#after that she became a lot more bitter and closed off from the rest of her group and sliver by extension

[arolesbianism]

I’ve been finally getting to working on design concepts for my iterator ocs from Slivers local group, so here’s Stars. She is sooooo normal (lying)

[deconstructthesoup]

Okay, I had thoughts on forming a legit DBD Hadestown AU, and seeing as they kept me up literally all last night, it seemed only fitting that I actually write them down. So:

Charles and Edwin are, obviously, Orpheus and Eurydice respectively. However, rather than having just met and falling into a whirlwind romance, I decided that they're childhood friends who've met again and rediscovered feelings that they'd both been ignoring for a long time. Edwin is dedicated soley to figuring out why the world is dying and if he can help people while he can, and he hasn't really let himself rest, or even feel happy, in years---to the point where he feels that any good thing is too good to be true, even falling in love. Charles, on the other hand, has long since made the decision that someone has to be happy and keep spirits up in the trying times, and it might as well be him... even at the cost of his own health, as he works tirelessly on a song that he knows, despite all logic and understanding, will bring back spring again.

Crystal is Hermes, but she is also Hecate---she is the goddess of the in-between, magic, trickery, the crossroads, and restless souls... and that last part refers not only to the dead that she guides to Hadestown, but to anyone who chooses a life of wandering the road, from the honest messenger to the thieving highwayman. And yet, since the world has begun to die, she's been slowly slipping away from her role, choosing to spend her time among the mortals. This decision, of course, is helped by the fact that not only is Crystal one of the few gods who thinks there's more to the world dying than it just being "a reflection of mortal hubris," but that she's managed to make a friend in Charles. She's seen the way that music can change the world, after all, and knowing that there's at least one mortal who still has hope means that she can still believe.

Niko is a combination of Aphrodite and Dionysus---she's the goddess of love, revelries, happiness, and abundance, yes, but she's also the goddess of the mania that comes when all of those things are taken too far, and she's been dipping more and more into that side of herself as the world gets worse and worse. She wants to forget all the pain and suffering, and she gives herself and others the means to do so, even if it's all temporary. And while Niko does care for the mortals, and wishes that things could get better... deep down, she's lost a lot of her old hope, and even she can't disguise the fact that she's living with a broken heart.

Monty is Persephone, but he's also Apollo---he's the god of rebirth, prophecies, the stars and the earth, and new beginnings... and for what should be half of the year, he rules over the dead. He used to find just as much joy in watching over the souls as he did creating spring with Niko and charting the stars to bring prophecies to the mortals, but as Hadestown gets more punishing, more people die up above, and the world just gets worse, Monty grows even more bitter and closed off. He's unable to even properly enjoy his time on the surface, knowing full well that he won't stay for six months like he should... and the man he loves is wearing his patience thin.

The Cat King is Hades---and yes, somebody did make a very compelling argument for him being the Fates, but it works for the story, so just hang on. Once upon a time, he was happy just ruling over souls and managing the afterlife, and he cherished the time he spent with Monty as much as he could. But over time, wealth became added to his already vast domain, and his fascination for making and collecting things became an obsession... in no small part due to the fact that those six months spent away from Monty started to weigh incredibly heavy on him, and he eventually loses himself in his effort to replicate everything his husband loves about the upper world as it dies along with the way they used to feel about each other. Not to mention, his old empathy and compassion for the souls has hardened into cold indifference at best and a sick enjoyment of their suffering at worst. And all this change is making one person in particular very happy...

Esther is the Fates, but she's also a version of Demeter---the goddess of nature and all of its love and cruelties, and the one who spins everyone's path on her loom, punishing those who dare to stray from what she has determined for them. She's despised the Cat King for years, ever since he whisked Monty away to Hadestown, and she wholeheartedly believes that the reason the world is dying is only because he's been keeping Monty down there for too long, not because they've begun to fall out of love. So, when Esther spins a tale of a pair of lovers who are destined to end tragically, she sees it as an opportunity to finally push the Cat King and Monty to the breaking point---to save her son and the world, she tells herself, but mostly for revenge.

[drefear]

The Lonely (Christina Perri)

Miguel X Reader

TW: drinking: getting drunk, implied smut, a lot of angst and sad feels

A/N: Y'all. the sad/angsty feels are wild rn. This can be read as a part two to Distance, or alone.

“2 a.m., where do I begin?

Crying off my face again”

The small pat of your bare footsteps against the hardwood floor of your apartment was barely audible as you snuck out of your own bedroom to your kitchen. Just a glass of water, that’s all you wanted, you told yourself. 

Really, you needed a second to clear your head, to not have Miguel’s arm draped over your body and suffocating your mind. You’d been going crazy recently, and you could barely function without thinking about him constantly. 

His beautiful presence was everywhere in your life. His scent was soaked into your sheets, his dominating personality was all anyone even spoke about in the Society, and when he wasn’t being spoken about or sleeping in your bed, he was buried deep within you and kissing the column of your throat. 

As you sipped the cool liquid, your eyes closed and you felt yourself get completely overwhelmed. You were drowning in your love for Miguel O’Hara. Tears streamed down your cheeks and onto his shirt that you had claimed as pajamas for the night. Resting the cup down on the countertop, you tried to catch your breath in between quiet sobs, completely unaware of Miguel listening and feeling his heart break from the other room. 

"The silent sound of loneliness

Wants to follow me to bed"

You slipped back under the covers and cuddled into him closer, but instead of holding you tight and refusing to let go like he normally did, he turned onto his other side and gave you his broad back. You didn’t think much of it, assuming he was still sound asleep, and tucked yourself into a comfortable position. 

"I'm a ghost of a girl that I want to be most

I'm the shell of a girl that I used to know well"

Miguel watched you become a stranger, pushing you away after that night. He distanced himself to avoid breaking your heart even more than he already had, not wanting to be the reason you cried anymore. 

His chest felt like it would concave into itself if he spent one more day avoiding eye contact with you, one more day without holding those perfect hips and kissing those rosy cheeks. He felt like without you, he was dying, but he’d rather die than hurt you. 

"Dancing slowly in an empty room

Can the lonely take the place of you?"

You were lost. Had you done something wrong? You almost always ended up having him follow you home and sleep over that night, sharing passion and fire with one another after a lost, frustrating day of saving the multiverse. 

But recently, he’d completely ignored you. He’d barely grunt a hello at work, then not even answering your texts and finally giving you back the spare key you had given him when you started this unspoken arrangement. You found it in your locker during some basically training and working out, feeling as if you’d actually gotten sucker punched in the stomach at the very sight. 

What had you done? 

"I sing myself a quiet lullaby

Let you go and let the lonely in to take my heart again"

Days became weeks, and you began spiraling into curiosity. You’d asked Lyla what was going on with Miguel, and she always answered with a shrug. 

But now she’d said something that made your skin crawl. 

He was seeing someone. 

And that’s how you ended up wondering your own apartment in sweat pants and a too-big band shirt. Hair a mess, mascara streaks down your face, you laid back on the couch and stared at the ceiling, feeling a numbness take presidency over your heart. The world felt cold to you, almost bitter as a tingle ran through your muscles. It was like you weren’t in your body anymore as you put pieces together. 

You two weren’t together, he didn’t owe you anything and vice versa, but it would have been nice to hear it from him instead of his AI assistant. 

"Too afraid to go inside

For the pain of one more loveless night"

This made you finally stop reporting to the Society, giving your watch to Ben and staying home. You abandoned your duties as Spider-woman, deciding to leave everything that reminded you of Miguel behind. There were plenty of other super heroes, they could handle it. You just wanted to float in space, not having to feel the emotions you have been stranded with. 

"But the loneliness will stay with me

And hold me 'til I fall asleep"

More time passed as you refused to leave your apartment, hugging your knees as you shook from your sobs. You were heartbroken, your bedsheets still smelling like his cologne and musk. You couldn’t eat or sleep, you could barely shower, everything felt wrong. 

"I'm the ghost of a girl that I want to be most

I'm the shell of a girl that I used to know well"

One night, after doing your constant crying like you’d been doing for a few weeks now, you saw yourself in the mirror and actually jumped a little. You didn’t recognize yourself, dark bags under your red, glassy eyes, face completely chapped and flustered from crying so much, lips bitten and a little bloody from trying to stifle the painful whimpers. 

You were a stranger to yourself now. 

"Dancing slowly in an empty room

Can the lonely take the place of you?"

You began to start playing music as you cried, trying not to drown in your sorrows. One night, you’d decided to go out and try to be in the world again. At a bar, the jukebox played love songs over and over, prompting you to throw back many shots as you wanted to cloud the music from your ears. It was a terrible idea, you knew, but you couldn’t help it after how much you’d missed him. 

This drunk state caused you to end up dancing alone at closing and being gently escorted out of the bar, then walking home. Entering your quaint little apartment was the saddest feeling you’d felt in a long time. 

You’d been so heartbroken that you went out and got drunk by yourself. What had gotten into you? But the truth was, you didn’t completely mind because the alcohol made you at least think less.

"I sing myself a quiet lullaby

Let you go and let the lonely in

To take my heart again"

Music flowed throughout your place as you found more comfort in a bottle of red wine. Spinning, you mumbled the words and took a large swig of the contents. A knock on your door made you wobble to answer it and swinging it open, you were greeted with a confused but familiar face. 

The pregnant spider woman stood opposite from you. As you tilted your head and asked about her coming here, she just scanned you and understood your drunken state a bit more. 

"Broken pieces of a barely breathing story"

Jess sat you down and tried taking the bottle from your grasp, but you were fast and chugged the rest of its liquid. Laying back on your couch, you stared at that same ceiling you’d gazed at after finding out the painful truth from Lula, your eyes filling once more and bursting out frantically. Jess’s hand rubbed your back as you babbled about your feelings, barely coherent as you drunkenly cried to her. The next morning was almost as painful as the previous night, as you tossed up the contents of your evening into your toilet while Jess held your hair. She clarified that everyone was worried about you, and that your presence was missed at the Society. You shook your head, saying you were no longer who you once were. 

She left soon after, leaving behind a certain gizmo and asking you to rethink it. 

"Where there once was love

Now there's only me and the lonely"

You played out in your bed, still breathing in the lingering smell of Miguel on your pillow, and crying once more. This time, though, you screamed out loudly and let yourself wail without holding anything back or numbing the pain. You clutched that pillow to your chest as you soaked it, black makeup rubbing into the material as you shoved your face into the cushion. 

"Dancing slowly in an empty room

Can the lonely take the place of you?

I sing myself a quiet lullaby

Let you go and let the lonely in

To take my heart again"

The lonesome nights were never the same, until a familiar tap at your window made you jerk up. You shifted, finally thinking you might have lost your mind and we’re hallucinating until you saw a shadow at your fire escape. Opening it up, you saw the hulking figure of the man you’d let in so many times before. 

Your eyes scanned him over, and his did the same. You looked so tired, so drained, and he hated the sight of you this way. He climbed through your window and into your apartment, towering over you and watching you carefully, unsure of how you’ll react. 

You let out a breathy whimper and he couldn’t control himself anymore, his arms reaching out and pulling you to him, practically crushing you into his chest as you let out the pain and cried without hesitation. Hearing your upset that he had caused by pushing you away, lying to Lyla and making you want to leave, he fell to his knees and buried his face into the soft plush of your tummy, your arms wrapping around his head and pulling him into you. He gripped your biceps and spoke with a shaky voice. 

“I’m so sorry…”

@liz96893

[maochira]

Aah hi :) this is my first time requesting

May I please get a itoshi! Sister reader

Where the brothers leave her behind and out of spite and anger she starts playing soccer and is really good at it and she makes a name for herself, and she's super famous and a reporter asks her about her brothers, and she says something along the lines "I don't want to talk to them" and would ignore anything to do with her brothers? Just a lot of angst :D

Sorry if this is too long :>

Sorry for taking so long to respond to this!! I took a short break from Itoshi sibling requests. But I'm back with them! Also I only write gn!reader stuff, I hope you don't mind!

Requests are open!

Masterlist and request rules

Itoshi siblings masterlist

Tags: gn!youngest Itoshi!reader, kind of angsty

-being the youngest, you were overlooked most of the time. All the attention was on Sae and when he left to go to Spain, the rest of the attention got put on Rin

-you didn't play soccer or had any other talents in sports, so of course you were overlooked, even by your parents

-Rin missed playing with Sae, so he asked you to play with him instead. But it only got him frustrated because you're by far not as good at soccer as your brothers

-the way Rin told you about you being so bad at soccer really wasn't nice. Usually, he's a lot nicer to you because after Sae left you two got much closer, so this was pretty out of character of him

-and whenever you addressed that to Rin, he'd either ignore or brush it off as something small, no matter how often you explained it hurt your feelings. Rin was too busy being frustrated about not being able to play with Sae anymore, so he knew he'd have to replace him by himself, since you weren't good enough

-that frustrated you so much, you swore to yourself that you wouldn't play soccer with Rin ever again, and how instead you would only want to play against him in the future. Because you wanted to beat him and Sae

-your rivalry towards Rin and Sae actually developed before the one between them started. You just kept it to yourself all the time and would answer other things whenever you were asked why you started soccer

-you became a great player very quickly, getting close to Rin's skill faster than expected

-Rin was excited about you getting so great, but you still refused to play together with him

-once Rin started getting bitter about Sae, you revealed your goal to beat both of them one day, which Rin is surprised by. He was also a little hurt because he thought you might be able to beat Sae together one day, but this also motivated him to be better than you and Sae. He was already better than you, so that's one thing he had for the time being. But he wanted to prevent you from ever getting better than him

-while Rin was in Blue Lock, you improved even more with your skills and got invited into a team overseas. It wasn't not as good as Sae's, but you still accepted that offer because you want to get your name out there into the world, so you saw this as the next step

-you travelled back to Japan to watch the U-20 match, where Rin and Sae spotted you in the audience. For Rin, it was kind of bittersweet that you came to watch. Sae doesn't know anything about your rivalry towards him yet, so he was happy to see you

[christopherisfoive]

Echoes

A/N: This is something that I would imagine to be a part of a bigger series but then again I struggle to write long term stories lol. Maybe at some point. Really just a snippet to get the gears going lol.

(Bang Chan x reader)

I never thought something I looked forward to would become so bitter. No room left for a sweet feeling any longer. Standing here off to the side with my group on stage waiting for final announcements to be made so that we can escape this awkward tension. I look toward Lea one of my favorite people in the world and her eyes meet mine. She reaches down and grabs my hand in hers. Both of us taking in big deep breaths.

"Well, I'm glad that we showed up late to avoid the mingling before the show." I sighed as she spoke. Usually we would be the first ones here jumping at all opportunities to catch up with everyone. Especially them. "Even if we were here before, we would still be completely ignored," Kat mumbled next to us. She looked over giving me a small smile, letting me know she was on my side.

All of this was my fault. Every hard stare. Every throat cleared in passing. Although was it? I was involved sure, with the rumors, that are undeniably false, in my eyes at least. It ruined my chances at a lot of opportunities and relationships. Staring to my left across the stage he stands there with the boys. Bang Chan, leader of Stray Kids. I make it sound a little silly but he is a very important person. To everyone and to me.

My mind goes back to the beginning of all of this. I had met this trainee over at SM named Donghae. He was very sweet and polite while making conversation, introducing himself to me. I would speak to him every now and then at events in passing.

I always saw him as a great acquaintance that I got to know. I would have never said we were anything more than friends and not even very close. "Donghae how are you doing today?" He smiled at me and clasped his hands together. "Much better now that we've gotten to speak." A nice warm and innocent smile that I had grown to really appreciate. Things did change after that.

At one of the award events Donghae came up to me and pulled me aside away from the girls. "Where did Y/N go? We have to go find our seats."

I followed him to the back of the room, not expecting a change of events that would affect my career for time to come. I remember the loud speakers and the chatter of people surrounding us. The nerves on his face and some sweat beading from the top of his forehead. I had a small smile on my face as he spoke.

Then I felt it slowly falter.

"Donghae, I-" I didn't know what to say. More like I knew what it was but I just didn't want to. Only because I knew that it would be what he didn't want to hear. I also heard something that I did not want to, so would it make it even? That is surely a silly way to think right? Thinking. I feel like I have been thinking for an eternity and he is standing right in front of me.

I played with my fingers, trying to not meet his eyes. I looked around for an escape but I didn't have one.

I coughed a bit hoping to get the words out. "That is very sweet of you Donghae but I just..." I closed my eyes and bit my lip. His eyes sparkled a bit and then they became dim in seconds. He knew. "I am sorry but I am not interested, I am really trying to focus on the group. I really want to put my all into this you know?" He looked down kicking his feet a bit. "It's fine Y/N, I understand. Sorry about that.

"Oh no you don't have to-" He walked away not waiting for another response.

I felt a small nudge to my back. I blinked a couple times remembering that I was standing on stage with a tons of our peers. I followed behind Lea walking towards the front of the stage to descend the steps as everyone began to leave.

As I was about to step down I made a sudden stop and almost tripped over myself. Bang Chan next to me and the rest of stray kids behind him. "Be careful guys we wouldn't want to get on her bad side." He smirked and proceeded to walk on off the stage. His lost boys following behind him. The last of them, Felix, gave me a sincere look of concern.

I sighed and walked down to the girls. "What an ass."

"Yeah its a good thing you never got involved with him." I force a laugh looking around again. He still thinks ill of me because of what I did. They all do. Lea noticed me becoming more aloof and linked her arm with mine. "You know he doesn't know the whole story right? It would take a village to get all of these people to understand. Why try?"

I would try in hopes of clearing my name. These people's opinions were important to me for some reason. Was it so wrong that I wanted their attention? I wanted his attention?

[15-lizards]

Anon that asked for Maegor's wives here!!! Omg, i totally loved your takes about the first three wives (I call them myself "The laughning wives" bcs they married Maegor "happily and laughning" hehe). So, now your takes on the "Black brides", do you think Maegor letted them had their mourning clothes or got her all covered in gold that weighted like chains over them? And for the general fashion of the court? I am sorry if this are a lot of questions, i just really enjoy your fashion takes!

Thank you dear sweet baby anon 🫶

Being from the Reach, Elinor dressed in the traditional fashions, but based on what we are given about her character, she seems to be a somber and modest woman. Even before she was married to Maegor, she dressed simply, still fitting for a noblewoman but nothing flashy. After her husbands murder she probably never wore anything other than black, unless Maegor forced her into something else. Even her wedding dress was a plain black mourning gown. Once Maegor died and she became a septa to Jaehaerys, she never ditched the bare bones simplicity and coverage of her mourning clothes, dressing like a commoner for the rest of her days

Rhaena was never exceedingly extravagant, even when her father was king and she wasn’t on the run. Her outfits were always made from the finest of materials but never flashy, looking like they belonged on a merchants wife. Once Maegor called her forward, he probably dressed her in richly decorated, low cut, large skirted gowns more fitting to her station, as a way to anger his niece (though they were always black, as he took pride in causing the death of the husbands of his three brides). After she escaped and Jaehaerys was made king, she reverted back to her old fashion. However in the years that followed Elissa’s betrayal, her mother’s death in childbirth, the poisoning of her companions, and the brutal death of Aerea she became increasingly bitter and closed off. She put almost no effort into how she looked, allowing herself to be dressed like an old merchants widow until the end of her days

Poor Jeyne Westerling dressed in the typical fashions of the Westerlands once her mourning period had ended (fashions similar to the reach) with slim skirts and high waists and gauzy veils. After Maegor sets sights on her, he dresses her in black once more, the simple and elegant mourning gowns to parade his new bride around in. Once she falls pregnant, a rarely elated Maegor allows her whatever she desires, and lauds her with extravagant gifts, clothing included. Up until the day of her untimely death, she was wearing cloth of gold skirts and puffy sleeves the size of her head.

[thestoryloft]

"Malebolg"

Bucky Barnes x Reader smutty fic (18+)

Contains HURT W/ NO COMFORT, explicit sexual content, prostitute!reader, unrequited love, Bucky being MEAN

Gender-neutral reader (no pronouns or gendered physical descriptions are used)

It’s winter the first time he visited you. Maybe that’s why you fell for it. The air was so bitter and frigid you couldn’t ever quite feel warm enough. Your bones were so dry they ached for respite from the solitude the mute, colorless sky brought. That winter was so cold no number of lovers could fuel a single spark of warmth in you. Until he visited.

“We have a large variety of options,” your boss told him as you all lined up. “Anyone catch your eye?”

He examined the lot of you stoically, seemingly unimpressed. When his eyes met yours, he stopped.

“This one.” He said instantly.

Your boss laughed. “A sweet one, a little plain though, can I recommend-”

“No.” he snapped at her then returned his gaze to yours. “This one.”

You escorted him to your assigned bedroom- a plain, more diminutive space indicative of your menial but steady success in your profession. “What can I do for you?” you asked him quietly.

“Lay down,” he murmured, pulling off his shirt. When you rested your back on the bed he crawled over you gently. He pulled your thin top off and you gasped as your chest made contact with his. His flesh felt close to burning you from how searing his warmth was.

His lips searched for yours and you placed a gentle hand over his mouth. “I-I don’t kiss.” You told him, so instead he buried his face in your neck, sucking at the sensitive skin by your clavicle. You still don’t know how he found that spot immediately as if he had a detailed map of your body’s inner workings. Maybe he wanted to strike your carotid, thinking if he blistered the skin there enough he could lap up the blood and drink from your life force. Either way, he left that room that day with a tiny piece of you beneath his fingernails.

You didn’t expect to see him again until he showed up again. And again. It became a weekly occurrence, so regularly the woman running the front of the house would send him straight up to your room. Once he arrived while you were still with a different client, and after your boss barged in to throw the older man with you out, she informed you he paid her extra to have you immediately. Your coworkers began to refer to him as ‘your soldier’ when they would gossip about what you could possibly be doing for the two hours he would pay for. You pitied them for not getting to experience the pleasures you were.

One day he arrived late into his usual time with you. His hair was stuck to his sweaty forehead and his clothes were disheveled. You asked him if he was okay and he simply replied “It’s been a shit day.”

That day he was rough. He lay his torrent of emotion into you- anger with each grasp of your hips, frustration with each thrust, and a million others through the throaty groans ripping out of him. It was a passion you’ve never felt before, the kind that rattles your bones and ignites your skin. You let him use you and lavished the fire in him only you could tend to. “See what you do to me?” he asked as he pressed your hand against his racing heart. The rest of that week you didn’t feel quite so cold.

Winter thawed and spring began to blossom. Your boss threw the windows open in the house to bring in fresh air and alert potential clients to the revelry occurring under her roof. He pressed into you against the windowsill, not caring as you pointed out the passersby below in the street. “I want them to see,” he moaned in your ear, “that you’re mine.”

A flower delivery came to the house. Your boss was about to turn them away, informing the delivery man he must have the wrong place until she glanced at the note. “These are for you. From your soldier.”

You thanked him for them the next time he was by, and he told you the pleasure was all his when he massaged the rose petals into your skin with an ardor you were sure was reserved for religious worship. You never smelled quite so good as you did that week.

“I swear,” he’d moan in your ear after climaxing, still thrusting into you, “I'm going to knock you up. Get you pregnant with my baby.” And even though you knew that wasn't possible, it didn’t prevent you from writhing at the sentiment and secretly dreaming of making it a reality.

Spring gave way to the hottest summer you can remember. It was all sweat and spit and skin-on-skin. He tied your wrists to the bed posts and tested your limits, forcing you out onto your last thread and plucking at it until you were a begging mess. Taking pity, he sent you plummeting mercifully before his own self-control gave out and he worked himself into you, overstimulated and pliable under his strong touch.

He kissed you for the first time on the solstice, and the longest day of the year passed in mere seconds. You can still feel his mouth on yours- he’s imprinted on you so deeply you doubt it will ever fade, though if it was up to you it would last forever.

He told you no one else would taste you again, he’d spoken to your boss and arranged the finances. You didn’t mind, rather it struck you as another sign of his deep devotion. Anyways, your hot fervor was relentless, and he was the only release capable of satisfying your burning hunger. “You’re mine,” he reminded you as he sunk into your heat, “I’ll take care of you.”

The late spring winds stripped the trees of their foliage and ushered in the first chills of fall. When you felt that all-too-familiar rush of cold, a heaviness encompassed your heart. He noticed immediately, and you couldn’t help the tears that fell when he insisted you tell him what was wrong. He just held you, kissing away your tears. He quelled all your fears, he promised he would fix them all, and with his deft, careful touch he pulled every string of sadness out of the tangle of emotions choking your soul.

“I’m going to steal you away from here,” he told you, “and make sure you never hurt again.”

And how could you do anything but fiercely trust him when he swore on his very soul you were his deepest desire, his mast in the storm, his one and only?

A new feeling settled in with the chill- hope. It illuminates your face when he visits today.

“How are you?” you ask with a smile as he wraps his arms around you.

He kisses your head gently, taking in your scent. “Okay. Better now that I’m here.”

Your heart swells at that and you nod. “It’s cold out there.”

“Want me to warm you up?” there’s a sparkle in his eye as he leads you to the bed and claims your mouth.

It’s a familiar sensation by now but one you can’t get enough of. He licks hungrily into your mouth, subduing you little by little. It’s perfect, and in your endorphin-glutted mind, only one sentiment is able to break through the sticky sweet fog.

I love you.

You open your mouth to moan as his teeth nip at your throat but that sentiment is pressing at your lips and breaks out in a jumbled stream you can’t stop.

“I love you, I love you, I love-”

His broad hand claps over your mouth. “Stop that.”

His gaze is stern but softens meeting yours. He pulls his hand away and your lips pull up in a watery smile. “I do.”

He frowns, breaking away from your gaze. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“W-what do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” he scoffs, looking around uncomfortably. “You’re the hooker, you should know.”

A sharp, startling pain slices at your chest. A hooker? You’re a hooker to him? You try to shake away the dread bubbling up in your gut.

“I stopped being a hooker weeks ago.” You remind him with a slightly raised voice. It’s true- you’ve had no clients since he arranged you’d be only his.

He shakes his head and crawls off the bed. “What are you talking about?”

“What have you been talking about?” You’re nauseous now. “What’s the point of everything you’ve been saying all these weeks to me? How I’m yours, how you’re going to take me away?”

“Going to take you… Jesus Christ!” He starts pacing with his hands on his hips. “That was fucking foreplay. You can’t actually think that I- fuck!”

You sit up, staring at one spot on the floor and trying desperately not to throw up. Your voice is shaky. “Was it foreplay when you danced with me? When you said I was your paramour, your soul’s desire, your-”

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” He spits the words at you. “Do you believe anything a man says during sex?”

Your mind is reeling. Every whispered sentiment and enamored praise flash through your head, every oath sworn over and over through groans and gritted teeth turns black in an instant. It congeals, forming a thick, choking smog in your stomach.

“So none of it was real? You didn’t mean any of it?”

“I fucking paid you!” He roars right in your face and your ears ring from it. “And I still haven’t gotten my money’s worth.”

Your hope, anger, and sorrow all drain down, down through your heart and soul until they seep out of your body, leaking into the floorboards. You’re left with a gaping emptiness inside your gut, dark and still. The crushing pain is gone. Now you feel nothing.

“I’m sorry I wasted your time.” You murmur, a calm numbness settling in your fingertips.

“Damn right, you wasted my time.” He shakes his head, scoffing. After a moment, he licks his lips. “Someone should punish you.”

You nod, keeping your gaze down as you fan your sweaty fingers across your thighs. “What can I do for you?”

“Lay down.” He shoves you roughly down on the bed, tearing your clothes off. “You sweet, stupid slut.”

He sucks at your throat and you whimper, pawing at his chest. He takes you without preparation, without looking at you even though you’re staring up at him with glassy eyes blurred from the stream of tears falling down your face. When he bites at your jaw, you’re sure he tastes the salt there.

It’s frantic and brutal, he punishes you with fervor and you repent desperately. His skin sears yours painfully- will you ignite? Burst into a plume of flame under him?

“You’re fuckin nasty you know that, sweet thing? Messy fucking hole creaming all over my cock.” He groans in your ear. His words are shameless, maybe because you’re so full of shame there isn’t room on this bed for more. He climaxes with a grunt and a thrust and you bite down on your palm to hold in a sob.

“I’ll have to speak to your boss. I don’t like having my time wasted by hookers.” He says bitterly before pulling out of you with a hiss.

You sit up as far as your weakened spine will allow, watching him clean himself. “I would’ve died for you.” Your words are barely a whisper.

He rolls his eyes. “I never asked you to do that.”

It doesn’t take him long to collect his clothes and leave.

The first snow is falling in fluffy flakes as he hurries to the brothel. It’s been a week since he was last there, and the bitter ache in his bones tells him it’s been a week too long.

He couldn’t tell you how he really felt. He couldn’t. You caught him off guard, confronted him too abruptly. He knows he was a little harsh with you, but he needed you to stop talking before he lost his mind or finally admitted to himself all he wanted was to drag you out of that whore house and never let your hand go as long as he lives.

Thing is, he knows that’s a bad idea. People close to him get hurt. So he keeps everyone at arm's length, except in the heat of your arms that got harder and harder to remember. So he left, and this week has been the darkest he’s had in a while. Fuck everything, he needs you. He can’t possibly continue without you for another minute, let alone another week. He’ll explain this all to you, convince you to come with him.

The madame of the house is at the entrance, and steps in front of the hallway when he tries to get through.

She states grimly that you’re not there.

He frowns at her. “What do you mean?”

You quit days ago, she explains. You got a boat ticket and shipped out, she has no idea where to.

It feels like she just slapped him across the face. He takes a step back, reeling and with no other idea, he runs to the docks, dodging past tourists and cars, not caring as he’s cussed out. At the harbor, he dodges to the edge of the pier and stares out over the black water. There are a few ships just visible on the horizon. Are you on one of them?

A snow squall swishes by, sending a chill down his spine.

You close your eyes as the breeze picks up on the main deck. Most of the crew and passengers are below deck where central heating keeps it cozy. You stepped out for just a moment of fresh air and got sidetracked by the bright sunset visible in a break in the clouds.

You didn’t even know where the boat was sailing to until you booked the ticket a few days ago. You’ve been at sea ever since, and the further you get from your old home the clearer the fog in your head feels. Maybe someday, once you finally reach that horizon line, you’ll start to feel okay again.

When the winter winds hit you, it’s not as chilling as you remember.

[rentfreeinmyskull]

what is mai and natila's story? are they in lo ve?

Mai and Natila were raised as Jedi in the Temple on Coruscant. From the beginning, they were inseparable. They understood each other better than anyone else did. They were each other’s first friend, first love, first everything. 

Mai, out of her generation of Jedi, was considered one of the most dedicated and skilled, which put a lot of pressure on her to do well and be a role model to her fellow classmates. Meanwhile, Natila, with her restless nature and weak connection to the Force, was at best, thought to be a mediocre Jedi and at worst, a disappointment. This created a rift in their relationship. Mai was jealous of Natila’s freedom, while Nat envied the attention that Mai gained so ‘easily’. Nevertheless, they stayed close throughout their early years.

When they were teenagers, they realised their romantic feelings for each other. Natila was more open about it, while Mai expressed it through quiet acts of devotion. After a trip to Ilum, the two of them decided to swap their newly-found crystals, as a symbol of their love for each other. 

Then the Padawan trials came. Mai passed easily and was offered a place as a Padawan. Meanwhile, Natila was left in the dust. She convinced Mai to join her in a little act of rebellion, to make the Jedi pay [tbh I haven’t sorted the complete why and what they do, but the end result is still the same]. While they’re in the middle of it though, the alarms go off and Natila is trapped in a security Force field. Panicking and knowing that the guards are coming, Mai flees and leaves Nat to face the full brunt of the consequences.

Mai would have gotten away with it, but Natila didn’t. No one offered to take her under their wing and so the Council made the decision to exile her from the Temple. She was offered a place in a different wing of the Order [Peace corps type deal] but she refused. Bitter and betrayed, she left the Temple without saying goodbye to Mai. She still kept the lightsaber crystal though.

Years passed with no contact between them. Mai became a Jedi Knight, then Nuri’s Master. She kept Natila’s crystal, but didn’t use it in her lightsaber, as she didn’t consider herself worthy of it. Natila carved out a sphere of influence in the Coruscant underworld. She became known as a broker and hunter, under the alias of the Bronze Blade. She focused mainly on sourcing information, either to sell or to use for her own gain.

As the galactic conflict heightened, Mai and Natila’s spheres came into collision. Mai went hunting for an ancient weapon the Jedi could use. A contact of hers suggested an information broker who might know something about it and Mai was led right to Natila’s door. 

Their reunion was intense, to say the least. Natila had been hiding her rage for years and seeing Mai brought it all out into the light. She blamed her old friend for all of it: for her years of struggle under Mai’s shadow, for her exile, for abandoning her. Mai took the brunt of it and asked if they could set aside their past for the sake of the mission at hand.

Natila was initially hesitant, but agreed to work with Mai. Once again, specifics I haven’t worked out yet, but the two of them hunt for the weapon together and find their feelings start to rekindle. They both know though that their relationship will never be what it once was. But the yearning is very real and very much there. They will always have history and they will always know the other better than they know themselves. 

Later on, Ziost happens. Mai, Nat, Nuri, Leiko and the rest of my cast of characters are sent to investigate and stop the Sixth Line. Before they leave, Mai pulls Natila aside and admits that she never stopped loving her, that she accepts it if Nat never forgives her, but would like to earn her trust again. Natila says she’d be willing and the two of them share a little tender moment (either hand kiss or full kiss, don’t know quite yet). Mai urges Nat to be safe, since she’ll be on the front lines. Then they part ways.

And um..one of them dies on Ziost. So yay. 

I think of my Star Wars OCs in the context of a tv show format, so Mai and Natila are side characters in this one and don’t have a lot of focus, but it’s still important and devastating. 

[jackienautism]

i always thought that sam like. either had a Moment of snapping postgame (like in the police station or something, right after the interviews) or straight up dropped off the map and told nobody where she went immediately after the events of the game. like, she Will do whatever she can to get these assholes (i say this affectionately) off the mountain alive. and she's willing to bite back a lot of what she might feel in order to stay focused on that goal. but afterwards? sam snapping is sooo special to me. i think that if she drops off the map she snaps eventually too (because i do see her returning at some point, i think sam's instincts are to outrun the things that bother her but she does, rationally, see the inevitability of having to face those things. so she comes back.)

[plankton voice] yes yess YEEESSSSS.....

GOSH i can totally see both things happening tbh... like? in regards to after the police interviews, you can just.....TELL she was on the verge of snapping during the interview. just like. the way she was carrying herself and the way she was talking....her EXPRESSIONS....... you can just TELL how pissed off and angry and bitter and betrayed she felt. and its SOOOO GOOD.... esp looking at how at she acted throughout the entire game..... its such a stark juxtaposition to her usual helpful and strong and levelheaded and whatnot demeanor..... and i think that is so TASTY........

and abt her just. leaving without a trace? i can soooo see that happening too. i made a lil thing abt that a while back, abt sam and emily willing to leave EVERYTHING behind them, but gosh..... sam especially.... she absolutely tells no one abt her plans andjust. leaves. maybe she stays near by? or maybe she travels to a different country? or maybe she just sits in her house no longer interacting w/ anyone? who knows. the thing is just. she fucks off and no one knows what she's doing or where she is. and i love that

and her doign Whatever it takes to get all these Assholes off that mountain is so just.... its so interesting to me. bc seeing how close sam was to both beth and hannah, after josh of course, she absolutely held SOME sort of resentment for her friends. albeit extremely buried but, it MUST still be there. and before i think sam sort of. blamed herself for this anger residing in her? bc like. SHE couldve stopped it SHE couldve done more SHE couldve gotten to hannah faster. and its like.... she doesnt even have PROOF that hannah and beth were actually ...... gone. and just based on personal hc, i see sam acting as the groups like ........ therapist. i think after their disappearance, the rest of the group HEAVILY relied on sam in terms of talking w/ her and shit... bc SHE was the closest to them aside from josh, and thus, sort of like. paving sam's way to the rest of the group. which is also based on a hc of mine, i dont talk abt it much and ill prob elaborate some other time, but i always saw sam as the outlier of the group aka not rly a part of their lil thing to begin with. i saw sam as friends w/ beth and hannah at the beginning and thats sort of it. she became associated w/ josh and everyone else bc of course they're siblings. but anyway. yeah! i think she blamed herself for her potential anger due to 1. the lack of proof that beth and hannah were actually gone and 2. the fact that everyone sort of came to HER to talk abt what happened. like. shes everyone's designated therapist..... and who is she to deny that position? who is she to say no? if that what it means to finally feel Welcome into this group, then so be it, you know?

SAM SNAPPING IS SOO SPECIAL TO ME TOO..... i just think her emotional regulation is dogshit LMAO is that even the correct term? i dont even think thats the correct term, but anyway. i just think her regulation of her anger is soooo bad. but in like. the complete opposite way that emily regulates her anger yk? she probably resorts to immediately pushing it to the side (for other people's sake) or blaming herself for that anger, and thus demeaning its...legitimacy

i LOOOVE the possibility of her leaving for a good amount of time and then coming back and still snapping..... i bet she used that time to really ? digest everything that happened to her, her friends, and beth and hannah and josh. which only fueled her anger you know? youre sooo right abt her instinctively running away from the shit that bothers her, while also understanding that she'll inevitably have to face it. so her coming back and then facing that shit and then snapping is so just !!!!!! youre so right anon

and this is all like..... following thebest possible scenario. meaning that everyone lives and stuff. bc i have MANY more thoughts if mike ends up shooting emily and ashley conceals the truth hehehe..... hopefully ill be able to transfer that note into a post tonight or so

[livsoulsecrets]

Kate&Bruce Fic - Will you be my only witness to this bird in flight?

@fandombingo Prompt from Wonderland Bingo: “White Rose”.

July Break Bingo 2024 Prompts: “You’ll get used to it” and “Hurt and grieve but don't suffer alone”.

Fandom: Batman (Comics), Batwoman (Comics)

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Content Warnings: Grief, Death

Summary: Kate is struggling to get through her mom and Beth’s funeral. Bruce tries to help.

Bruce pressed a hand against her shoulder, bending down a bit to talk to her.

“Nothing I say will make this better. So I won’t say anything. If it’s okay, I’ll just stand here with you until you’re ready to leave.”

Read on AO3.

Kate had always hated the cold.

She didn’t like how the snow would stick to her clothes when winter came around and the dampness it left behind when it melted away.

When she was little, her mom would wrap two blankets around her and hold Kate close to her chest until she stopped shaking when the cold became too much.

Kate was so cold now.

She wrapped her hands around her middle, shrinking into herself to try and retain some of her body heat.

It didn’t carry the same warmth as her mother’s embrace.

It was painful to think of her mother, who now lay on a grave in a dark Gotham cemetery, alongside Beth’s smaller pit.

Kate had asked her dad why they needed to bury her mom and Beth here.

He just told her Gotham was their home, and that was the only place they could rest.

All Kate could think since then was that she hated this city even more. Not only for being an endless source of cold and darkness, but also for keeping her mother and sister away from her forever, for she knew her father would leave Gotham behind the first chance he got.

Still, not even the cutting breeze could move her away from her post across the graves of Gabi and Beth Kane.

Her father had tried to get her to leave, but she didn’t buckle.

Finally, he had allowed her to stand there, keeping vigil over half of their family as he guarded her from afar.

Kate didn’t know how long she stayed there, willing Beth and her mom to come back to life with pleading eyes and stray tears.

The cold became bitter, and the scarce sun had already disappeared when soft footsteps sounded from behind her.

“Hi, Kate.” Bruce greeted.

She didn’t turn around to look at him, so he stepped closer, coming to stand by her side.

They hadn’t seen each other in so long. Probably since before they left the country to move to Belgium.

After her aunt Martha died, her dad retreated away from anything that reminded him of his sister, which included Bruce.

He had grown taller since she last saw him, and, with his baby fat gone, Bruce looked more like his father than ever before.

Still, when he smiled weakly at her, his eyes were kind, just like Aunt Martha’s used to be.

“I’m so sorry, Kate,” he told her, hands in the pocket of his coat.

She didn’t know how to answer. Countless people had said those words to her in the last few days.

Not even once did they make her feel better.

For some reason, the fact Bruce had just repeated them hurt even more.

They were family. Her mother always said family would be there for you when things got bad. So, shouldn’t Bruce know better? Shouldn’t he tell her something that would make all this less awful?

Kate hugged herself, shivering both at her own bitterness and the breeze. Her father wasn’t used to picking out her clothes, as her mother usually took care of that, so he had picked out a sleeveless black dress for her to wear to the funeral.

Not only a bad choice for the weather but also for Kate’s comfort. She had endured it anyway, not having the heart to bother him with something so meaningless.

She heard Bruce moving beside her and then, the weight of a coat being wrapped around her shoulders.

He had stripped off his own jacket to place it on her.

His face was carefully neutral as he fixed the coat in place. It was far too big for her, but it made her feel a lot better than the dress she was wearing. The warmth was more than welcome.

Bruce pressed a hand against her shoulder, bending down a bit to talk to her.

“Nothing I say will make this better. So I won’t say anything. If it’s okay, I’ll just stand here with you until you’re ready to leave.”

She didn’t know if those words were what she had been craving before, but they settled her all the same.

Kate leaned into Bruce’s hand, and he allowed her to bury her face into his side.

“Thank you, Bruce,” she mumbled.

“Of course,” he answered. “That’s what family is for.”

They remained there long enough for the cold to work its way through Bruce’s jacket and turn her fingers even paler and colder.

It couldn’t have been comfortable for Bruce to keep her company in such a weather wearing just a button-up, but he didn’t complain.

Eventually, she took pity on both of them and murmured, “I want to go back to my dad.”

He nodded and offered her his hand. She took it, and, together, they began the walk back to the funeral home.

“Does it ever go away?” She asked and tightened her hold on Bruce’s hand. “The pain?”

He didn’t answer right away. “I’ve never lost a sibling, Kate, so I can’t speak to that.”

Kate wanted to say Beth was more than a sibling. She was half of her—the better, kinder half she needed by her side.

Instead, she remained quiet. Bruce had said so himself—he couldn’t have understood even if she tried to explain.

“I’ve lost my parents, though, and what I can say is that you’ll get used to it. It’s not much help, I know, but you can survive this pain. You’ll learn to live with it. I promise you that.”

She stopped a few feet away from the massive doors. Kate could make out the portraits of Beth and her mom, surrounded by the most beautiful white roses, from where they stood.

She dreaded walking back inside only to be granted more condolences and pitiful looks.

Kate looked up at Bruce, who seemed to loom over her, so much bigger and older and wiser.

“I’m scared,” she confessed.

Bruce kneeled down, his eyes finally at her level.

She found no pity in them.

“I know,” he conceded, still holding her hand, “it’s okay to be scared and hurt. What you need to remember is that you still have your dad. You don’t have to suffer alone.”

Bruce looked very uncomfortable uttering those words, almost as if he wasn’t sure he believed them completely, but Kate didn’t care.

She’d take whatever comfort she could from him—from whatever was left of her family.

Kate threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, willing herself not to cry again.

He patted her back and didn’t let go until she stepped away.

She shrugged off his coat and returned it to him. “I’m ready,” she told him.

He nodded, seeming to understand what she meant beyond her curt words.

Kate was ready to face the sea of people and the grief that awaited her.

Bruce reached for the pocket of his jacket and took out a note. He placed the neatly folded paper in her hand.

“This is my number. If you ever need anything, you can call. Anytime.”

He made no mention of her dad, she couldn’t help but notice. Kate understood why. Her father would never be keen to accept help from a Wayne, even one with Kane blood.

This was Bruce’s offer to her and only her.

“Thank you, Bruce.”

“You’re welcome, Kate.”

He stood back as she walked in—straight into her father’s waiting arms.

[sir-subpar]

Can we try? (Zuke x Purl-Hew drabble)

Below the cut! Also, what's their ship name? ZukeHew? Purlzuke? Idk

Summary: Zuke's relationship with romance is complicated, but he's goingg to try again. (More of a warm up oneshot this time. Might do Zuke x Zimelu next)

Author’s note: Rarepair time baby! I was originally going to do Rin x Zuke, as I’ve seen lot’s of cute media of it, but then I had an idea: What about a ship I haven’t seen yet? (It’s so rare, if it were a steak, it’d be mooing.. Either that, or I somehow just didn’t notice it before.)

Zuke's relationship with romance was… complicated.

He didn't dislike the idea of romance. Quite the opposite, really. He wanted to have a partner in life.

The thing is… he was afraid. His last relationship resulted in a bitter, fiery, frightening end.

He shivered at the thought, subconsciously running his hand through his hair. 

Needless to say, he didn't need a repeat of that.

After a while, he came to the conclusion that romance… probably wasn't for him. Even if he wanted it to be. He just gave up trying.

He met Mayday, his best friend, band partner, and roommate. He was glad he met her. 

She was a great friend to have, he felt comfortable around her. Safe. As they shared their love for Rock together. Eventually the idea of romance drifted away from him. He stopped thinking about it.

Then the revolution happened.

It started with Sayu's comment. While she was wrong about his feelings being for Mayday, she did have a point, in a way.

"Ba-bump! Ba-bump!"

"Ba-bump?"

"It means follow your heart Zuke!"

He started thinking about it again briefly, before Mayday refocused everyone on the fight at hand. The revolution continued to be a distraction for Zuke, Yinu and DK West took his mind off it, (even if his brother brought a whole different kind of baggage) it gave Zuke something to prioritize. Until they met 1010.

“Haters gonna hate. When we show up, we get the sexy mission done. You better put on your tactical thermal goggles, ‘cause we’re gonna bring the heat!”

Ugh. So cheezy. It was just like 1010 to say things like that. May fawning over them didn’t help. Neither did the factory constantly dropping more bots each time they broke one, making the whole ordeal last even longer. The whole situation was aggravating to Zuke. At the time, he didn’t get what so many people (including May) saw in these guys.

At the time.

After 1010, there was the battle he dreaded, more than he did Tatiana. 

Nadia.

He missed her. He respected her. He understood her. He loved her…

Then he feared her.

He ran from her. He hid from her. He fought her.

“There is no one… Not even him.”

He comforted her, but still kept her at arm’s length.

When the rock revolution ended, he and May went indie again. Eventually, they became friends with various members of NSR. He began talking with Eve again, even if it was a bit tense. He also found himself bonding with Sayu’s crew, as well as Yinu and her mother. May, of course, quickly got attached to 1010.

Speaking of 1010…

That was what all these thoughts accumulating were about. Zuke had a bit of a dilemma going on.

One of the 1010 members, while as flirty as the rest, had chosen a different target to show his affection to. While most of them focussed on Mayday, one chose Zuke. The blue-haired, sunglass-wearing, boy band android: Purl-Hew.

Yeah, he didn’t know why either.

Well, at first, he didn’t even realize that was the case. 

A tapping on the sewer cover brought Zike out of his nap on the couch. Grumbling for a bit, he climbed up the ladder and pried open for the unexpected guest. 

He had to squint as he was met with a bright blue light. A synthesized voice pierced into Zuke's ears.

"Why does something so beautifully radiant hide away in the sewers rather than gracing the world with your light?"

Zuke rolled his eyes, "Dude, May's not here, you can stop. She'll be back later, I'll tell her you stopped by."

Then he closed the sewer grate, and descended back into his home.

'Huh. Wonder why it was just one of them this time.. Don't they usually do things as a group?'

He figured it was just a weird, one time occurrence.

Then, weeks later it happened again.

The tapping, Zuke opening the grate. Purl-Hew humming out a cheesy pickup line, Zuke telling him that May wasn't home again, and him closing the grate.

Then again. 

And again.

And again.

It became almost a routine at some point.

Weeks of Purl-Hew randomly dropping by. Almost every time it was when Mayday happened to be out.

Another few days went by, and May had gone to see a movie. Originally they were going to see it together, but Zuke's back and legs started acting up and he wanted to stay home and rest.

May offered to stay and help him with anything he'd need, but he insisted he would be fine and she should go still. It took a bit of convincing, but she eventually agreed, on the condition that he'd call someone if he needed help.

So, once again he was alone at home, laying on the couch.

And the tapping happened again.

He let out a frustrated groan.

Reluctantly he pried himself from the couch slowly. If he was careful (and lucky) maybe he'd be able to climb the ladder without hurting himself too much.

The climb was slow and cautious, yet still sharply shot pain up his back as he moved.

He pushed the manhole cover aside, poking his head out into the world above.

Once again, Purl-Hew was back.

Before the android could say anything, Zuke let out an exasperated sigh, already preparing to close the sewer's entrance.

"Dude, again, May isn't here-"

"I know."

Purl-Hew's hand caught the metal cover, preventing Zuke from closing it.

Zuke froze.

"... What?"

"She took Eloni to the movies, so I knew she wouldn't be here. I want to see you." Purl-Hew stated, his tone making it seem like that was an obvious fact.

Zuke tried to read the robot's expression, but with him wearing his signature tinted glasses and his silicon lips pressed into a thin line, it was impossible to read him.

"I uh… why uh… why though?" Zuke quizzed.

The android, despite not needing to breathe, did so just so that he could let out a frustrated sigh.

His hands practice shit to Zuke's sides, hooking under his arms.

Just as fast as he grabbed him, he yanked him out of the sewer and held him above the ground.

Zuke's feet dangled over a foot above the ground. Stunned and shocked, he could barely utter a question before he was interrupted again.

Purl-Hew held Zuke close, almost slamming his lips into Zuke's with a firm but chaste kiss.

Zuke might have been human, but he felt like a computer program crashing. 

All thoughts left him, all he could do was look at the blue bot wide-eyed.

Purl-Hew pulled away, looking Zuke in the eyes.

"Does that answer your question?"

"I- I guess? I mean, yes? But also, why me? When did this," Zuke pointed at himself, "Become a draw for you?" 

The android's jaw dropped. "You're kidding, right?"

"Aren't you?"

"No!" He protested.

"Is it really that hard to believe that I find you attractive?"

Zuke paused, thinking of his response. Purl's tone sounded so genuine, despite his mechanical voice.

"I.. I'm just not used to this. It's not that I see myself as ugly, but I know I'm not anything too special. I'm just… me."  Zuke confessed, shrugging as best as he could in his position. He still was hovering over the ground in Purl-Hew's grasp.

Purl pulled him close, touching their foreheads together.

"I'm very drawn to you, Zuke. You're not only a good looking guy, but you're also loyal. Kind. You have a relaxing atmosphere I've grown to appreciate about you. I like you… I want to spend more time with you, I want to know more about you. Zuke.."

He pecked Zuke on the cheek.

"Will you go out with me? On a date?"

Zuke's heart jumped into his throat.

Could he date someone again? After all this time? Did he want to?

… He wasn't sure how to feel.

But..

He chewed the inside of his lip. Purl-Hew's been trying to get his attention for months, relatively politely too.

He too was putting himself out there. Flirting with someone who's shown zero reaction to it till now. Opening himself up, and letting him be in a vulnerable position.

Zuke took a breath.

"Okay, we can give it a try.."

"Wait- really!?" Purl-Hew's voice raised. Excitement bubbling to the surface, his cheeks glowed a brighter blue.

 

Zuke nodded, avoiding eye contact.

"Y-yeah.. Let's try it out.." 

In a matter of milliseconds, he was pulled into a hug.

"Thanks Zuke. You won't regret it~" 

[outoftheirdifferences]

Lauren for the character writing meme!

Pick a character I’ve written and I will explain the top ~three to five ideas/concepts/etc I keep in mind while writing that character that I believe are essential to accurately depicting them.

Oh wow, I must confess did not expect to get one for her! I was prepared to write one for Angel or someone xD That said, I'm always happy to talk about my favourite OC, so thanks! :D

Well, first... and, I'd argue, most importantly to me: the fact that Lauren isn't just bitter rage-ball at the world all the time. I mean, granted, that actually was true of her when I first created the character; but I've developed her so much since then. Even still, though, it's all too easy for me to slip back into her being just rage and bitterness and forget all the nuances I've built up for her over the years, so I always need to keep this in mind.

Like... yes, she does harbour a whole lot of bitterness; but the thing is, it isn't readily apparent a lot of the time? She should have the freedom to look and act just like your average teenage girl a lot of the time - to have fun and laugh at dumb jokes and not just have every single aspect of who she is defined by her bitterness and nothing else. That has the added bonus, too, of when her bitter side does spill out... it's a shock to people around her, because she's actually seemed normal up to that point? It makes it much more impactful when it comes up unexpectedly, rather than being her constant mindset at all times.

(rest beneath the cut for length!)

Tying into that, there should be a balance in just how fighty and violent she can get. Again, originally, she would just lash out all over the place without regard for anything, whenever someone said something that touched on her specific area of vulnerability - that being, her parental issues. (This was, in truth, because she started out life as a minor bully in a story focused around an entirely different character, so it didn't matter that much - but she eventually just stole the spotlight entirely and became the main character herself!)

But the more I worked with her story ideas, the more I realised that it just didn't make sense... Lauren specifically doesn't see herself as mean, even in spite of her fighty tendencies. If she was beating up other kids left and right if they so much as breathed about having the caring parents that she didn't have, there was no way she could keep that view of herself... that, and she would probably have been expelled from her school five times over. Again, it's easy to fall back into writing her that way, because it was grounded in how I originally imagined her; but it's just not the truth of her anymore. She is temperamental, she does lash out... but she also has common sense and self-control, and unless she really feels like her issues are being deliberately poked at (or her friends threatened), the most she will do is seethe silently.

Third is that Lauren doesn't lie. It's not a matter of morals or principles for her; she just has never had reason to believe that it's worth the effort - in her mind, it just sets up worse problems down the road, no matter what the situation. If she doesn't want to talk about something, she will very determinedly not talk about it - she has being sullenly silent down to a fine art - and can be evasive like there's no tomorrow, but she won't outright lie.

So if she does lie, that's when you know that something is very, very seriously up.

Fourth: Lauren's closest friends mean more to her than ANYTHING. This is in large part because, even with not being angry all the time, she's still a very closed-off girl, and very, very guarded about letting people get close to her. After all, if she can't expect her parents to care about her, how can she imagine that anyone else will? So if someone does manage to get close, it's very little exaggeration to say that Lauren will defend them with her life. She very much has an 'I don't care what you do to me but don't you DARE hurt them' stance and becomes very protective of the rare person she gets close to.

Lastly, I guess, is just to remember that Lauren doesn't fear physical pain. She does have her fears - her greatest one is being rendered helpless and unable to fight back - but even with the changes mentioned above, at this point she has still been in (and lost) enough fights that they've toughened her up to the point where she honestly doesn't care if she takes a beating. She doesn't seek pain, of course, but she also doesn't run from it as long as she has opportunity to give as good as she gets.

[umbry-fic]

Across the Sands

Summary: Kou’s first meeting with the girl with vivid red eyes was among the shifting sands, on a day out of an infinite number that had blended together.

Fandom: Arcaea Characters: Kou, Mir Relationships: Kou & Mir Rating: T Word Count: 4263 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 10/01/2024

Notes: This was a WIP from June 2021 that I recently finished! I started it before Shirahime was introduced pretty sure but this fic is a canon-divergent AU now. Kou and Mir's relationship in this is a forming QPR but you can interpret it whatever way you want!

~~~

Kou longed for the days of the past when she had hopped from shard to shard, viewing the happy memories contained within with a gleeful smile, gobbling up the colourful scenes ravenously like they were the sweetest slices of cake.

But the past was the past. Despite the vast quantities of memories she had burst into without a care in the world, her actions within hadn’t been able to leave even a single ripple behind. She was powerless, no more able to change what had happened in the pasts of the people whose lives she got a glimpse into, than her own carefree behaviour from days long past.

New sights had become old. The familiar sequences of events unfolding within memories that had once made her clap in delight, only left a bitter taste in her mouth once she learned to describe them beat-for-beat. Not even bright new worlds could interest her anymore, for they all followed the same formula: trying to entice her with shiny trinkets and sparkly magic. It all left her feeling hollow.

She had tried reaching out for darker memories, shards whose surfaces rippled violently, but did not emit the same shine she was used to. But their contents were not worth recalling, for she had retreated quickly after barely catching a glimpse, a chill gripping her heart that would only dissipate after hours of sitting in the artificial sunlight of this world of glass.

What would have happened if she’d forced her way in like she had used to do? The outcome wasn’t worth dwelling on.

There were a lot of things she didn’t dwell on nowadays. It left her mind bereft but for the barest, most trivial thoughts.

So she had taken to trailing among the desert that her home was situated next to, kicking her feet through the grains and trying in vain to recapture the childish joy she had once felt exploring fantastical worlds. She would trek for hours or even days without rest until her legs were too numb to take another step, cresting dunes that all looked the same, resembling a wandering ghost that had forgotten it had died. Then she would curl up, grains of sand rough against her bare shoulders, and close her eyes, drifting off into limbo. Not sleep, for she was very much aware of her surroundings. But it was the only form of rest she could take, trapped in the darkness behind her eyelids.

When her eyes next opened, she would repeat the entire tired process, unable to get any respite from monotony.

Eventually, she would grow tired of it all and head “home”, to the pieces upon pieces of furniture that she had once haphazardly stacked and bounded upon without a care in the world. Gazing upon the twisting mess now did not elicit excitement anymore, only a faint relief that there was something in this world that was undeniably “her” - something that she had created, that would hopefully remain even after she was gone.

She would sit upon the soft covers of the bed she had once dragged there, kicking her feet back and forth as her gaze settled on a random spot on the floor, no more interesting than the rest. And there she would stay, letting the river of time pass over her until she snapped out of her daze and set out into the desert again.

Each time she did, her steps became heavier, her shoulders slumping further. She had long since stopped caring how she looked. And without the dedicated time spent defeating the tangles in her hair with her favourite comb, her hair had become a tangled mess, her clothes wrinkled. The cute appearance she had once been so proud of was now just as drab as the sands she walked upon.

The Arcaea that had once flitted beside her like enthusiastic butterflies now sluggishly drifted around her, like they had had one wing ripped off and were struggling to remain in the air. Kou was surprised they were still here at all, but the crowd had certainly thinned.

Perhaps when they had abandoned her completely, her long-awaited respite would claim her.

~~~

The day that she met the girl with vivid red eyes among the shifting sands was a day… that started just like all of the rest. Nothing out of the ordinary happened as she walked, until she stumbled across something in the sand.

That had happened before. Planks of wood, bits of plastic. It had been exciting the first few times, but quickly became dull, until she would just pick herself up and keep going with barely a glance downwards as to what she tripped over.

This time, what she saw made her pause. A sword that was made of a metal dark as night, with a ruby inlaid in the grip, the craftsmanship looking as impressive as those she had seen in fantasy worlds with their imposing castles.

Her heartbeat echoed in her ears as she picked the sword up gingerly, the sand slipping off the smooth and wide blade with ease. The metal proved to be cold when she balanced the sword in her palms, but somehow, she could sense a phantom warmth from it. Someone must have curled their fingers over the grip just recently. There were some scratches on the blade, and clinging to its wickedly sharp edge were short strands of hair, strangely enough. But once that was cleaned off, the blade underneath was so polished that she could see her face staring back at her. A face she had not seen for a long time as she avoided the gilded mirror hanging in a corner of her room.

And one she didn’t peer at for long, for such a pale and lifeless face turned her stomach. And it did not deserve to be displayed on such a masterpiece, even as just a reflection. The sword had clearly been treated lovingly, swung with great skill and care.

It was someone else’s proof of existence - that which she lacked.

Which, of course, meant that there was another person here. Close by, if the footprints disappearing behind the nearby dune was any indicator.

Kou shot to her feet, finally breaking out of a snail’s pace and into a desperate run as she followed the footprints, the sword held awkwardly, if tightly, in her grip. She had to return this precious object to its owner.

The Arcaea followed her, like a pair of wings, dragging along the sand.

Another living, breathing person.

She didn’t know what she expected to happen. But perhaps this was a golden opportunity to shatter the monotony, dropped right into her very hands.

~~~

What does happen is more mundane than Kou could have possibly thought.

Another girl was before her, prone on the ground in the same fetal position Kou had employed many times. The girl’s head was turned such that her face was buried in the sand, her luscious black hair splayed across it.

Kou had come across many people before. But all of them had been fake, contained within the glassy worlds of the shards - phantasms that she could stride right through. This was a person in the flesh, who would not disappear beneath her fingers.

And she had no idea what to expect. Her heart was like a tiny hummingbird, threatening to fly away.

Hesitantly kneeling, she placed a trembling hand on the motionless girl’s shoulder, and shook.

The other girl did nothing but roll onto her side. What caught Kou’s attention was the vivid red eyes, the same shade as the ruby inlaid in the sword. But past the colour, was the inherent emptiness. The girl wasn’t looking at Kou - she was looking straight through her.

It sent unease tingling straight down her spine.

Trying to force words out of her throat resulted in a coughing fit, her throat dry after months of unuse.

“Hey,” she finally managed to force out, thankful that she could still recall the shape of words. “Are you alright?”

Silence was the girl’s only response.

She sighed. A little of that naive girl had resurfaced again in the surge of hope, complaining rather loudly that this wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be. She did her best to push those thoughts away and focus on the task at hand.

Lifting the sword, she presented it to the girl.

“Is this yours?”

Finally, there was a response. Just not one she’d been expecting.

The girl violently flinched, her entire body shaking as she screwed her eyes shut. Kou immediately hid the sword behind her back, apologies spilling from her lips until her throat was hoarser than it had been when she’d started.

It was very clear that the girl recognised the weapon. And despite her terrified mannerisms, she had not denied her ownership of it.

Her proof of existence was hurting her, Kou realised. Just like looking upon the home she had created was a bitter reminder for Kou of the frivolous girl she used to be, even if that knowledge had not stabbed as deep as it did for the girl before her.

What had happened to this girl for her to react like this? What trials and tribulations had she gone through, utterly alone? Wondering if there would ever be a better time to come?

She was looking into a mirror, she realised, one that showed a terrifying future. This was one of the possible fates that awaited her if she were to go on alone any longer. She would become like this girl, unable to respond to another, pain crawling from her crimson eyes.

Perhaps nothing could rescue this girl from the state she’d found herself in. But Kou wanted to try. Her suffering made her own heart twist in her chest, flooding with fear.

That decided, Kou got to her feet. She closed her eyes, retreating within herself and looking for that thread which had frayed in the time it had been ignored. Grabbing hold of it, she tugged, as insistently as she could, even as the thread resisted to the point of nearly splitting in two.

The Arcaea gathered around her, finally coming to life as they, like her, awoke from slumber. They raged around her in a whirlwind, lifting her hair slightly as she willed them into shapes that could be useful.

The girl stared at her with wide eyes, not uttering a word.

Kou smiled, the shine finally back in her eyes.

“I’m Kou. Let’s bring you someplace safe, shall we?”

~~~

“We’ve arrived,” Kou declared, the girl in her arms giving no sign she’d heard her. She was surprisingly light for her size, and Kou was able to carry her with ease, even with her weak arms, though they were starting to ache. The sword was being carried by the Arcaea, trailing far behind the two of them.

“Sorry if it’s cramped. It’s not meant for more than one person. And… apologies if it’s messy.”

That was an understatement. She scanned the room that had been her home since she built it, constructed out of the blank space between random pieces of furniture that had been haphazardly stacked together. The ceiling was made out of the bottom of armchairs, and the wall constructed out of bed frames. Nothing was aligned neatly, and awkward wooden bits were sticking out everywhere that she had to navigate around to avoid the girl smacking her lolling head on everything.

There was also a thin layer of dust over everything, except the bed. Which was good, because that was her destination.

“There,” she muttered, dropping the girl as gently as she could onto the bed, the Arcaea doing its job and dumping the girl’s sword in the corner of the room, tucked away from the girl’s view. “I hope it’s comfortable.”

The girl immediately turned onto her side and brought her knees up to her chest, trying to make herself as small as possible. But she did not turn fully away from Kou, so maybe that was progress.

“You’re filthy,” she sighed, seating herself on the swing that hung from the ceiling and beginning to clean off the grains of sand that still clung to the girl’s dress. “Appearances are important, you know. Though I suppose I should heed my own words.”

The girl still did not reply, but she did not pull away from Kou’s touch. Maybe she didn’t know how to speak, or had entirely forgotten how to while mired in the depths of loneliness.

But she didn’t mind the silence, surprisingly. Before, it had been stifling, with just the sound of her feet kicking against wood and the crunch of the sand. But now, the silence that fell over them both was comforting, broken only by their gentle breathing. She employed rhythmic sweeping motions, sinking into the relaxing silence as she watched the girl’s chest rise and fall, those ruby eyes trained on her.

“Ruby…” she mused, her hand stilling as she cleaned off the last of the sand. “Can I call you Ruby? At least until you’re ready to tell me your real name. It’s not the most creative of names, but I admit to not being the most creative of persons. It just… doesn’t feel nice referring to you without a name.”

She didn’t expect a response, so she almost fell out of the swing when she spotted the tiny dip of the girl’s head. That passed as a nod, right?

Giddy, and not even sure why she was so happy, she giggled. “Ruby it is, then.”

She picked up the comb that she had kicked to the wall some months ago and that had been gathering dust ever since, shaking it clean.

“Now for the hair,” she hummed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed to be closer, her arm brushing Ruby’s back. “There’s going to be quite a few tangles to straighten out, but once it’s done, you’ll look great! Sorry if this tickles your shoulders.” She ran her hands through Ruby’s long black locks, pulling them onto her side for easier access - only to pause when she reached the end.

There was a section of hair that was much shorter than the rest, the strands barely tickling Ruby’s shoulders. Had something done this to her? However, inspecting them with her fingers revealed that the shorter strands were all even in length, the ends smooth instead of jagged. It had been cut on purpose.

The strands of hair on the sword…

Ah.

“Sorry,” she whispered, placing the comb onto the bed and reaching into the pitch darkness under it, shaking her head to clear it of images of Ruby hacking away at her hair. She pulled back with a pair of dusty scissors in hand, her entire arm covered in cobwebs that she had to brush off. She aligned the scissors such that Ruby’s hair was pressed between its blades, tiny compared to her sword. “I don’t think I can salvage this.”

Snip. Snip. Snip.

The black locks came loose and fell to the floor in a pile, Kou making quick work with the scissors as she avoided looking at Ruby’s face.

“There. Done.”

She leaned back, observing her handiwork. She’d done pretty well, if she had to say so herself. Ruby’s hair was shoulder-length, the locks uniform. All that practice from trimming her own hair had paid off.

Ruby finally showed her first visible reaction since arriving here - reaching up a hand to feel her now much shorter hair, her fingers trembling as she rubbed a bunch of strands she had gathered in hand. Her expression was unreadable - Kou couldn’t tell if she was sad or happy.

In the silence that had now turned rather awkward, she peered down at her own pink locks. They were a tangled mess, matted with sand. It would take hours to clean it up properly.

Making her decision, she brought the scissors up to her hair and brought it across her shoulders in one fell swoop.

And so the pile of hair grew taller, pink strands mixing with black.

She placed the scissors down on the table, feeling surprisingly light. She hadn’t realised just how overgrown her hair was.

Ruby had paused in her motions, staring at her with the same wide eyes she’d sported in the desert, disbelief swimming in her gaze.

She smiled, cocking her head. “We match now.”

~~~

Time passed without much incident. Kou spent it regaling Ruby with her life story - which wasn’t much. Just that she woke up here with no memories other than her name, had tried to escape this world by constructing a tower to the heavens but had only found more glass, and then had spent her days exploring the worlds within those shards of glass.

Ruby maintained her silence, but she had sat up at some point, her gaze remaining fixed on Kou the entire time she was talking, telling her that she had her attention. To her delight, those eyes now housed the tiniest bit of light.

“-and then I left.” She finished her latest story, stretching and causing the swing to sway back and forth. This must have been her sixth or seventh tale; she was beginning to lose count.

A soft “thud” sound drew her attention to the bed. A quick peek informed her that Ruby had gone back to lying on the bed, still favouring her left side. She hadn’t curled into a ball, at the very least. Her eyelids had fluttered closed, her features more relaxed.

“Tired, huh?” She lowered her voice, not wanting to disrupt Ruby’s rest. “It has been a long day.”

Now that she thought about it, her own eyelids felt heavy. That, in and of itself, was rather surprising. She hadn’t felt… tired, not in a long time - there had only been a bone-deep exhaustion out in the desert.

However, all of this meant there was a problem at hand. There was only one bed, and it was occupied by Ruby. Who, now that she had decided not to take up as little space as possible, had her arm flung across the mattress.

Kou knew from past experience that trying to sleep on the swing was a horrible idea, one that always ended in her waking up to the nasty surprise of slamming her head on the hard floor.

Which meant that she had to share the bed with Ruby if she wanted to get any fruitful rest.

“Scoot over, would you?” she asked gently, lightly picking up her limp arm and shaking it.

To her surprise, Ruby turned her head, lips mouthing something.

“Come again?” Kou prompted, lowering herself so she could better attempt to decipher the message by reading the other girl’s lips. Excitement ran in her veins, pumping through her heart.

“M… I… R…?” she mused. “Mir…? Oh! Is that your name?” she exclaimed, a lightbulb sparking to life in her head.

Mir nodded, letting out a small sigh before returning to her original position, back to acting like a lifeless doll.

But this was progress! Real, tangible progress! She grinned, finally completing her initial objective of getting into bed. It was a little cramped, with her back pressed against Mir’s… Yet it was surprisingly nice - warmth, seeping into her.

It didn’t take long for her to drift off to a dreamless sleep, faintly aware of a hand finding hers.

~~~

Mir didn’t open up much further after that. She still sequestered herself behind a door covered by a thousand locks, which had been opened just a crack to let a few rays of light through.

But she was willing to let Kou drag her around and into the various memories she had stored around the place - tiny glass shards that she had collected over the time she had spent here. They had been gathering dust recently, their appeal having completely vanished once they stopped lighting a flame in her chest.

Maybe a change in scenery was just what Mir needed?

The first time they’d stepped into the glass, hand-in-hand, Mir’s grip had tightened to the point of pain, Kou letting out a muffled hiss from between her teeth. Mir’s head had whirled around, her breaths coming in quick pants as she surveyed their surroundings. Looking for something, but what?

When she hadn’t found whatever it was she’d been looking for, she’d calmed down instantly, relinquishing her death grip on Kou’s hand. Kou had asked her if she wanted to leave, but she’d shaken her head, and so Kou had continued on.

By the time they’d finished touring the gardens that they’d found themselves in, Mir had had a small smile playing on her lips. She’d followed Kou’s example and reached out a hesitant hand to touch the leaves, still wet with morning dew. Her mouth had fallen upon at the sight of the fairy lights draped between the lamps, and a gasp had left her lips when she’d encountered the flowers that came in a dozen colours, waving their cheerful heads.

Watching her had made Kou’s chest warm, an emotion she had never felt before flooding her heart. It was strange, to feel joy within the bounds of memories again.

The next few times they’d entered a memory, Mir had flinched, but recovered much quicker. Gradually, she began to look forward to these trips - tugging on Kou’s arm to wake her up so that they could venture into a new one together, her eyes shining with a renewed glimmer. She was smiling more, drawing smiles from Kou as well.

Kou suspected that she had never seen sights like these before. What had this world chosen to show her, a warrior clad in red and black, wielding an obsidian blade? What memories could have hollowed her out, into a shell with haunted eyes and trembling hands?

It was not worth dwelling on. These new memories were healing the cracks in her fractured soul, and thus she would share these gathered worlds with her, again and again and again, until Mir could finally free herself from the shackles of her past experiences.

~~~

There was still one last memory they had not visited, that Kou continued to shy away from. Presenting this final memory felt like baring all of her, despite everything she had already shared.

This memory had been her favourite, once upon a time. A sprawling town, red-roofed buildings lining the streets paved with cobblestones, imposing stone walls rising in the far distance to enclose it all. The entire town alive for a night of celebration, candles with flickering flames neatly laid next to the doors of houses, people milling about - men, women, children - having all left their homes to join in the festivities. Couples were hugging each other, children laughing and chasing each other, snacks held tightly in hand.

And that was where she found herself now, gazing up at the night sky. It was clear, as it always was, not a cloud in sight to block the moon, round and bright. Soon, the fireworks would start...

She was jolted from her thoughts by a squeeze of her hand. Mir gazed at her, a question painted in the cock of her head.

“It’s nothing. I’ll be alright. Let’s go!” she cheered, pulling the other girl along as she headed towards the familiar rickety staircase. “You’re going to really love this.”

Emerging onto the rooftop and doing her best to ignore the nauseating fear roiling in her stomach, she found the two of them the best possible seats to watch the upcoming spectacle and got comfortable.

The fireworks would go off with a resounding bang soon - she knew the entire timeline of this memory by heart. The crowds jostling on the roof would still, their attention drawn, as appreciative gasps filled the air. Vibrant flowers of fire forming in the sky for a few fleeting seconds before fading. Impermanent, but lingering long enough to bring wonder to life in people’s hearts.

She used to come here almost every other day, hiding herself among the crowd who could not perceive her. The fireworks had been lovely - so, so gorgeous - but they had eventually lost their shine. And lost together with it had been her curiosity, her desire to experience this world and all it had to offer, and her reason to exist. Thus she had become an aimless wanderer, unwilling to return to the world of glittering memories and see just how much they had lost their lustre. It would only hurt more, surely.

Nervous shivers ran up and down her back as she counted down the seconds, afraid that those once incredible fireworks would still seem dull.

Taking a deep breath, she remembered that Mir was right there next to her, her presence comforting among the growing panic. Perhaps that outcome wouldn’t be so bad. After all, it was hardly her reason for existence anymore. So she had no reason to keep holding on so tightly to this ball of fear.

Light exploded across the night sky, blinding for just an instant, sending tendrils of colour across Mir’s face and illuminating the sparkle of wonder in her eyes. A small smile stretched gently across her face, warmth sinking into Kou’s side as she shifted closer, their fingers intertwining together.

“Thank you,” Mir whispered, leaning her head on Kou’s shoulder.

At that moment, the fireworks seemed all the more magical.

Humming in reply, Kou squeezed her hand, her chest feeling so much lighter now that a weight had finally been lifted.

Things… were more than alright.

[motzgurke]

They heard your stomping from miles away and the moment you threw the door shut behind you, limbs shaking like leaves as you kicked the boots from the hero suit off your feet they knew something bad must have happened. The gentle smile and kind look in your eyes were replaced by bitterness and hurt, cheeks flushed from anger while your puffy red eyes indicated you had been crying pretty hard. Without looking at one of them you choked down another outburst and hurriedly retreated into the bathroom, ignoring their worried stares as you soundly closed the door behind you.

The first one to speak was Izuku, who had been sitting on the couch reading the monthly hero magazine, while Shoto had relaxed next to him, head rested in the green-haired’s lap. “Why was she crying? We need to look after her!”, Izuku was about to follow after you but was held down by Katsuki’s eyes, locking him into place. “I’ll do it. Your rambling will only upset her more, dumbass.” For a moment Izuku pouted at Katsuki’s rude comment but soon he realized that his bubbling might indeed worsen your condition judging by on edge you seemed by throwing your stuff around.

You have never before been that careless, always organizing your belongings in your own unique order gave you peace of mind and even when you had been upset before, you loved your costume and valued every part of your support items like they were your own children. And despite how rough your day was you never ignored your boyfriends. One of them had always managed to make you smile if something bad happened, so the way you had fled from their gazes had alarmed all three of them.

As Katsuki dropped his apron on one of the kitchen chairs Izuku was about to jump to his feet too, only to be held back by Shoto who closed his arms tighter around his middle, effectively locking the other in his place. “We can talk to her later. Right now we shouldn’t overwhelm her. I’m sure Katsuki will tell us everything when he returns.”

Of course, Shoto was worried too, you had always been his haven of tranquility when he was troubled. The way your smaller hands combed through his silky strands, lightly massaging his scalp did wonder in calming the raging flames inside of him, but as much as he wanted to do the same for you now, he knew how fragile your patience became when you were hurt and so he ignored his want to run after you for your own sake and left the talking to Katsuki for now.

The blonde had changed a lot after graduation and the time he had spent in this relationship did help somber the frustration he had carried with him for too long. Of course, he could still be nasty, but the nicknames had become more of a cute nagging than an actual insult so Izuku and Shoto trusted him when it came to calming you down for now. Both of them couldn’t stand seeing you cry, Izuku was most of the time so overwhelmed that he cried along with you while Shoto still had trouble understanding why something was upsetting at all, but Katsuki knew from years of experience how to dig up what had you so enraged.

Speaking of which he didn’t think too much of it when you wouldn’t answer his knocks on the door, but the moment he opened it and saw you sitting in the shower as cold water rained down on you enough to color your skin angry red he speeded over to you.

You had crouched down into a corner and your head was buried between your arms and legs, but he could tell how the cold wasn’t the only thing that had your body trembling. You hadn’t even bothered to grab some spare clothes, instead, you had hurried to strip and hide your tears in the icy cold water, probably to soothe the boiling anger and pain.

Katsuki took a step back to the door and stuck his head out, gaining the attention of his other partners. “Hey, extras! Tea, a blanket, and one of our shirts. Hurry!” he barked and closed the bathroom door behind him, finally stopping the water from pricking your skin until he wrapped you in a fluffy towel. When you wouldn’t react to his touch he hesitated, afraid you might have gone too cold and he rubbed your arms and back, holding you close enough to share his body heat with yours. “The fuck, Y/N. I thought you were smarter than the other two.”

It took him a while but slow and steady his ministrations helped warm you up and soon you came back to your senses, realizing that you weren’t in the shower anymore but in the arms of one of your boyfriends. When you dared to look up you met the burning red eyes of Katsuki, unable to hide all of his concern beneath his rough exterior. Ashamed you wrapped the towel tighter around yourself, clenching the fabric tighter in your nails. “ ‘M sorry. I-I don’t wa…”, you mumbled but your voice still managed to crack halfway through, throat aching as it had been treated with sandpaper. “Shut up for now. We need to warm you up more than we can talk.”

He scooped you into his arms and sat you down on the counter, grabbing another towel to dry your hair. You were sitting there numbly as you let Katuski do as he pleased, that was until the bathroom door opened and Izuku lurked inside. When the green-haired saw your condition he couldn’t contain himself anymore and hurried over to you, dropping the clothes on the sink and tugged you into his arms, gently stroking your back as he littered your wet hair with tiny kisses. “Oh, bunny. Don’t worry, whatever happened you are safe now. Your home with us”, he whispered into your hair and you bit your lip in an attempt not to cry again. The way he held you in his arms was the sweetest pain you could feel at the moment. You wanted to push him away, not bother him any longer but found yourself clawing at his shirt and burying your cheeks in his neck. His sweet scent was intoxicating you, like a drug as it calmed your raging pulse and stopped the shaking in your body.

Meanwhile, Katsuki had returned to the kitchen and made sure Shoto wouldn’t burn the tea with his limited skills in nearly every domestic discipline. Right on time, the blonde managed to stop him from roasting the tea leaves with his quirk and ordered him to prepare the couch with additional pillows and blankets. “Damn Icyhot can’t even boil some water…”, he mumbled as the taller left for the bedroom and grabbed all of the cushions he could find.

Shoto was slowly losing his mind by how long Izuku was with you in the bathroom. He wanted to help you too, ease whatever was troubling your mind but couldn’t bring himself to just go and get you. His hesitation is rooted in his fear to overstep a boundary you wouldn’t want him to cross. You had been in a relationship for years now, but at times like this, he still wasn’t sure how to respond to his extremely emotional partners. He never properly learned to reassure someone and was afraid to scare you even more, despite his effort to soothe you.

With a shake of his head, he concentrated on making the couch as comfortable as possible for the four of you, before the bathroom door finally opened again and Izuku walked over to Shoto with you tugged protectively into his arms. You had hidden your face in the crook of his neck, arms loosely hanging around his broad shoulders, but the face Izuku was making was even more alarming. The usual happy round cheeks were dusted in red, lips drawn into a tight line and a single vein angrily pulsing on his temple hinted at the anger he currently gulped down.

With a nod, Izuku asked Shoto to sit down and as soon as he did so, the green-haired gently placed you next to him on the couch. At first, you grabbed Izuku tighter, not willing to let go, but when Shoto’s hot and cool hands pulled you in you followed suit, snuggling into his left side, while both of them tugged you in your favorite blanket until you were comfortably leaning against Shoto’s chest. The warmth he provided was like heaven and you pressed your cheeks deeper into his skin, gladly accepting the warm embrace he offered you.

You felt the cushions moving as Izuku sank down next to you, leaning over to snake his arms around you and Shoto until he could place his chin on your shoulder, tickling you with the mess of his green curls. A few minutes ago Izuku had been calm and happy, but now he seemed stressed, ready to smash anything if he wouldn’t be holding you at this moment. Shoto’s eyebrow shot up questioningly, but the other male hesitated to speak until Katsuki had come back to join the cuddling session, placing a tray with tea and a few cups on the coffee table.

The blond’s gaze drifted over his three partners and the way the boys’ hands protectively wrapped their arms around you while you were nearly hidden by the embrace and the number of blankets and pillows around you. He might have even called the bunch of you cute if it wasn’t for the serious expression on Izuku’s face and your still puffy red eyes. “Pumpkin, mind telling us what happened?” He asked gently but you still flinched at his question, hiding the shameful flush on your cheeks deeper into Shoto’s toned chest. “Don’t mind it. I… I’m just overreacting”, you whispered but the three men heard your gulping.

Izuku tensed at your answer and as the other two eyed him curiously he pointed with a nod at the hero magazine laying on the table. Confused about what was so important about it Katsuki fetched the paper from the table and flipped through the pages. It was nothing too spectacular, the usual news and some gossip about the hero society and he was about the bark at Izuku for his weird suggestion when his eyes caught sight of a picture of their group.

It was a photo secretly taken while they had been on a date, but the most unsettling thing was the headline and article written on the double page. As he scanned over the text he came to understand why you were so upset and with each sentence he felt his patience shortening until a small explosion erupted from his grip, roasting the edges of the magazine.

Shoto was still confused about why the men were suddenly so bitter and angry, but when he leaned forward and caught sight of the gossip article he tried his best not to freeze or set the cough on fire.

You flinched again when you felt the room temperature drop and the sound of another explosion had you jumping again. You opened your eyes slightly and saw Katsuki with remnants of the shredded magazine in his hand while a few shorter roasted pieces gently floated down on the table. “Don’t be so mad ab…”, you started and carefully sat up to face all of them when three angry gazes shifted to you. The anger wasn’t directed at you, but you still felt the pressure as they doubted your sudden calmness.

You had absolutely every right to be upset after the so-called journalists had written a fancy article about your relationship with the three top heroes. Despite your achievements and your spot in the top ten of the billboard charts, the writers had poured everything bad they had to say about you into this article. And while you could take the insults about your work, you knew you were a pretty good hero and didn’t take much about their criticism, you couldn’t comprehend how your persona was dragged through the mud, because you “dared” to date the top three. It was written absolutely superficial, insulting your looks, your behavior, and your personality while slut and floozy were one of the nicest words they had described you with.

All in all, it was devastating and hurt you in a way you couldn’t ignore any longer. As soon as you had read the article you had been shaking and if it wasn’t for Eijiro who had so kindly offered to take over your shift after you had cried into his shoulder you wouldn’t know if you could have kept your heart from breaking apart. Jealously and ill-wishing had been something you had gotten used to, but this article had topped everything before.

You felt yourself trembling again under your boyfriend’s stares and sunk back into the cushions, hiding in your cocoon of blankets in pillows. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry”, you repeated endlessly, your shaky voice dampened by the fabric.

Unable to understand why you were apologizing Katsuki snatched the blanket down enough to look into your eyes. “What the hell are you sorry for?!” He didn’t mean to snap at you, but the way this written piece of shit had his anger boiling made it hard for him to jump and tear the throats of the responsible writers out.

“Snowflake, why didn’t you tell us?” Despite his racing pulse Shoto kept his chilled exterior, but the undertone in his voice was absolutely frightening. Izuku said nothing but a crack in the table as his fist collided with the table was understandable enough.

You gulped heavily and wiped your teary eyes. “It’s my fault you were dragged into this. They are writing these shitty things because I’m with you.”

“Bullshit”, Katsuki barked again and scooted from his place to kneel down in front of you, cupping your hands with his own. “Nothing’s your fault. Their stupid and will pay for insulting you. You’re perfect for us, and if they down shut this magazine down I will blow them all to pieces.”

Afraid he might make his promise come true you grabbed his hands tighter, keeping him from running out that door. “Katsuki…”, you whispered but were interrupted when Shoto kissed your temple. “He is right, Snowflake. No one should speak, or write, about you like this. Whatever their motifs are, nothing justifies their rudeness.” His mismatched eyes were torn between the need to follow Katsuki’s plan and the will to comfort you more, keeping you safe in his arms until you understood that it wasn’t your duty to be or do whatever they wanted from you.

“If being yourself and being with us is bothering them, don’t care about them. We love you, bunny. Nothing should count more than this”, Izuku mumbled and tightened his embrace.

All three of them reminded you in their unique ways how much they loved you and how much they cared. And eventually accepted that they were right. It wasn’t important what the media thought of you or the relationship you had with them. You were a pro hero, one of the best, and you were loved, you had a home with your men and you knew that they would never let you doubt yourself like this. For them you were perfect. All of your little flaws and quirks made you who you are and no one had the right to insult you because of them.

Despite the tears running down your cheeks you managed to smile, drawing your boyfriends closer to you in a pile of love and care. “I love you guys so much. Thank you for not letting me down.”

  I don’t know, but I needed this.

[keigosbirdie]

FEMALE READER VERSION

Of all Hawks’ secrets, you are the most well-kept.

Version: Female Reader version | Male Reader Version Links: Gifset (art only) | Mood Music

NIGHTHAWK Rating: Explicit   |   Word Count: 13k  | Art: 14 animations, 2 stills (Technically no spoilers, but if you aren’t caught up on the events of the manga you’ll be missing important context. The fic takes place after Hawks’ meeting with the commission.) Synopsis: Casual was the word you used when you first agreed to sleep together. As weeks turned into months turned into a year, those quick and dirty nights blossomed into private moments that earned him little pieces of you. Warnings: Dom!Hawks, Nurse!Reader, animalistic behavior, rough sex, quirk/feather play, light bondage, biting, praise kink, hurt/comfort, secret relationship, talk of past lovers, mentions of death, panic attacks, PTSD, mention of a past, non-canon event. Spicy, then bitter, then sweet.

There was nothing exceptional about your life from an outsider’s perspective. You lived in an apartment on the outskirts of Jaku City, unmarried and childless. During the day you attended medical school where you studied for your doctorate. During the evening you worked as a nurse in the intensive care unit. Then, when you were home, you sat alone for dinner at a kitchen table meant for two.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

For the past year, however, an occasional tap at your sixteenth-story window would break up the lonely monotony. The tap was quite a scandalous secret, not that anyone would believe you if you let it slip. Even you still had a hard time accepting the bizarre reality of the situation; but it was real. Just as real his voice, which you could hear echoing faintly through your apartment.

You glanced up from your lukewarm dinner and dropped your fork. For a long moment, you sat in silence, listening intently until you heard it again. It was him; it was his voice. Your heart pounded against your ribs as you shoved out of your chair and jogged to the window. The part between your curtains opened, but when you peeked through you saw only the glow of city lights below a blanket of darkness.

A frown found your face, and a sigh spilled past your lips. You heard his voice; you would never mistake it for another. It echoed casually against your dim walls again, and you turned your head towards the sweet sound. The television was on in the living room. Your heart dropped at the realization. The little square thing sat on your end table and taunted you with his image. 

There he was. Hawks, the winged hero, being interviewed by a woman in a pantsuit. It wasn’t often he did interviews, so you left your dinner to go cold in favor of watching the program.

He was dressed in his hero costume, his visor lifted to rest atop his blond, wind-whipped hair, and his scarlet wings folded politely against his back. A wide grin graced his face as he exchanged charming banter with the woman. She seemed enamored with his expression, but she didn't know him like you knew him. He was smiling, yes, but the edges of his eyes were crinkled with tension. When he chuckled, his wings folded a little harder against his back. His beats of laughter were calculated. Uncomfortable, that's what he was.

He’d been that way a lot lately.

"So, I'm sorry, I have to ask- Every bachelorette in the country is wondering, is there any special lady in your life?" the interviewer asked. It was airy and friendly in intent, but your lip twitched with faint annoyance anyway. Your face fell slack and you leaned back into your chair. 

"Well, I don't know about every bachelorette," he quipped. His face was a little grainy on your old TV screen, but you could see the slight pink in his cheeks. He was cute. So, very cute. It made you miss him that much more. "But my personal life, well, how alluring would I be if I didn't keep a few things a mystery?"

And a mystery it was, to everyone but you.

Thankfully, the woman interviewing him had enough tact to know when to move on. Their conversation mercifully veered away from his sex life—your sex life—and towards his agency. The television was a wondrous thing. His voice rang through your home despite his absence. It brought sadness, but also a bittersweet comfort. Viewing him live stung your soul. You watched until his interview ended with a commercial break, and then decided not to wait up for him again. That would only lead to another sleepless night. 

Still, the window remained unlocked for him as you called it a night. The yellow glow of your desk lamp died with a click, and you climbed into your bed. Sleep was always difficult. Many nights you laid awake as you thought about your ICU patients. The things you saw in the ward were enough to scar anyone. But if it wasn’t work that plagued your mind, it was him.

Casual was the word you’d used when you’d first agreed to sleep together. It was easy to swallow when he only snuck into your apartment at night for sex. For the first few months, that was it. He’d steal into your home through the cover of darkness and you’d share a violently passionate night. Then, he would vanish out your window until he craved you again. Which, thankfully, was often.

As weeks turned into months turned into a year, however, those quick and dirty nights blossomed into private moments that earned him little pieces of you. You realized you were in too deep when it became difficult to be unbothered by the casual daydreaming of others. His face was clipped to girls’ backpacks long before you knew him, but others, covered so openly in his merchandise, began to make you a touch bitter. His sex life had been speculated about in tabloids since his debut, but to keep your mouth shut while your friends contemplated the size of his penis became hurtful and emotionally taxing.

The only one you could confide those pains in was the man who unintentionally caused them, but Hawks was too sweet. If he knew just how much it tore you up, he’d surely break things off to spare you the misery.

You cursed yourself for getting lost in thoughts of him. Bemoaning the casual chatter of others as he gracefully balanced the weight of the world on his shoulders made you feel weak. You allowed your eyes to close, your breathing slowed, and your body relaxed into your mattress. By the mercy of whatever god watched over you, sleep slowly overtook all your other thoughts.

At least until a shuffle and a squeak made you toss in your sheets. A faint light spilled into your room from the window, and a coolness settled into your bed. You shivered. It was the fresh winter air from outside. The cold wasn't the only intruder. It was him. 

The light was dim, but a dark silhouette of flared wings blocked out the moonbeams. Your heart lurched in your chest at the dominant display. It was a habit of the bird in him to fluff up when his blood was hot. His predatory energy kept you submissively silent rather than greet him.

Floorboards creaked beneath his shoes. The pulls of their zippers clicked with the movement. His breath was heavy as he moved to your bed. You caught a vision of your lover’s face. Little flecks of snow followed in. They danced around the brilliance of his wings and settled into his hair. In the blue light of winter’s night, his gold eyes looked dazzling. They also harbored a glint of violence akin to the blown-out eyes of a predator in pursuit of prey.

It was a familiar look from the strange animal. He’d seemed so open and friendly when he’d first snuck into your hospital room to talk, but he shrugged away at hugs and only laughed awkwardly when you told him he was your best friend. He didn't understand that kind of closeness.

You’d learned how deep his discomfort ran through him when the relationship became sexual. His inept understanding of touch translated to violence in the bedroom. Sex was most comfortable for him when he thought of it as a battle. He'd hold you down and force you open. You'd dig teeth into his arms and rip out feathers with your fists. To submit to his pounding was capture, but to overstimulate him until he was too weak to hold you down was victory. Extreme? Perhaps to those who didn’t understand your trust in one another.

He'd at least offer a sappy hello before he pulled his dick out, though. Not tonight. He eyed you as if expecting you to run, as if he'd give chase if you decided to. Fuck, it caused the warmest tingle between your thighs. You’d missed him too badly to try to put up a fight.

He left his jacket abandoned on the floor, which offered a much better view of his slim body wrapped in his black bodysuit. His canines dug into the leather of his glove before he yanked his hand free with his teeth. You laid silent and already breathless. It'd been far too long since you last felt him. Your body was hot with need at the sight of his rigid wings alone. His eyes swept over you as he toyed with the front of his tan jeans. He didn't come very often in uniform. To watch him fondle himself through his costume was- god, was there a stronger word than ecstasy?

“I want you,” he said from your bedside.

"You can have me..." You breathed out. It was intended to sound sultry, but your tone was more akin to a pleading whisper. Your body ached for him before your heart did, after all. Old habits were hard to break.

"You've been waiting for me, like a good girl, haven’t you?" he cooed. Cooed, quite literally. A low and rumbling song reverberated from somewhere deep in his throat. Not a bit of you was avian, but your body reacted instinctively when you heard your mate's call.

"I should reward you."

His visor glinted in the dim light as he pulled it off his face and let it land on the floor. His earmuffs, too.

You bit down your grin as the weight of your mattress shifted under his knee. His ungloved hand neglected the bulge in his jeans to tend to you instead. Warm fingertips slipped beneath your covers and found the skin of your thigh. A small sigh spilled from his lips, and your body trembled.

"You missed my hands on you, didn't you?"

You only managed a nod as his fingers slid up and beneath your pajama top.

Your body sank deeper into your covers when he moved over you. One knee landed on either side of your hips. His bare hand played with your breast while the still gloved one ran through your hair. The leather of the glove was frigid from the cold, but his body radiated warmth. The sweetness of his cologne mingled with the harsh musk of sweat. The smell of him fogged your mind.

The pads of his fingers pinched and tugged at the pink bud he discovered on your chest, which earned him a harsh gasp.

"That's it. I love it when you sing like that," he chimed. His hot breath ghosted over the shell of your ear. Wefts of his hair brushed against your face as his teeth nibbled at your throat. You were trapped beneath the cage his body made. 

"These cute little tits of yours- god."

He wasn't usually so chatty when he was about to mount you, but every grumble that reverberated in his throat added to the tingle between your thighs. He could devour you whole and you would thank him for the honor.

Your hands slid up the sides of his tight bodysuit. The inky black fabric was harsh beneath your fingertips. You traced the patterns of its gold accents around to his back and up towards his wings. He stiffened when he felt you slide nearer to them. Between the plush feathers at the base of a wing, you wiggled a finger until you found the skin beneath. Then you gave the joint a brutal squeeze.

Instinctively, that glorious wing of his outstretched and shivered. The stems of his plumes flexed against your hand as they puffed twice their usual size. The longest of them brushed against the ceiling of your room, dwarfing your bodies beneath it.

You were always in awe of the sheer size and beauty of them.

"F-fuck. Not fair," he growled, and then his teeth sunk hard into your neck in vengeance. The harsh bite only made you desperate for more, so you fisted his feathers in your hand and gave a sharp yank. He gasped a hot breath into the nape of your neck. Fuck. You couldn't take the teasing anymore. 

Your hands relieved him of their cruelty to pull off your shirt. He faltered when your bare breasts were exposed. His golden irises became thin rings as the darkness of his pupils devoured them. The tip of his glistening tongue wetted his lips.

It was your turn to stare with sharp desire as you heard the click of his belt, then the pull of a zipper. You pushed yourself up to get a good view of him working his dick out of his bodysuit. The throbbing muscle hit him in the stomach. The sensation made him hiss between his teeth, and you whimpered in reply. 

"Hhm, you must be really hungry, the way you're staring at it," he mused before he spat into his palm and ran the wetness along the shaft. He quivered at the sensation. You quivered, too.

"Please." Your cheeks were flushed, and your chest quaked with desire. "I want to feel it, please." 

"Oh, don't worry. You’re gonna have all of this. Gotta get that pretty little pussy ready for my cock, though, don't we?" he hummed.

He reached into his plumage and pulled out a long, red feather. The thing wriggled between his pinched fingers as he presented it to you. The way it moved was unnatural, but you timidly took it in your grasp. The look on your face must have been telling of your confusion because he chuckled at your expression. He gave no direction. Instead, he watched with a mischievous curiosity as you turned it in your palm. The barbs vibrated independently of one another against your skin.

Your breath heaved when you realized why he had given it to you. His hands slid down your stomach as a pair of red feathers brushed against your sides. They dipped into the hem of your shorts, then pulled the fabric, sliding them down your legs until you were deprived of them. The cold from the open window seeped into your most sensitive places as his hands caressed your hips.

His fingertips stopped over a series of divots and deformities in your flesh. They were painful mementos of the night you met, and reminders of the sacrifice you had made for him a couple of years prior. He was a stranger when you chose to forgo your own survival to shield him from death. His bottom lip disappeared between his teeth as he relived the agony with you, but placed kisses all over the scars. It felt like a plea for forgiveness, so you ran a loving hand through his hair.

A soft sound spilled from him, and then his head dipped down to drink in the sight of your bare body. You were naked beneath your shorts, so he hummed through gritted teeth when he teased your legs apart. He'd seen it all many, many times before, but the sight of your glistening pink sex brought about his cooing again. The sound was a deep and beautiful melody unlike anything you'd ever heard, but also purely sexual. It was his body's call to yours. It beckoned you like a siren.

“No panties, huh?” he murmured. His breath hitched and vibrated with his lustful song. “You’re already so wet, my god… how about you put that feather of mine to use?”

He sat back on his haunches. Those narrow eyes bore holes into your exposed body as he spat another thick glob of saliva onto his palm. His hand found his cock. His eyelids fluttered at the contact and he groaned softly as he pumped around it. His eyes drank your every movement. 

You spread your legs for his gaze and then brought the pulsing feather between your thighs. He could feel through them, in a sense. The thought alone caused you to exhale a soft moan, but it was anything but soft when the vibration teased your sex. He groaned, too, at the contact. 

Your body flexed and wiggled when you pressed it hard against your clit. The sensation made your eyes roll back. Your slickness dampened its vanes despite its semi-hard state, and your hips ground into the pleasure. He observed. His hand pumped faster with each desperate whimper his feather worked out of you. 

It wasn't long before he couldn't take simply watching anymore. 

The roughness of his stubble dragged along your breast as he closed his teeth around one of your pink buds. He suckled, and your fingers tangled in his hair as his feather jolted from your grasp. It worked your clit without your help, and hot air blew from his nose as he jerked himself off. You used the distraction to sneak a hand between your bodies. You wanted the hot skin of his cock against you. You wanted to touch and play; to taste and feel. A thick whimper spilled out of him when you ensnared his throbbing dick in your palm and squeezed.

His feather stopped pleasing you.

"I didn’t give you permission to touch, did I?" His wings flexed. The feathered limbs grew massive as their quills stood on end in a frightening display. They were beautiful and plush, but deadly weapons all the same. “Testing me, huh? You're that desperate for my cock?”

Yes, fuck yes you were. You opened your mouth to reply, but your voice cut out when he grabbed you by the wrist. He jerked your hand away from his sex, and you whined. Usually, you were a bit of a hardass. It wasn’t easy to make you crumble, so he looked so devilishly proud of himself when you’d submit beneath the weight of him.

His teeth bared in a deliciously appealing smirk. "I’m gonna have to do something with these hands of yours if you’re gonna grab at shit without permission, yeah?"

You nodded a little too eagerly. His voice was heavy and deep with a depraved need to dominate you. To sully your skin with his desire. You weren’t going to stop him.

A cluster of feathers gathered in the air around you. You had nothing to fear, but watching them circle like small predators overhead made your heart pound against your ribs like a drum. They swarmed you and ensnared your wrists. The strength of his quirk easily had you overpowered. Your hands slammed into the headboard, pinned down by his feathers which trembled with excitement. You were now at his mercy.

“You’ll get your hands back when you’ve earned them,” he informed you through gritted teeth, but you were so mesmerized by the features of his face you hardly heard his words. Beautiful, that's what he was. You'd never told him how his appearance left you breathless. It could scare him away if you said such sweet things too often, but you’d held your heart back for so long it only felt fair to let it beat this once. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” you whispered.

He trembled. His eyes widened in startled confusion, and then his cheeks dusted the faintest shade of red. God, that only made your heart thump harder. His did, too; you could feel it rattle through his chest and against your stomach.

"What was that?"

You bit your lip, embarrassed, but echoed the statement a bit more sheepishly. "I said… you're gorgeous."

Your mattress groaned as he folded back onto his knees. The flaming red limbs on his back lowered until they rested against your sheets. Something about that sweet little compliment tore into him like nothing you had ever said before. That desire that flickered behind his eyes blazed out of control. His kisses landed on your knees before he placed a gentle caress of his lips on the innermost part of your thigh. So close to your pussy that the heat of his breath made you slick.

His other glove was abandoned somewhere on the floor, which rendered both his hands bare. A low groan spilled from him as he pressed his thumbs into either side of your heat. His jaw went slack and his breath erratic as he spread you open.

"So are you," he said, but it was muttered so softly you almost didn't hear.

His head dipped down. The tendrils that framed his forehead fell over your midriff as his tongue caressed your twitching flesh. The hot, wet muscle lapped hungrily between your folds. It flicked at your clit, and your legs trembled on either side of his head. His mouth working you open like that was enough to fog your mind entirely.

“You like that?” he cooed between the slurps of his mouth against you. "Oh, I bet you fucking do."

You replied with only a strangled whimper as you tugged uselessly at the feathers that bound you. You were desperate to comb your fingers through his downy hair, to fist it in your hands and press his face hard into you. A low chuckle flowed from his open mouth and tickled your flinching flesh. Another cry tore from your throat.

“My poor baby, so desperate,” he sighed after placing a kiss against your clit.

His poor baby. He hummed that phrase with such possessive intensity. He was right. Even if it was unspoken, you and your body belonged to him and him alone.

The warmth of his palms traveled back up your stomach and squeezed your breasts roughly. “Forcing you to wait so long for me, did I neglect my sweet little Chickpea? Hmm, I better make up for it, huh?"

God, the way his husky voice reverberated against your flesh was the most delicious form of torture. You bit your lip and nodded, and he rewarded you with a finger. It slid carefully into you, and his hand caressed your insides. You cried a loud, indecipherable string of mangled words. All grasp on language left you as he curled his fingers up and flicked his wrist.

“Aw, what are you trying to say, Sweetheart?” he huffed. All the little nicknames only pushed you further into your need for him. “You wanna feel my fat cock push into that pretty little pussy?”

A sharp inhale burned your throat.

“P-please!” you choked. Your voice was cracked and pitiful when it finally tore from you, and a wonderfully wonton sound fell from him.

“Please what, huh? Please what?” he gasped.

“Fuck me! I want it- I want your cock- PLEASE.”

“Ohhhhh, that sounds so pretty comin’ outta your mouth,” came his long, low growl. As a reward for your begging, he dragged the wetness of his tongue along the length of your little pink slit.

The rough material of his jeans slid down your inner thighs as he mounted you. The shaft of his hot, bare cock pressed flush against your sex. Clusters of his feathers bunched behind the bends in your knees and forced them back, which splayed you helplessly open. You watched as he bit into his lip and rubbed himself against your wetness. You couldn't look away as the most intimate part of his body sheathed itself in yours. 

The most delicious pressure overwhelmed your aching senses. Fuck. FUCK.  He moved slowly. It may have been meant as mercy, but to your sex-starved body, it felt torturous. The ridges of his dick caught at your swollen walls before the tip of it pressed agonizingly slow into the bottom of you. 

“Hawks! Oh my god, I can’t fucking take this!” your throat jerked and trembled just like your aching thighs. Your hips pumped in desperation for friction where your bodies connected. “Give it to me, give it- I swear to god- FUCK!”

Once you gave him control of your body, he lost control of his own. The mattress groaned when he slammed into you. His teeth dug into your throat, laying his claim on you as he panted for breath. His loose belt buckle beat at your outer thighs, and your bed frame groaned in protest with each merciless thrust. His hands dug into your flesh and locked you into his jarring pumps. He pinned you down as if he expected you to play the fighting game, but you didn't resist his cock this time. You didn't want a battle. You wanted your lover. Your moaning whimpers broke and cracked as his jerking hips rocked the wind from you.

He pounded into you too fast for your mind to keep up. Your scarred body buckled and stung under his animalistic need, but the shockwaves of pleasure that rolled through your core kept you begging him for more. More. More. 

His mind was so fogged that he lost his focus on his feathers. The clusters binding you down came loose without his influence, and you easily pulled out of them to throw your arms around his neck. His wings spread out and bristled until they were pressed against the walls, puffed and massive. His forehead was against yours. His hot breath puffed in your face, and his beautiful body was pleasured with yours. 

"Fuck, fuck! Please- Let me come inside you," he pleaded. His eyes were hazy and fogged, his mouth was slack and face a deep red. His body’s cooing song was so loud you could feel it in your own chest. The familiar smell of his cologne intermingled with the musk of sex and blurred your mind. You wanted every piece of him he'd give you.

"Y-yes, please, please," you begged between the hard smacks of his skin against yours. 

Your eyes shot open as his pace quickened. His wings… they were falling apart. Those beautiful eyes of his lulled further into the back of his head with each bone shivering slap of flesh. His teeth bared and his lips twitched as he pressed your bodies roughly together. Shivers rolled through his muscles, and those fierce wings of his were reduced to twitching little nubs on his back as he came.

You ran your hands between his shoulder blades as you marveled at his feathers. They littered the air as they weaved feverishly around one another. The gentle touch of your hands brought Hawks down from his high, and his feathers slowed until they lazily spun like autumn leaves. You pulled him down into a tight embrace and buried your face into his hair. He heaved into your chest, and you watched all the little pieces of him flutter around your room in the light of the moon.

He often lost control of his wings when you made love. They'd fluff up and flap wildly when he came, which often knocked shelves from your walls and your lamp from your bedside table. That was the first time he shed his feathers, and you were in awe.

"Are you okay?" he asked. His voice was gravely and shuttered between labored breaths.

“Yeah, I’m just... admiring," you said as you stared over his shoulder. He glanced behind him, and his cheeks tinted the faintest shade of pink when he realized the pitiful state of his wings. The little red feathers spread all around your room stilled in the air and swarmed to his back, returning his iconic limbs to their full glory.

“Er, you managed to pluck me. How embarrassing,” he quipped. You were so sore and exhausted from his sex all you could manage was a little laugh. You were a gasping mess, though, when he finally pulled out of you. The loss of pressure was a relief, but it also left you feeling empty. You laid quiet and trembling as he leaned back to marvel over the mess he made of you. His thumbs spread you open again, and he let out a breathless moan as you felt his come leak from you. His head dipped between your thighs. That beautiful tongue of his flicked out and lapped at the mess on your pussy. The warm wriggling of the muscle shocked your swollen clit and made you cry out, but you couldn't bear to ask him to stop. It satisfied something in you to watch as he licked you clean of your slick and his own come.

When he was content that he'd cleaned you thoroughly, he laid his body carefully beside you in your bed. His fingers tangled in your hair as he locked you into a kiss. You could taste the sex he licked from you on his tongue. 

The sex was always feverish and ravishing, but the afterglow was your addiction. In the beginning, it was rare. To kiss and caress crossed the line into his discomfort, but the more he learned to trust you the more of his affection you earned. The man who feared human touch began to ask for hugs every visit. Kisses became frequent and pleasant the more he let you do it. Then came sex that felt less like vicious wars and more like making love. Yes, after everything you did to earn his intimacy, nothing felt as lovely as lying naked beneath his plush plumage. 

His feathers caressed every inch of your aching body. His warm mouth, still wet from the sex, pressed gentle kisses onto your face. Your head rested against his arm as your breath slowly steadied. His wing flexed and rested on your shoulder as if tucking you in beneath a plush comforter.

“Mm. You like that?” he pondered breathlessly. His fingers trailed up your scarred side until they combed through your hair. There was a ginger softness to the touch that made your heart quiver. He smiled at you, those yellow eyes pierced through the dim light and into your soul. as you reached your hand out to run your fingers under his jaw. 

“Do you need to ask?” you hummed. Your cheeks were still red and your chest quaked as you slowly came down from the high. 

He laughed. What a lovely, airy sound. You hummed in the glory of the moment. And, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you could breathe again. Typically, he’d spend his days off kicked back on your living room couch with a tall bottle of something hard in his hand. You’d go a week or so without seeing him when things got tense in the hero world, of course, but in the last two months, you’d had him for only a handful of nights. It was concerning, but you knew better than to ask. No matter how close the two of you had become he would never talk to you about work.

“It's been a while since you last flew in,” you noted as you got comfortable beneath his plumage. His body beside yours was the definition of comfort. Your mind could only be at peace when he was safe in your bed. “It’s nice to see you again, I was worried.”

“I know, it’s been too long. No need to worry, though, Chickpea, I’m right here,” he replied. His slow exhale tangled in your hair, and his hand's gentle touch found your cheek. He offered no explanation for his lengthy absences, but he and his crimson wing caressed you with apologies. 

You relaxed to the sound of his steady breath through the dim blue light of your bedroom. The wing he draped over you was so plush and warm you could easily fall asleep. You might have, if not for the fear of waking up without him. You scooted closer to wind your arms around his chest and bury your face in his neck. 

"I really wish you could stay," you whispered. 

To let your love get in his way was the last thing you wanted, but it was the utterance of a moment of weakness. It was uncharacteristic of you, the pathetic way it sounded, and you felt him stiffen under your arm as he soaked in your request. While there was never a confession of love, you'd tamed the wild bird with years of patience and earnest affection. He was loyal to you. It was cruel of you to ask for something you knew he couldn't give.

“Ah… I would if I could help it, you know that,” he sighed into your forehead, “but I can try to stay until morning.”

“Please. I’d like that.” It came out like the voice of a frightened child, but it was difficult to hide your need for him anymore. 

If you dwelled any further on the possibility of him vanishing, your emotions were going to get the better of you. You played with the feathers draped over your shoulder to calm yourself. A small one by your face was pinched between your fingers as you rolled the barbs around.

"Your wings are filthy," you mused. Dirt particles littered the poor things. You were sure, with some rooting, you'd find a few bugs he’d picked up in the air, too. "Actually, all of you is filthy. You got dirt all in my sheets, bird brain."

"Oh. Shit, my bad," he murmured as he sat upright. You shivered when the warmth of his wing left you.

"Hm, it's fine. Throw your clothes in the wash and I'll get a shower ready for you, sound good?"

“Sounds good.”

The bed creaked in relief when he stood. His frame was slender and small, but his wings at least doubled the weight of him. That was evident with how smothering being beneath him could feel. He kicked off his pants, though his body was still covered by the black and gold bodysuit he wore beneath them. It warmed your heart to see him carry his uniform out of your room and hear him tinker with the washer on the other side of the wall. The sound of the cloth being tossed inside followed by the creak of an opening cabinet seeped through the drywall, followed by the pop of the detergent lid coming off.

He was intimately familiar with your tiny abode. You’d made sure things stayed in the same place so he'd know where everything was the next time he'd visit. You'd been especially anal about it since he'd often be gone for such long periods at a time. When he returned, you wanted your home to feel like it belonged to him, too.

A sensation overcame you as you laid alone in your bed. The sheets were warm from the love you’d just made. Despite his tongue cleaning you off, you could still feel the faint warmth of him inside of you. His contented sigh found you through the wall and your heart burst.

To the rest of the world, he was a hero, but he was so much more to you. You'd give anything to have him completely. For his voice to echo, groggy and sheepish, against your walls every morning. To get to kiss him goodbye before the sun rose, and to welcome him home every afternoon with a warm embrace. For a ring on your finger; a crib in the bedroom. That wasn’t the kind of life that was meant for him, though. As long as he was afraid of you being hurt, those secret nights were all you’d ever have. It made sense. He had enemies, and you could only imagine how your quiet life would turn upside down if you ended up in the pages of a tabloid.

You only spent time together in the privacy of your apartment. Even after two years of being close to him, there was so little you knew about his life separate from you. What little you did know only made you frustrated on his behalf. You held out hope that it could eventually change, for your sake and his.

Preening Hawks was your favorite thing to do with him. There was something special about being across from one another in the shower, naked, warm water rushing over your bodies as your fingers smoothed and placed his dampened feathers. It took the first year of your friendship for him to allow you to touch them at all, so it was an obvious display of his trust in you. Which was understandable. His wings were an integral part of his identity. You watched as he ran his hands over his face and into his hair. His expression was in a relaxed state of bliss as your fingers picked through his plumage.

With his massive wings on either side of you like plush, padded walls, it felt like nothing in the world could get you. His laughter echoed around the small room as he told jokes and stories. It was okay if you didn't have anything to say, or if you just wanted to listen. He would talk for you when you fell short, and that's usually what got you laughing. 

Through the gentle moment, though, you couldn't help but let your emotions get the better of you. During times like those, when his visits were few and far between, your mind danced around the question of why. The possibilities bounced between him either being in danger or losing interest in you. Both were scary thoughts since he had become such an integral part of your life.

"Would you mind if I ask something?" you pondered, which accidentally interrupted a story he'd been telling about an intern of his.

"Depends what it is.”

"Well… there are a million girls out there who'd gladly do this with you," you mused, and it was true, even if it stung a little to remember. "Did you decide to do this with me because it was convenient?" 

That had been your reason, initially. Hawks spent a lot of time hanging around your apartment and he just happened to be wildly attractive. There were no feelings when he’d first asked if he could fuck you. That didn't come until later.

He laughed, and you glared at him.

“Self-doubt, huh? That isn’t like you. Me being away a lot’s really shaken you up, huh?” 

"It's not self-doubt, I'm just genuinely curious," you quipped as you pulled a feather from his wing. They'd moult if they hung around too long, so pulling out the loose ones was a help to him.

"Well… what we have going on is far from convenient," he said. "If that's what I was going for, I'd go after a pro that could keep a secret. It ain't easy to sneak away like this, you know."

So even a pro hero would have to be a secret for him? Did Hawks have any chance at all for a normal life?

“I wanted you, and if I want something, I go for it.”

You swallowed down a breath you’d been holding, but you didn’t say anything else as you watched his eyes dance around the bathroom in thought. 

"And I wanted you because… well, there were a lot of reasons. The night we met was a big one, I guess.”

You looked away. That night felt taboo to mention, considering all the guilt you knew he harbored. Your scars weren’t his fault. Several villains were on a rampage, and your hospital was in the destructive path. You were just another civilian, caught in the crossfire. His feathers tried, but they couldn’t get you out of the building. You’d been partially crushed beneath the rubble. 

“I was sure it was the end of the road for me. It would have been if you and your quirk hadn’t been trapped inside with me. You have a forcefield. You could have used it to protect yourself, but you bubbled me instead. You were gonna die. I was so sure you were gonna die and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it.”

Still, your lips wouldn’t move. You’d spent ten months in an ICU after you were crushed beneath the weight of two stories of concrete. If not for the healing quirks of EMTs, you wouldn’t have survived at all. If not for your sacrifice, Hawks wouldn’t have, either. Still, it wasn’t his fault.

 “Still hurts to know I couldn’t help you when you needed me most, but when I looked in your eyes, there wasn't a hint of fear. All I saw was determination. I never met someone who was so sure of their choices, even in the face of death," he recalled. Your emotions skirted between sadness and flattery as you heard his thoughts. If only you could live up to that selfless picture of you, now. “I know a lot of pros who could only hope to have that kind of resolve.”

“Damn, when you tell it you make me sound like a badass,” you quipped, and your laughter bounced around the shower stall.

“I mean, what are the requirements to be donned with the title of badass? I’m sure you’re overqualified. Either that or you’re fucking crazy, which is also a possibility.”

You snorted.

“I'm not crazy. My job is to help people after they've been hurt. If I bubbled you instead, I’d be saving every person you’d live to protect. Before they would need a nurse like me. It’s just what made sense.”

He was silent for a moment as he absorbed your reasoning. You tended to be rational, even in the most emotional of situations. But that borderline-robotic way of thinking was a by-product of your own miseries.

You were a nurse in a world overcome by demigods and treachery. Some of the things you'd seen in the OR would haunt you for the rest of your life. And, sometimes, those ghosts came to torment you in your dreams. That made it hard the first time Hawks slept in your bed. You would sometimes wake with tears in your eyes as your voice quivered out sobs. Your past lovers didn't understand that part of you. The broken part. The part that had been poisoned by the darker side of this superpowered world. 

That's what fostered your love for Hawks. When he had awoken early that morning to you crying beside him, he’d only reacted with a patient embrace. He adored the bright parts of you, but he also had a solemn understanding and respect for your darkness. Having that connection through your mutual suffering was a kind of bond you’d never had before him. And now that you had it, you couldn't imagine life without. 

You went back to preening. You pressed up on your knees to reach a bit higher on his wing, and he watched intently. His voice died into silence as his gaze swept over your naked form, which dripped from the steam of the shower. It wasn't a surprise. Often, he would get lost in himself as he observed you, like a curious bird. It felt like a wordless compliment, so you silently allowed his eyes to explore you. Not that his hands and mouth and cock hadn't already drawn a map of you in his mind.

"Whatcha thinking about?" you teased playfully, and he hummed in response.

"How you look at my wings… I like it."

"Everybody looks at your wings," you said dismissively. A half-smile graced your face.

"You’re right. They do. People admire me because of what they’re capable of. It's what people think of first when they think of me, and rightfully so. They're hard to ignore. But when you look at me, you look at my face first, my wings second. It's like you admire them because they're a part of me, not because of what they can do. I appreciate that." 

Your fingers in said feathers slowed to a stop as he spoke. You smiled a little to yourself as you brushed them against a feather. He shivered. "Your quirk is a part of who you are. That's why I like cleaning them for you. It feels like I get to give you something special, but wings or not, I'd still want you."

Falling in love with Hawks was the best and worst thing you’d ever experienced. The pleasure of those beautiful moments seeped into your soul like a warm cup of tea. But the anguish that followed after he flew out your window… there wasn't a simile that could correctly describe the immeasurable pain. 

Your response must have triggered a long series of difficult thoughts for the bird. His head tilted slightly, his eyes hardened in expression and his brows furrowed as he soaked in your confession.

"In the year we've been doing this… has there ever been another man?" he pondered. The question jarred you. Occasionally, he'd get a touch possessive of his time with you. He’d asked a time or two who you were texting. You knew him well enough to pick up the hint of jealousy despite his light tone, but he never asked anything so outright.

“Well, look who's got self-doubt now. You sure are eager for a lot of questions and confessions tonight. What’s gotten into you?” you asked.

He shrugged. “You asked a question, so it's my turn now. Besides, we’ve been close for a couple of years. We've been intimate for half of that. just seems a little silly to keep up the fuck buddies act. Or is it just me?”

Fuck buddies act? You bit your lip. Hard. When he was with you he was so relaxed. This seriousness was unusual, and it made your wet skin rough with goosebumps.

"It's not just you," you confessed. 

For a short while, the bathroom was filled with only the sound of the running shower as you collected your confession. 

"There hasn't been another man since you. I mean… I've gone on dates a few times, but it never got that far," you replied. The moment another man kissed you… Well, kisses felt dirty if they were with anyone other than Hawks. "I know this thing you and I have going on was meant to be a no strings attached kind of affair, but… Well, if I’m being honest with you, it feels wrong trying to sleep with anyone but you. I like what we have, and I've always got the impression that you really do, too."

He didn't say anything. You weren't sure whether or not that was what he wanted to hear.

"Have you?" you asked. "Been with anyone else?"

You’d never asked before. At first, it was because it didn't feel like your business. Then, when the thought eventually made your heart ache, you didn't ask because you didn't want to know. But now that you had come clean, it only felt fair that he did, too.

Air left his nose and his head bobbed back until his wet hair pressed against the shower stall.

"Once,” he confessed, and he sounded ashamed now that he knew you never did. “I used to have this on again, off again thing, before I knew you. I messed with her a few weeks after you and I first… well, you know. But only once, then never again.”

You’d thought it would crush you to learn he’d been with someone else, but it didn’t sting like you thought it would. Probably because you didn't know specifics. If you knew what woman had her hands on him, if you could see it, it probably would destroy you. But the apologetic way he said it put your heart at ease. He mumbled like he knew it would hurt you, and he didn’t want it to. But you weren’t wounded, and your feelings weren’t perturbed. He never promised you anything, just as you’d never made promises to him.

“Why’d you stop seeing her?” you asked as you scooted closer to smooth shampoo suds down in his hair. He only shrugged at first, then sighed in contemplation when your fingers combed along his scalp.

“I’ve never had a place I could go to, you know?” he said. “I’ve never had somewhere like this, where I can lay my head for a little while and just be…”

“Pampered?” you suggested as your hands moved to massage his shoulder blades between his wings.

He breathed out a little laugh, but shook his head. “Yeah, but that’s not what I was thinkin’.”

“Out with it then,” you teased.

“Well… I’ve never had somewhere I’ve felt safe and... cared about?” he said, though his eyes were distant and lost when he said it, as if he wasn’t sure he should have.

“I gotta always be looking over my shoulder. Gotta always have a mask on and hope no one ever sees through it. But here, everything’s relaxed. You couldn’t care less what my ranking on some chart is or how much money is in my pocket. You don't give a shit about heroing or the tabloids. You’re the only person in my life who asks for nothing other than my company. I feel human here. I didn’t want to jeopardize that, or what I had with you. That’s why I stopped seeing her.”

Your mouth went dry. While your nights were long and passionate, you’d never whispered sweet nothings. You’d never told him how much he and his company meant to you because you felt he wouldn’t want to hear it, but he kept coming back. For a year he had clung wordlessly to what little affection you gave him. If he’d told you this a year prior, you would have given him so much more love.

“So you do have deeper feelings for me. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

He was silent, as you’d expected him to be. He both craved and feared the closeness he’d formed with you. At times he’d drown you in sweet little bits of affection, but, when things got too deep, he would shut down. Through the last couple of years, you’d broken through a lot of his walls, but the cold influence of the commission would always be with him. Even if he was in love with you, he’d never understand how to tell you.

"Because of who I am when I fly out your window,” he began. The reverb of his voice against the shower stall took you off guard. You didn’t expect him to answer. "There are things I know you want from me… things that I can’t give you right now, and you deserve more than that. That’s why I never planned on telling you… Fuck. It was never supposed to be like this…”

He spoke more to himself than he did to you at that moment. There was an internal battle going on in his mind; one you'd never really be able to understand, but you wanted to try. 

"You mean you never meant to get attached?"

His silence was telling.

"It's okay," you said. "We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to." You took a hold of his hand, but he flinched away from you. He was regressing back into old habits. It had been months since he’d last recoiled to your affection. Something was terribly wrong. The recoil was fine. It was okay. Whatever he needed to feel comfortable. "I'm sorry-" 

"No, I'm sorry," he interrupted. He rubbed the wrist you had touched as if you'd burned him. His brow was knit and his mouth became a harsh line. "Sometimes it feels easy and other times it doesn't, but I'm trying."

"I know you are. Like I said, we don't have to talk about feelings." 

He stared at you, and the longer his gaze rested on your face, the softer it became, "I want to try." 

You nodded and wrapped your arms around your naked knees. The shower had been turned off long ago by a cluster of his feathers, but the soothing steam still lingered around you. 

“It's just… this is difficult. One day someone may shoot me out of the sky. The thought of you still being right here, waiting for me, when I can never come back… It... kills me." He paused, his eyes hazed over as he swallowed his emotion down. The rawness in his voice struck such an unpleasant chord that your own eyes pricked with bitter water. "That's why I didn’t want attachments like this. But I didn't mean for all this between you and me. You snuck into me slowly, I didn't even notice until it was too late."

"Is this supposed to be flattering? It sounds like you're likening me to a parasite or something- heartworm," you quipped in an effort to dispel the heavy tension. He smiled, but only for a moment before he rolled his eyes at you. 

"Just… listen to me," he said, and your eyes trained on his as your mouth closed. "If that ever happens… If there comes a day you've been waiting for me, only to find out I'm never coming back, please know that I cared for you."

He didn't use the word love, but that's very much what he was trying to convey. In a way, you’d kind of always knew. It was why he’d said it, how he’d said it, that made your eyes prick with tears at their corners. The thought of what he was implying petrified you. Hawks was so skilled, so powerful, so almighty. Despite all his power, though, he was human, just like you. The night you’d met proved how possible death was for him. Nothing could keep him safe forever, not even your forcefields.

But he’d never talked like this before. He was always so light-hearted and relaxed. His work and the dangers associated with it was off the menu of conversion topics. What had happened to bring all this darkness up now?

"You talk like you’re preparing for death." 

Again, he didn’t reply. His silence was more terrifying than anything he could have said, but trying to pry him open would only break him, it seemed. So you didn’t.

“May I kiss you?” you asked instead. 

He nodded.

You leaned forward and breathed into his ear. He shivered when you placed a gentle kiss on the shell of it. His earring pressed against your lip was a gentle and familiar feeling, but after you heard all he had to say it also felt fleeting. He always had some ulterior motive or hidden reason for every little thing he did. It's as if he said all this because tomorrow would be the day he was gone.

“I’m not preparing to die.” Your kiss gave him the courage to speak. "I have too much to live for. It’s just always a possibility- for anybody, really. But heroes especially. I just wanted it off my chest is all."

He smiled at you, but you’d seen every smile in his repertoire, and this one was faker than your stick-on-backsplash. The air never felt so tense between you. Not even the night you met, dying feet away from each other. It all felt so… heavy. The weight of it pressed hard into your chest.

“Er, this reminds me, while we're on topic, I got some things going on at the agency. I hate to say it, but you won't see me again for a little while. I don’t know how long. It could be a couple of months.” His disposition remained fake casual. His shoulders and face were relaxed as he enjoyed the steam of the shower, but his wings tensed. You felt it in your palms as you preened him.

"You're in trouble," you said. Your mouth went dry as the realization drained the color from your face. 

"Trouble? Me? Nah. Just work stuff."

He spoke with a relaxed air about him, but he couldn’t lie to you. 

"No. You've been acting off all night. You’ve been making all these confessions. Talking about death, telling me you're going away for a while. I know you better than you think I do; something big happened and you're trying to tie up loose ends in case you don't get out of it okay," you rambled, and the more you talked the higher your voice became. It trembled and wavered with building fear. 

He stared at you. That silly face of his melted into a thin line and sharp, angular eyes. Those tricks worked when no one was close enough to see through them, but you knew his genuine smile like the back of your hand. You saw right through his facade, and he was annoyed by the very determination he just prided you for. 

"Can't get anything past you, can I?" 

You didn't whimper, but your eyes became glossy with emotion. It was a strange mixture of panic, sorrow, and rage. You had no idea what he'd gotten into, but you also knew he would never tell. He placed preserving missions above all else, which made sense but was frustrating.

"I don't know what's going on, but you need to get out of it if you're thinking it's something you may not come back from." 

"Things aren't that simple. I chose this life, I gotta follow through."

"No, I chose to be a nurse when I was sixteen and understood the implications of what I'd have to go through. You were fucking six when the commission took you, and they spent all that time gaslighting and taking advantage of you-"

"We aren’t talking about that right now, don't use it against me.” 

"Use it- what? I'm not using anything against you! You’re the one alluding to death! There’s nothing wrong at the agency, there’s something else- something terrible-" 

"Drop it.”

“How can I?!”

"Because I said so." His eyes were narrow and mouth a tight, thin line. You could read him so well. He was regretting this. All of this, because now you were onto whatever suicide mission he was embarking on. But, as his lover, how could you just sit back and silently watch him throw himself into a danger that had even him shaken?

You got louder, and he got louder. You tossed bitter, confused words back and forth until he was screaming. Until you were screaming back at him. Your calm, laid back demeanor slipped through your fingers the moment you realized he could be in over his head. That, if you let him leave, this could be the last night you’d ever spend with him. Your anger was driven by your fear for his life, and his was driven by your inability to let it go. 

He was still screaming. You were still screaming. You were fighting him. He just told you you were the most important person in his life, and you were spitting venom. 

You stopped.

He stopped.

Your hand came to your bare chest as it heaved in an attempt to steady your breath. The other came up to wipe the tears budding in your eyes. He looked away from you, his brow tugged heavily downward, his jaw clenched together in shame.

"Let’s just breathe, okay?" you pleaded.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," you whimpered into your hand. "Out of everyone in the world, you're the last who needs to say sorry, so don't. It's just- it's not right, okay? You're too… I don't know, selfless? I watch all the time as that gets taken advantage of. Doesn’t it get tiring? Even your name is some dirty secret. I've been sleeping with you for a year and I don't even know what it is-"

"Yes, you do," he argued, his lip wavered with weakness for one vulnerable moment. "You know me- you know my name."

Desperation laced between his words and strung the sentence together. It wasn't easy to see your lover look at you that way, just begging for you to let pieces of him go. It was hard to accept it, but whatever name he went by prior to heroism didn't exist anymore. Neither did the once innocent child it belonged to. You tried to respect that, but it was unfair he was denied a basic human right: to have a name. 

"You're Hawks, I know, I'm sorry… it's just… how much is left of yourself that actually belongs to you? How long until there’s nothing left to give? People have taken so much from you that you’ve become numb to it; do you even know what you're missing out on? Do you even know how lonely you are? When’s the last time anybody even asked if you were okay?"

He realized, then, that you weren't angry at him.

You were angry for him.

His eyes shifted to yours, and he nibbled at his bottom lip before he muttered with the quirk of his mouth: “Well, you ask me that pretty much every time you see me.”

There it was. The crack in your voice. The crinkle of your nose and the tremble of your lip. You cried, and he sat there across from you, still bare as his wings lowered to either side of you. His expression didn't change, and, for once, you couldn't read it. You didn't want to be so upset, but knowing he was in some kind of dangerous trouble that shook even him was too much for you to bear.

"I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. It’s just… Do you have any idea how many heroes I've wheeled into the morgue? People die on my table all of the time. Every time is just as hard as the last, but the heroes- those are the ones that destroy me. Because every time someone in a cape lands on the table I know their families are waiting for them at home, just like I wait here for you.

"I saved you once, but you're so far away from me, too far for my forcefields to reach you. Hearing you say you’re going away- all I can think of is coming into work one day and finding you c-... covered in a sheet."

His wings moved up from the shower floor. The feathers were dark with dampness as their joints pressed into your back. You sat there like that as he let you cry. Really, what else could he have done? What else could you have done? Of course you were angry. You would be for the rest of your life over how his panned out. His childhood was taken from him, his understanding of human affection was still stunted, even after all the time you spent gently undoing what damage had been done. Now he talked like one wrong move would end it all.

"It's… difficult," he began, though he couldn't make eye contact with you. He usually couldn't when you had discussions like this. "Being a hero isn’t what I imagined I would be when I was a kid. And sometimes I do ask myself: 'what is this all for? There's always going to be a new bad guy. Why does it matter?' And then I think about you…" 

He went silent for a moment; you could see the little battle behind his eyes. The battle between his affection deprived confusion and his need to be closer to you. To explain himself. 

"I think about you and it reminds me there are good people who are worth fighting for. As long as you are here and there are bad people out there that could hurt you, I have to be out there, too. And, yeah, sometimes I get afraid. But as long as I have these wings, I'm going to use them to keep this world safe for you."

He’d never felt so close to you, and yet so far away. He thought even more of you than you anticipated. A part of you felt touched you'd become a cornerstone for his sanity in such a hostile world, but the other part felt sick. If he wanted to fight for you, that was fine.

But to die for you; that would be unforgivable.

The urge to argue the worth of his life weighed heavy on your heart. If you did, he would call you hypocritical, considering your own history of self-sacrifice. It wasn’t the same, though. His self-worth depended on his usefulness to others and little else, and you feared the day that usefulness ran out. What would Hawks be, if not a hero? It should have such a simple answer, like what you would be if not a nurse. But it didn't. It never would.

You leaned forward to pull him into a tight hug. Perhaps when he was anywhere else you were unable to protect him, but right there, in your arms, you'd use whatever you could to keep him safe. Your bubbles, your kind words, anything. 

"I understand," you said, because you knew there were no words that could keep him away from the hero path. It wasn't just a part of his identity; it was all he'd ever known. "Just… don't forget when the heroing is said and done, you'll always have a place here if you need it."

He hummed a small, contented coo at your kindness. Of course, you didn't have to tell him that. He already knew. Why else would he spend so much of his precious little free time cuddled up to you? 

"I'll remember," he promised as his arms and damp wings curled in to squeeze you against him. 

You and Hawks bathed in the comforting darkness of your bedroom. Your window was frosted from the bitter cold outside, but his body heat kept you warm in the safety of your bed. Or nest, rather, as Hawks tended to construct mounds of tangled comforters and wadded up bedsheets to hide in as he got comfortable. You were buried beneath the mass of cloth and the cocoon of his wings as you tried to fall asleep. It was a difficult undertaking since you didn’t know when you’d see him again. You were so tired, but you wanted to be awake to hold him for what little time you had left. 

You wouldn’t have gotten any sleep, anyway.

Often when Hawks slept in your bed you'd awaken at strange hours. Sometimes this was due to your own nightmares. The subject bounced between the traumatic things you’d seen at the hospital and the night you’d met. You'd wake to find that you’d encased your bed in your protective bubble during your sleep, and Hawks' wings squeezed you gently against his chest. Other nights, it was Hawks' anxiety that would keep you awake.

During the day, his guard was discreetly up. He carried carefree conversations as if unbothered, but those well-trained feathers of his were on constant guard. Really, he never had a moment to breathe. This was something you never would have understood the depths of if you weren't woken by his anxiety in the midst of the night. The anxiety he kept bottled during the day often let itself out in the form of night terrors. He'd mumble. Roll. His wings would twitch over you. His face would morph into an agonized expression, and he chirped in distress. A good, gentle shake was usually all it took to pull him out of the bad dream. 

That night his nerves reared their head, though in an unorthodox way. Apparently, you did fall asleep, because you awoke with a small grumble when you felt the mattress groan, followed by a heavy weight draping over your body. You let out a long whine of displeasure, but the weight just got heavier. You turned your head and opened your eyes to find Hawks, but he wasn't gasping in his sleep. He laid over you, wings puffed but flat on either side of your bed as he stared at the bedroom door.

"Hawks? You're squishing me." 

He didn't answer or turn to look at you. Those sharp eyes of his danced around in panic, his feathers raised as they sensed every small movement in your apartment. You dropped your head back onto your pillow with a sigh. 

"What's the matter?" you pondered.

"Shh," he hummed. "I felt something…"

You laid and listened for a short while, but all you could hear was the lady in the apartment above you walking across her floor.

"It's my neighbor."

"What if it's not?" 

Whether the display was the primal instruction from the bird in him to protect his mate or if it was a by-product of the harsh reality of the life he lived, you weren't sure. Either way, his calm and almost lazy facade cracked. When the world was quiet and his feathers could sense every mundane movement in your apartment, his anxiety that those small bumps in the night might be something that could hurt you overwhelmed him.

The little display was an annoyance to your sleep-deprived brain, but his first thought in the midst of his worry was to protect you. That spared him from your groggy wrath. 

"Lay down, McNugget. There's no one there," you grumbled, but he didn't turn his head away from the door. 

Feeling your hand on his face seemed to snap him back into the moment, even if just a little. He leaned into you and encased you in his wings. It felt like a protective gesture, but the warmth you found beneath them made you hum pleasantly. The fluffy white cloth of his hoodie rubbed your cheeks as he cuddled into you. Well, actually, it was your hoodie. 

At one time it was just some old thing you'd snagged from a thrift store on a chilly day. It was much too large for you, though. When Hawks came into your life later on, you'd cut holes out of the back and hemmed it up. That way he'd have a little something to throw on when it got chilly at your place. He never said it out loud, but he loved the thing. He'd go looking for it if you didn't leave it laying out in the living room. 

"I know you usually have a lot to be afraid of, but you don't have to worry about protecting me. I'm a badass, remember?" you whispered into the shell of his ear. His shoulders relaxed just a bit, and he puffed out a little chuckle. 

"Yeah, I know. I just… I want you to be safe. That's all." 

Your gaze softened, though he couldn't see it in the darkness. You didn't need Hawks to protect you. You didn't need a hero. You needed a best friend; a lover. Between the both of you, he was the one in most need of saving.

"Shh," you hummed gently. Your hair lifted from your pillow and danced slowly around your face as if gravity was lost to you. He scrunched his nose as your locks brushed his cheeks, and his wings settled flat as a ring rose from the floor around your bed. The translucent wall came together above your bodies to form a hard, bubble shell.

"You've been the hero long enough. Let me be the protector tonight,” you said. His throat bobbed against your shoulder as his arms wound around you. He settled, but you still felt his unease.

“What’s got your feathers ruffled?”

“You shouldn’t have to protect me,” he said. His voice was muffled since his mouth was pressed into your skin, but you still heard the sadness in it. “I should be taking care of you.”

You blinked as you soaked in his words. For a year you pined for such romantic things to come out of his mouth. Of course he’d wait for a night like that night to say such sickeningly sweet things. The future that used to feel so full of mystery and excitement had become dangerous, uncertain, and disappointing.

“You don’t have to be the hero every time,” you replied.

“But if I’m not a hero, what am I?”

His question was an echo of your fears. The ambient light from your window filtered dimly into your forcefield, but your eyes couldn’t adjust with tears in them.

“I don't know if I have the answer you're looking for, but... Do you remember when I was in the hospital?" you asked. "When you first came to see me you brought a twenty-piece box of chicken nuggets, and while I was trying to eat one you laughed until you were crying because it looked vaguely like a penis.”

“Vaguely? It had balls and everything,” he recalled, and you rolled your watering eyes.

“Whatever. It was stupid, but it was the first time I laughed since I was trapped in that hospital. And, well… when they said I’d never walk again you helped me out of bed. I cried myself to sleep some nights, but you were there, still trying to save me. You were trying to be a hero then, too, but you became my best friend. If nothing else, that's what you’ll always be to me.”

A sound came out of him akin to laughter. You shot him a look, then hooked your finger under his chin. You wanted to see his dumb grin when you berated him for poking fun at you. When his eyes met yours, though, they weren’t crinkled with laughter. They were red and watering.

“Oh, Hawks,” you breathed, and he tucked his face back into your arm to hide his vulnerability. He never cried before. At least not in front of you. He was always the immovable one, virtuous and strong. Moments like this reminded you just how human he was beneath it all.

“I’m right here. I’ve got you,” you assured him in a whisper. Gentle promises spilled from your lips like lullabies, and he clung to every word with heart-breaking desperation. You whispered every sweet nothing you could think of to ease his pain, but you didn’t have that kind of power. 

You had no power at all.

His world always seemed scary to you. You feared for his life every day, but the thought of him being ripped from your arms overwhelmed you that night more than it ever had before. The protective bubble that encased your bed would keep him safe for as long as you could fight sleep, but what of the morning? You’d be safe at home, and he’d be lost somewhere in the dangerous fray of his duties. Far away from your warmth and the apartment he found so much comfort in. 

This would not be the last time you held him. You had to believe that, but what if it was? What if this sleepless night was your last together? 

Tell him you love him, you thought to yourself. Tell him before you never get the chance again. 

You bit your lip as you felt his trembling breaths on your collar. You prepared your lips for the taste of the confession, but he was so vulnerable, more so than he may have ever been before. He didn’t need you to tell him about your affections, he needed you to use them.

You placed a reassuring crown of kisses along his forehead, and he gripped you so hard his knuckles were surely white. 

When you’d cried as a child, your mother would lay in your bed and sing lullabies until you fell asleep. Your voice was untrained and awkward compared to hers, but you tried your best to use it. Your off-key tune echoed back to you in the dome of your forcefield, and your cheeks pinkened with how childlike it sounded. Your embarrassment interrupted your lullaby. He stirred against your chest.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “Please, sing to me.”

You cleared your throat as you gathered the courage to start again. His eyes fell closed as your song settled into the safety of your shield. His feathers relaxed, and his face went slack as sleep slowly overtook him. You sang until his tears stopped flowing. You sang until he was asleep in your arms. For as long as you could, you laid awake. If you succumbed to sleep, so would your forcefield. So would your promise to keep him protected through the night. As time moved slowly forward, sleep inevitably began to settle into you, too. It was as terrifying and as peaceful as death.

“I love you,” you whimpered as you felt your eyes grow too heavy to fight back open. “Please… stay safe.”

Credits: 

A massive thank you to my wonderful friend and editor, @fuwafuwagem​! If you thought the fic looked especially polished, it’s thanks to her efforts!

Also a big thank you to my buddies and beta readers: @dendriticheep​ and @narcolepticroses​! Thanks you guys for being such sweet friends to me ;u;

And a huge thanks to YOU, for reading !

Authors Note:

I’d love to do a lot more fanfictions like these! If you have any suggestions or requests for animations or animated stories like this one feel free to submit it to me!

[winterlinksandotherlinks]

Local Cryptid Loves His Wife

Time and Malon feel like one of those couples that, even though they're not technically canon, a lot of people have a very set idea of — especially if we look at them individually

Here's my current take on them (minor changes may still occur):

TIME

Weird relationship with Wars and Linkle — during the War, Wars was very much a paternal figure (thought Time, then called Mask, didn't always appreciate that), while Linkle was the fun aunt — meeting again, with Time now being the older one, they'll have an interesting time figuring out their new relations (though they're definitely still fond of each other);

feels responsible for Twilight and Wild, like he should be parenting them? but has no idea where to start with any of this, so he does his best, and tries to take notes from Wars (who actually does know what he's doing);

kind of wants children of his own? maybe?;

doesn't think of himself as a leader, but is very good at listening and making decisions;

feels an intense kinship to trees, especially the old ones;

gets weirdly well along with Wild (even Twilight is concerned);

chaotic at heart;

prayed to every deity and goddess he could think of that, around the time of his and Malon's wedding, a portal would bring Wars and Linkle there, so he could have the closest he could get to "his own" family there;

Loves His Wife Very Much;

improved Malon's archery and taught her basic sword fighting skills;

after Termina, he spent several more years travelling, mostly through woods and woodlands, and lost track of time — he genuinely doesn't know how old he is anymore, but guesses he's about thirty;

returned to Hyrule in his mid-teens, spent some days drifting about Castle Town, and eventually made his way to Lon Lon Ranch to ask Talon for a job;

had to basically relearn how to interact with people, and became close friends with Malon in this period;

didn't realise he had a crush on Malon, and thought he was ill (Malon had to explain it to him, and she has yet to let him live it down);

they only got married some 3-4 years before the Links Winter AU takes place;

moves soundlessly;

has used the Fierce Deity mask enough to absorb the powers of the Fierce Deity (which is why the mask is more or less empty in Wild's era) — the scar is from the last time he wore the mask, when it refused to release him and he ended up slicing it in half to get it off — the personality died with the mask, but the powers stayed;

looking at him, you wouldn't think him married and living at a ranch (imagine a younger smilier version of LotR's Aragorn);

if you're out for a walk in the woods and encounter a tall soundless humanoid with glowing white eyes who moves at an even pace, run;

has Cryptid Status

MALON

Seems like a Mature and Collected Woman, but very much enjoys playing up her husband's Cryptid Status (she may even be partially responsible for it, but he also finds it hilarious);

has now become better at archery than Time;

keeps all the stories he has told her of his adventures tucked away in her heart;

likes her tea with a hint of brandy (as opposed to Time, who thinks it's too bitter and is very much a lightweight);

keeps track of the Ranch's finances, what time of year they need to hire additional hands, where to deliver their products and when, and is overall a good business woman;

merchants fear her haggling skills;

taught Time everything he knows about looking after the animals, keeping the house and property in order, and cooking — they generally divide the labour according for the week according to what needs to be done when, but as a rule of thumb, Malon takes care of the animals while Time makes deliveries, and the rest is fitted in around that;

will get very well along with Linkle and Legend;

will also get surprisingly well along with Ravio (they enjoy swapping stories about their husbands while preparing dinner, and Malon very much enjoys babysitting Mitchi — Linkle is sometimes included in the group, since she knows both Ravio and Time from the War);

wants children, but is determined that Time will handle his fair share of the childrearing;

often sings while she works;

is a fearless woman who would march into battle at Time's side;

part Gerudo (half? a fourth? not decided yet);

wears trousers under her skirts and ties her skirts up when needed;

skilled horserider — up there with Twilight and Wars;

knows her card games (and isn't above cheating at them);

physically strong (if she wanted to, she could probably wrestle with any one of the Links — without their magical items — and have a fair chance of winning, though Twilight is up for debate — she's not overly fond of wrestling, however, so she doesn't really bother)