was for Red Hood to haule him in shoulder bumper- ey, he may be the Red Hood, but he's still from the hood. Danny just starts smiling again. "I mean it, damn fine. I'll bring her around more often, when she needs it. How much?" He reaches for his wallet, cash only of course, but he got waved off.

"Nonsense. Is the least I can do." Danny made his way already around the counter, typing away at the computer and scribbling something in a black book.

"For what? You did the work-"

"-Woopsies! Looks like I already started closing our only register! Oh man, I'm such a dummy! Urgh! My clumsiness...!" Danny exaggerated dramatically, then leaned onto the counter with one elbow. The other hand on his hip, "forget it, the register's closed, we don't take payment anymore." That smug little bastard then had the audacity to start grinning and daringly lift an eyebrow. ...and honestly, the vigilanty couldn't help but smile at this. Danny can be a little shit, apparently, just as he himself which by all means is entertaining. Hell, even the pits began flairing up in an unusually positive way, almost like a low but friendly rumble in his rest.

"Okay, fine... But I can't let this stand unattended." Danny, yet again, waved him off. But there, just for a brief moment, the way his eyes sparked like an idea, he rushed to scribble something out. Then Danny came over.

"Alright... when you're done with your mission, shoot me a message. There's something I'd actually like to talk about..." The mechanic said, shifting a little nervously, but never loosing the hint of a smile on his lips. The pits gurgle a little shrill, almost like dieing chirping... Oh!- uninted, but good one, heh. But now Hood was definitely intrigued, for the lack of better words.

"...Sure." He agreed, with that he swung himself onto his sweet baby and nodded the other bey, who mirrored the action as response and took a few steps back, to give Hood enough space to start up. As he did right in that moment, then he was gone again, into the night.

Even the pits have massively quieted down again, after deeming the young mechanic non-threatening. Yeah, he still needs to figure out, what that guy has to do with the lazarus pits, but right now he's got one real big fish to catch, fillet and fry for what he did and did to his machine.

@georgiefreddie0829 @shirasorin

[valentinedrifter]

Snippets with Jiwon: Belle

male reader x Park Jiwon

~2.3k words

A/N: Prompt for @suchsweetstories. Thanks for hosting!

Enjoy.

“Here’s your shake!”

The room glows, flashing every color in the rainbow as the drum of the bass starts to beat through your chest. Laughter, giggles, and conversations were everywhere. Not like in those night clubs where it was messy and chaotic. This was quieter, tamer, more focused.

The decor of hearts—neon lights, balloons, the Goddamn headband of it you were forced to wear—decorated everything, from the walls to the chairs to the cherry on top of the shake you just got. It was all red, hiding from the glow of the lights flashing around them.

The DJ somewhere at the back was playing some old songs that you couldn’t tell if people cared about or not since they were all focused on each other rather than anything else.

You sigh, taking a deep breath before taking the chance to glance around the room. Couples all over the place, drinking the same single shake you have, with two straws and two spoons, two mouths. Facing each other, sitting next to one another, it didn’t fucking matter. 

They were all the same, just in different shapes and sizes. The older couple wrapping their arms around each other staring outside the window or the awkward one that were laughing at each other for drinking on the same glass.

In the end they were all enjoying what they were here for.

“Happy Valentines!”

This feels like a mistake, and you shouldn’t have let Jiwon convince you to do this.

You don’t even know how she managed to do it. Only that she yelled at you to attend this ‘blind date’ event to get your mind off of things.

Things being your ex that left you for some gym rat she met where she works out at.

She didn’t bother to give you the courtesy of telling you face to face. Just a text telling you that she needs a ‘break’ then proceeds to block your number.

If you can call a break hooking up with someone else because you found her cheating.

And yeah, not sleeping right and wallowing in your misery for the first few weeks of the breakup isn’t the healthiest way to cope, but this is not the answer to fixing your heart.

It’s been months since the break up anyway, and you told yourself to swear off of falling in love in the near future. 

You were doing fine. 

Jiwon disagrees, because she always does, which is why you’re holding a tray with a milkshake in an event to try and find your ‘dream girl’ as she puts it.

You should’ve told her to set herself up too since she’s been single since birth.

Your supposed ‘blind date’ hasn’t shown up and it’s been almost half an hour since the event started.

And the number stub that was given to you has been staring at you for the majority of the time you’ve spent together.

Twenty might as well haunt you at this point.

No dream girls here.

It really didn’t have to be on February 14th of all days because that felt like pouring salt in the wound and slapping the utter shit out of it.

Like, holy shit, who would even set up a blind date event on Valentines?

And yet here you are, pushing through it anyway. Did it to prove a point that you still have your shit together. You dressed up, got a new cut, used your favorite perfume. Cleaned yourself up pretty well, you have to admit. 

It still feels as if you’re conducting self-inflicted torture on yourself to see all these people enjoying their dates and you’re here in the middle of all of it. 

Sitting on a table. 

Staring across the empty seat.

Struggling to enjoy the free shake.

Alone.

Your hand wraps around the tall glass, cooling your palms. You were about to grab a straw until you notice:

A pair of straws, a duet of spoons. Both heart-shaped.

Two.

Motherfuckers.

You must’ve looked depressing as hell to everyone in the building right now, staring at the milkshake you got, watching the glass slowly condensate and the ice cream melt on top.

You sigh, feeling the hearts bobble on your head shake when you reach out to one of the straws, hearing a slower song start to play before a hand takes it away from the tray.

You can smell the rosy-wine smell on the arm that took it. It smelled familiar, like someone who always left that same scent every time you met. 

“Hey.” You hear, making you look up to see a very familiar face.

“Jiwon?” You squint against all the glare of the party lights, and sure enough, it was her, in the flesh, standing right in front of you. Wearing a combination of black and red that looked amazing on her, with a choker on her neck and the same headband that you’re wearing to complete the ensemble.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes.” Jiwon smiles, “Didn’t get a chance to catch your dream girl?”

“No, I–Hold on, what are you doing here?” You watch her sit down on the chair in front of you, her purse settling on the table. “I thought you were with Hayoung.”

“I was. She’s right over there.” She points the straw behind you, aiming it near the music booth where Hayoung was talking with the DJ. “You know how much she likes these types of songs.”

“That still doesn’t explain what you two are doing here.” You return Hayoung’s enthusiastic wave with a shy, confused one before turning back to Jiwon, who’s already taking a sip of your milkshake, that glint in her eye that makes you narrow your eyes.

The next few words that came out of her mouth make you wanna—

“Does my honey not wanna see me?” She asks in this cutesy tiny little voice that makes your eyes widen, your head leaning back in, and your entire being thrown off balance. “Even after I dressed up like this for him?”

“Jiwon, what the fuck are you saying–” You can’t even continue your line of thought because she starts pouting, and that really starts to confuse the fuck out of you because you don’t know whether you like seeing that look from her or not.

“Hmph!” She makes a face. The type that looks cute and adorable, the type that makes your heart beat faster, the type that makes you want to puke at the second hand embarrassment you’re getting. “My honey doesn’t love me anymore!”

“Please stop, you’re making me cringe.” You let out. It’s a self-defense mechanism to protect your heart from whatever the fuck she’s trying to do.

“I was being cute!” She screams, drawing a few looks from the nearby people and making her mouth a ‘Sorry’ with a little peace sign and a bashful laugh before looking back at you.

“Besides, you like it when I act cute. Don’t think I didn’t see it.” She grins, taking another sip of the milkshake.

“You’re seeing things.” You retort. “And don’t think you can get away with not answering my question.”

“What question?” She tilts her head, the lights shadowing her face. And all you do is give a blank stare and a raised eyebrow to avoid thinking about how beautiful she looks, from the way she’s dressed to her cute dimple on her face.

“The question.” You reiterate. “You know, the one I asked you earlier?”

She hums, before batting her eyelashes and placing her hands on her chin. “Remind me?”

You sigh. “What are–”

“–I doing here?” She finishes, giggling, dimples showing. She dips her spoon into the shake, scooping up a piece of ice cream from the glass and holds it out towards you.

“Say ‘ah’ first.” She grins. You can smell the roses on her arm.

You blink, once towards the spoon, another towards her. “You’re joking.”

“Come on.” She drags, nudging the spoon even more. The smell is intoxicating. “Indulge me a little, honey.”

“No, Jiwon.” A shake of your head. Honey’s starting to sound really nice though.

“Pretty please?” Her pout’s back in full swing, doing her cute act of tilting her head, giving you those irresistible puppy eyes and the child-like voice airing out of her lips. “Just one, honey?”

Normally you’d say no. It’s the easiest thing in the world to say. One word. One syllable. 

But everything about her is just messing you up in all the good, the bad, the her ways from the moment she sat down.

And so, you cave in.

“Only once.” You sigh before leaning in towards her.

She grins before feeding you, giggling as she pulls it away. Her scent still lingers around you.

“You fold so easy when I act cute.” She states, placing the spoon on her pouting lips, tongue slipping out before she winks at you. “I should take notes on these–”

You weren’t used to this type of Jiwon. She was playful, sure, but never flirty with you. She’d tease, yell, whatever. Thought it was all friendly banter at that point. And from the moment you knew her, she would never, ever, act like this for you.

And you honestly thought she swung the other way judging from the looks she gives Hayoung on occasion. Or how she touches Jisun. And how well she knows Chaeyoung a little too much.

It was really, painfully obvious when she was with Miyeon. She even cried happy (or was it sad?) tears when she found out Miyeon got together with one of her coworkers. That ‘New Girl from Japan’ that Jiwon says everyone likes because of how bubbly she is.

But maybe you were wrong about her. And you don’t know what that means for you or for her.

“So,” You cough, gulping, praying that she doesn’t catch you like a nervous mess because of her. She’d never let it go. “Would you mind answering my question now?”

“Fine, fine.” She rummages through her purse a bit before she takes out a piece of paper. “I’m sitting here all dressed up, for this.”

She places it down, and the number is practically screaming out of it.

Twenty.

Two. Zero.

Oh.

“Oh, he says.” She giggles, chin resting on her palm. You were starting to like the sound of it coming out of her. “Didn’t expect it to be me?”

“I never really thought you were into these types of things.” You answer, eyes still focused on the stub. “And I thought you said you were going clubbing with Hayoung.”

“Technically, this is a club.” She replies, eyes dancing around the room. “And I was with Hayoung when we came in.”

“Did you also set yourself up as my blind date?”

“That was more of a group effort.” She smiles, tongue out and all. “Chae started it.”

“That’s now how blind dates are supposed to work.” You sigh—you’ve been doing that a lot.

“You didn’t know I was your date, so it’s still a blind date, honey.” She flicks the heart on her headband. “Besides, the look on your face is so worth the effort.”

“You are crazy.” You laugh despite yourself. This was not how you expected your night to go.

“Maybe.” She grins. All dimples and teeth and crescent eyes. “Maybe I just wanted to spend my Valentines with you.” 

You should have said something. Asked about the real reason she’s your date and not someone random. Why she went through all this trouble for you.

But you don’t know if you’re ready to hear the answer just yet. Besides, she’s done enough things today for you to put that on the back burner right now.

“Thanks for saving me, I guess.” You let out a smile of your own. Small, tired, content.

“You’re welcome!” She takes another scoop of ice cream. Grand, excited, happy. “Now enjoy this milkshake with me.”

“Only if you tell me how you all of you set this up.” Whether this was an excuse to keep things light or you wanted to hear her voice, you’ll never know.

“Deal.”

She starts rambling about how Chaeyoung found out that a mutual friend was helping out organize the entire event. How Hayoung decided to ‘volunteer’ and help out so that she can thumb down your names. How she convinced—screamed at, but semantics—you to attend the event.

You listened to all of it. Every crack in her voice when she giggles, every change in tone whenever she tries impersonating one of her friends. You don’t even notice that the milkshake’s almost gone.

You could watch her ramble on about things that could make your brain hurt like those brainrot memes that were blowing up all over the place and you’d take all of it and sit there with a smile–

Oh. Oh.

“–So now all I had to do was show up and look pretty while you gawk at how beautiful I am.”

“I wasn’t gawking.” You splutter, avoiding her gaze. You definitely weren’t. 

Surely.

“Uh-huh.” She smirks. “Didn’t you look like this–”

She starts making faces, pretending to be you when she first sat down. She looked adorably stupid doing it.

“I wasn’t that bad.” You laugh, flicking the spoon at her.

“I dunno.” She laughs with you, leaning back. “You were pretty bad at hiding it.”

You fall into a comfortable silence, and all that’s left is her smile, the music, and those little flutters in your chest that you used to have way back when. Her lips break into a grin, and her eyes light up.

You feel as if you could lose yourself in them.

Then she speaks, spoon raised and pointed towards you. 

You realize: you’re right back at square one.

“Happy Valentines, you idiot.”  

Falling in love.

“Yeah.” You smile, a shake of your head accompanying the spoon that you’re holding. You clink it together with hers.

“Happy Valentines, Jiwon.”

[hanfourz]

— m.jh thought [✷]

🪼- this has been rotting in my brain for weeks and i had to get it out. (also making this into a longer drabble bc whew; so enjoy this little snippet ig)

warnings: suggestive towards the end, kissing

thinking abt college bsf!myungjae who has a massive crush on you. he doesn't even try to hide it, he's literally so obsessed with you. if someone is looking for jaehyun, they look for you first because wherever you are he follows not too far behind. you can't even fully recall how you two became best friends. you remember him coming into the cafe you worked at a lot with his friends, conveniently around the time you would start your shift. he was always really friendly and sweet, making conversation while he waited for his order to be finished. you remember watching him and his goofball friends bicker loudly in the middle of the coffee shop and when you'd accidentally let out a giggle he was the first to look your way. you remember him one day asking you when your shift was over and him telling you to find him in the library once you were done. since that day, you two have been practically inseparable.

finals were coming up and the two of you had decided to become study partners. terrible idea really because he didn't have a serious bone in his body. whenever he came to your dorm to "study", you two always ended up studying for maybe ten minutes max before yall were huddled up on the couch watching tv. you had to resort to studying alone once he'd left. bad decision number two was letting him convince you to come study at his dorm because his roommate would be out and you'd have "peace and quiet" (as if that was a thing around myung jaehyun). when you got there wearing a baggy tshirt and shorts, jaehyun visibly gulped. everyone but you was very aware of his crush on you and it was times like this that made it especially difficult for him. because how was he meant to act somewhat normal when you looked like that. he wasn't sure he wanted you to be aware of how he felt about you, too scared to lose you as a friend entirely.

jaehyun was even more touchy than usual, body pressed right up against yours as you two sat on his bed. touchiness wasn't uncharacteristic for him, he was like that with everyone but today it was much worse. you didn't really understand why he seemed to be attached to your hip today but you can't say you were complaining. you never minded jaehyuns clinginess, it was actually one of the things you came to rly love about him. once your (very short) study sesh was over, he offered to walk with you back to your dorm since it was dark out. you never turned down spending more time with him and you two headed to the elevator. as you walked you had started yapping to him about something going on with some friends from one of your other classes. he wasn't really paying attention though, hyper focused on the way your cut-neck shirt was falling dangerously low on your shoulder.

as soon as you two were in the elevator, jaehyun was extremely close to you again. when you looked up at him, you were shocked to see the way he was looking at you. and when his hands found the curve of your hips and he was asking to please kiss you, the puzzle pieces started to click in your head. truth is, you'd always found him devastatingly attractive but refused to entertain those thoughts, trying not to catch feelings for someone who was just supposed to be a friend. but you'd be stupid to deny him right now and you'd be a liar if you said you hadn't wanted to kiss him since that first day you saw him in that cafe. so you gave in, you let him kiss you breathless on that elevator and you invited him into your dorm when you realized that your roommate was out. you let him indulge in every lewd fantasy he'd had of you right on your very bed.

[delusionalwritingsofagay]

Omega verse hiccup x nesting omega male reader. Coming home from a flight to find his bf nesting 🙏

Berk's Cozy Nest

Pairing : Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Male omega reader Fandom: How to train your dragon Tags :Established Relationship, omega verse, nesting, fluff word count: 772

The wind whipped past Hiccup’s face, a familiar embrace as Toothless soared through the crisp, late afternoon air. Berk was a patchwork quilt of greens and browns below, smoke curling lazily from chimneys, a testament to the bustling life he was so fiercely determined to protect. He'd been charting new territories again, pushing the boundaries of their maps, always driven by that explorer’s itch that gnawed at him.

“Alright, bud, time to head home,” Hiccup murmured, patting Toothless’s head. The dragon crooned in response, banking into a sharp turn that sent a thrill through Hiccup. He loved this, this feeling of freedom, of discovery. But there was a pull even stronger than adventure – the thought of returning to Berk, to his friends, to his Y/N.

Landing gracefully in front of their house, Hiccup dismounted, grinning at the sight of the familiar, albeit slightly haphazard, structure.

He pushed the door open, expecting the usual boisterous greeting, maybe the crackle of the fire, and the scent of whatever experimental dish Y/N was attempting to create. But silence met him. A strange, unsettling silence.

“Y/N?” Hiccup called out. “I’m back!”

Still nothing.

A flicker of worry tightened his chest. Y/N was rarely quiet. Usually, he was a whirlwind of energy, tinkering with things, sketching designs, or just chattering away about the latest gossip from the village.

“Y/N!” This time his voice was sharper, laced with concern.

Then he saw it.

Tucked away in the corner of the living room, hidden partially behind a screen adorned with Y/N’s intricate carvings, was a nest.

Hiccup froze. He’d heard whispers, of course, snippets of conversations amongst the village women, tales passed down through generations about Omegas and their…nesting instincts. He knew Y/N was an Omega, of course. They had dated long enough. But Y/N had never presented like this, not even close. The nesting instinct has never been a thing for him. He had never made a nest before.

It was a jumble of blankets, pillows, soft furs, and… oddly enough, some of Y/N’s favorite worn tunics. There were also a few of Hiccup’s own belongings scattered about – a tunic he’d lost weeks ago,

And nestled right in the middle of it all, curled up like a contented dragon hatchling, was Y/N.

Hiccup’s worry instantly evaporated, replaced by a wave of… well, something akin to awe. And a healthy dose of amusement.

Y/N was fast asleep, his face buried in the soft folds of a blanket. His hair was a mess, escaping from the loose braid he usually wore. And around him, the nest radiated a sense of…peace. A quiet, safe haven carved out from the bustling world of Berk.

He carefully approached the nest, his footsteps soft on the wooden floor. He knelt beside it, studying Y/N’s sleeping form.

He reached out a hand, gently brushing a strand of hair away from Y/N’s forehead. Y/N stirred slightly, nuzzling deeper into the blankets.

Hiccup smiled. Gods, he loved this man. Every quirky, brilliant, exasperating thing about him.

He knew he should probably wake him, ask him if he was alright. But the sight of Y/N so peaceful, so safe in his little nest… it was too tempting.

Instead, Hiccup did the only thing that felt right.

He kicked off his boot, unbuckled his prosthetic leg (setting it carefully aside), and crawled into the nest beside Y/N.

The blankets were warm and soft, smelling faintly of Y/N’s familiar scent – a mix of woodsmoke, metal, and something uniquely him. He carefully arranged himself so he wasn’t putting too much weight on Y/N, then wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Y/N sighed contentedly and snuggled closer, his head resting against Hiccup’s chest.

“Hiccup?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“Hey,” Hiccup whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair. “It’s me.”

“Mmm,” Y/N murmured, his grip tightening on Hiccup’s tunic. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Hiccup said, his voice laced with affection. He closed his eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of Y/N’s breathing.

Y/N leaned up and leaned closer for a kiss. Their lips met in a soft, tender kiss.As they kissed, Hiccup felt a wave of warmth wash over him.

Breaking the kiss, Hiccup nuzzled his nose against Y/N's cheek. "So," he said, his voice low and intimate. "What do you say we spend the rest of the evening right here? Just the two of us, in your cozy little nest?"

Y/N's smile widened. "That sounds perfect," he replied, snuggling closer to Hiccup's warmth.

[acourtofchaos]

CRUEL SUMMER | camp counsellor!Sirius Black x F!Reader

summary: blue skies, summer sun, and your camp leader dropping one hell of a bomb on you before the gates have even opened. That boy you hate with every fibre of your being? You now have to spend the entire summer with him whilst he teaches you how to swim. Good luck!

CW: both reader and sirius are mean as fuck to each other, mild slutshaming, slightly jealous sirius, total enemies vibes for this part though they're clearly in denial about wanting to fuck each other. Word count: 2.3K

A/N: i plan on making this a full long fic bc i love the idea so much so this is basically just a little snippet for week one of the festivalofaus event 🖤

“Over my dead body.”

“Believe it or not, that is exactly what we're trying to avoid, hence the swimming lessons.” The look that camp co-leader Minerva Mcgonagall gave you at your petulant response was nothing short of terrifyingly stern. Bordering on withering and even, ever so slightly worse, disappointed.

You hated it.

The middle-aged woman had the kind of presence that demanded respect, the kind of sharp eyed, no nonsense look that made some of the younger kids a little scared to approach her and could rein in even the unruliest of her mismatched band of counsellors.

But she was a sweetheart deep down, protective of each and every one of the kids that passed through the camp entrance and just as fiercely proud of them whether they managed to swim the length of the lake and back or simply put together a s'more without setting the entire woods on fire.

In short, you adored her. This tight lipped woman who had been more of a maternal figure to you in your two seasons of camp than your mother had your entire life, and so that small glint of disappointment had made you instantly want to take the words back. To snatch them from existence with a chastised grimace and slightly warmed cheeks.

To say sorry faster than you ever had before.

And maybe you would have, if it wasn't for the boy slouched in the chair beside you.

Sirius Black was as much the bane of your existence as he was beautiful, dressed in light jeans and heavy boots, a black band shirt that had been cut up at the neck and the sleeves to show off more pale skin and the dark sprawl of his numerous tattoos. Silver chains glinting prettily from his neck and ornate rings adorning his slim fingers.

His hair had been thrown up into a bun that did nothing to diminish the wild look of him, instead the strands that had slipped free to frame his face made him look sharper. The contrast to them and his startling grey eyes enough to make him look ethereal, like he'd waltzed straight out of a fantasy book instead of the richest, most straight-laced part of the country.

He didn't look like the music tutor or senior lifeguard of a summer camp, he looked like a villain, a threat, and to make it worse he was fucking smirking behind the loose fist he had pressed to his mouth. Gaze bright with mirth as it flickered between your camp leader and the side of your face.

Looking far too much like he was enjoying your discomfort despite the fact that it meant he was also being forced into lessons with someone he couldn't stand.

So maybe that was why instead of apologising like you should have, you jabbed a thumb in his direction, refusing to look at the boy incase you lost your head completely, and scoffed. “Are you kidding me? He's more likely to be the one that kills me.”

Sirurs let out a huff at that, rolling his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, I would never.” He tsked, his voice a smooth drawl that made something crackle beneath your skin, taunting. “You're not worth the jail time, doll.”

You glared at him, lips parting with a fresh insult when he had the audacity to wink at you.

“You know what, Black–”

“Enough, both of you.” Mcgonagall interrupted sharply, levelling you both with another displeased stare over her glasses whilst she tapped the pen in her hand once, twice, against the clipboard before pointing it at you. “We're missing a lifeguard this year and you did put in your application that you were willing to fulfil any duty needed. That you would learn if need be.”

Shit, she had you there.

Still, you argued weakly. A little desperate though you would never admit it. “I did, and I will, I swear, but can't it be someone else who teaches me? Like Lily or even Barty.”

Mcgonagall shook her head.“Miss Evans’ schedule is busy enough as it is and Mr Crouch is far too easily distracted, you'll be learning how to turn the lake purple or how to cover it with foam again before you can float.” She muttered, a touch fond despite the antics of your chaotic friend. “Sirius is the senior lifeguard and the best option to train you quickly. We'll just have to make some adjustments to the schedules until then.”

“But–”

“Christ, just accept that we're stuck together so we can leave.” Sirius grumbled and you hated the way his eyes flashed when you turned to him, like he'd won the argument before it started just by capturing your attention after you'd tried so hard to ignore him. “What's the matter, scared we’ll spend a little time together and you'll fall in love with me?”

“In your dreams, Black.” You snarled, face hot and frustration churning in your chest as he laughed lowly, condescending, full of the kind of mischief you wanted absolutely no part of.

"How did you know?” He gasped, all faux scandalised horror, fingers pressed to his parted mouth before it widened into a slow, sharp grin. “Wanna know what else I've dreamt about? I'd tell you but Minnie here might have a heart attack.”

“You're a pig, I'd rather be eaten by a lake monst–”

“Enough!” Mcgonagall slammed the clipboard down on the desk with enough force to make both you and Sirius jump, guilty faces snapping towards her as she let out a too long sigh. Like camp had only just started and she was already done with the pair of you.

“Lesson's will be every morning at seven sharp until eight. They'll take place until you're ready to complete lifeguard training and will not end a moment sooner. No ifs or buts, now get out before I assign you to toilet cleaning duties for the entire summer."

And well, that was that.

****

Camp Marauder at seven am was almost mystical, definitely charming in a way that stirred something behind your ribs and warmed it up a little. It was all pale blue skies still tinged with the pink flush of dawn, hazy and soft, peaceful, whilst the world around it had yet to fully wake.

It had a soothing effect on your frazzled state from your lack of sleep, the anxiety clutching at your chest over how this morning would go, and you were quietly thankful to how it steadily made all the muscles in your body untense.

The grumpy frown pinching at your brow, softening just a little when you inhaled the forest air slowly and closed your eyes to the sounds of birds chirping, trees rustling in the wind. The gentle lull of the lake lapping against the shoreline.

There was the scent of the damp earth beneath your feet and woodsmoke clinging to the air despite the fire having died hours ago, the smell of warm pancakes and sizzling bacon floating from the open door of the food hall and when you took another breath, this one a little easier, it gave you that sense of home you craved enough to make that final bit of tension in your shoulders release.

You were still, however, utterly unimpressed with the ungodly hour.

The coffee in your hand didn't help matters, no matter how carefully it had been delivered by a sleepy-looking Evan, nor did the warm pastry placed softly into the other for good measure by Regulus, or the oversized shirt you were wrestled into by a too fretful Barty when he caught sight of the way you were shivering in the morning breeze in just your swimsuit as you joined them for a sneaky early breakfast.

Not that you didn't appreciate all of it, christ of course you did, it was just that nothing could stop your mood from souring whenever you remembered you'd be spending an hour alone with Sirius Black.

The dark-haired boy was already there by the time you eventually dragged your feet down to the lake. Gliding effortlessly through the water like it was second nature, strong arms propelling him with the kind of grace that had you stopping in your tracks and just watching, a little awed.

And then it was like the boy could sense there were eyes on him.

He stopped mid lap and turned, staring back at you just long enough for it to be painfully obvious that you had been caught admiring him, and then he was swimming back towards you with a speed that felt intimidating. Hair dripping lake water and pale skin glittering with the droplets that fell from the curling ends when he stood and made his way over.

He wore only a pair of black shorts, soaked and clinging to the lean muscles of his thighs, hanging low on his hips and– oh fuck, shit, jesus christ why were you staring? Look somewhere else.

Despite the nausea that you felt over whatever temporary insanity was clearly wreaking havoc with you, it felt harder than it should have.

Because as much as you hated it, Sirius wasn't exactly unattractive, pretty far from it if you were being begrudgingly honest. And if that wasn’t distracting enough, then the way his tattoos moved with the flex of his arms, his chest and his elegant hands, as he pushed his wet hair back certainly was.

God, what kind of nightmare was this.

You couldn't look away now, not when Sirius was staring right back at you, eyes boring into yours like he could see straight into your head and pluck out those insane thoughts to read at his leisure.

It would be a weakness, an admission of guilt, and like hell would you give him the delight of knowing he'd gotten to you in any capacity. Let alone that you'd been checking him out.

He'd be unbearable, more than he already was, and quite frankly, you would rather die.

So instead you muttered a quiet 'morning' that sounded more strangled than you would have liked, counting on his assumption that the tightness in your voice was just a terrible attempt at politeness, and then you promptly attempted to drown yourself early by knocking back your half-full coffee in one go.

Praying that afterwards, if your cheeks appeared as flushed as they felt then you could simply blame it on the hot liquid and the steam making you too warm.

But if Sirius noticed anything when you placed the cup down he didn't say anything.

Instead, his gaze lingered on the shirt that you were wearing when you straightened, the way the hem was only long enough to touch just above mid thigh and made it seem like you were wearing nothing else despite the fact he knew, rationally, there was a swimsuit beneath.

The way it made you look too different compared to the girl he teased constantly for not knowing how to be anything but an uptight priss, too wild with your mussed hair and bare legs and bare feet, the way it made you look too much like you belonged to the boy you called your best friend and something unusual twisted in Sirius’ stomach at the thought.

You arched a brow at his silence. The lack of response whilst the frown on his face grew, deepening until he was practically glaring and when he caught the slight squaring of your shoulders, like you were preparing for a fight, he unashamedly leapt on it like it was a lifeline.

“You're late.” He bit out, sounding petty even to his own ears but he stubbornly ignored it, aiming a sharp nod towards Barty's shirt. “Seven am sharp means you're in the water at seven, dollface, not the time that you drag yourself away from violating camp property with your boyfriend at.”

You made a noise in the back of your throat, a scathing, disbelieving thing that made Sirius bristle, but where he expected outrage and an argument, instead you narrowed your eyes at him. A vicious smile tugging at your lips.

“You sound bitter, what's the matter, Black? Everyone finally figured out what an insufferable git you are and now no one wants you?” You tutted mockingly, all faux sympathy and concern. “Maybe you could ask your brother for tips on how to not physically repulse people, you know, since it was him as well as Barty I was with this morning.”

Was it a low blow? Undoubtedly.

But it had the desired effect, and you would apologise later to Reg for drawing him into the line of fire.

For now though, you relished the way Sirius’ eyes flared, the way his jaw clenched, a muscle fluttering beneath his skin at the mention of your closeness to his brother, and god, the victory singing in your chest was exquisite when he tore his stare away to glare across the lake and grumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that?” You asked innocently. “Oh you wanted to know that Evan was there too? Wow, what a busy morning I've had already, no wonder I was la–”

“I said, just get in the fucking water.”

You stifled a laugh and made your way to the lake’s edge, only wincing slightly when a couple of small twigs dug into your feet. But then it was Sirius’ turn to be smug when you seemingly stopped out of nowhere, toes just barely touching the water and going no further as you hesitated.

“What's the matter?” He called out as he passed, pressing a little too close so his chilly skin brushed against yours just to rile you up. He stepped into the lake before you could swat at him, wading in waist deep then turning to you with a crude, wolfish grin. “Scared of getting wet?”

Your eyes flickered up from the water, cold and cutting. “Never had to worry about that around you before, rockstar wannabe, never will.”

Sirius glowered at you, a sneer curling at his lips like he was about to argue, like he was gathering venom to hurl back at you, but then it all morphed. Grey eyes full of challenge and his tongue pressed to his cheek to wrestle back a grin.

“Yeah? Well c'mon then, doll, I don't bite.”

Call it self-preservation, or more than reasonable paranoia, but you didn't believe that was true for a second.