#but...how the fuck is sky STILL not getting any future confirmed????

[thetimelordbatgirl]

How the mentions of the Smith family in Whotopia got me like.

[shroomdreams]

propagation 3: Gepard

CW: amab!reader, dom!reader, monster!reader, sub!gepard, dubcon if you squint, fingering, nipple play, rimming, anal, monsterfucking, oviposition, technical mpreg, multiple orgasms, multiple positions, implied size difference A/N: Somehow this managed to beat out Ruan Mei’s part in terms of unhingedness. What the fuck happened. I didn’t mean for it to get this long. 5.4k words

On a starry night in Belobog, a lone soul gazes into the fireplace, reflecting on past memories. You were wrapped in a warm, fluffy blanket, smelling faintly of vanilla. Everything about this situation would be perfect if it weren’t for one thing.

You were currently sitting on the bed of none other than Gepard Landau.

Wondering how you got into this situation? Let’s take several steps back.

One of many Silvermane guards, on the surface there was nothing particularly special about you. You had the expected physique of a soldier, skilled in wielding the halberd, and you were loyal to your duties. Everything that a Silvermane guard should be... Although, to say that you were average was just a ruse. Underneath the human face you wear, you’re an anomalous entity not even the scholars of Belobog know about. A monster of the Propagation.

Even after the Astral Express came and reestablished outside contact with the vast galaxy, the vast majority don’t know of your true nature. And that was fine. In fact, you were secretly plotting to leave Jarilo-VI to seek out your siblings, if they were even still alive. Though you didn’t have the details written down, you offhandedly mentioned the idea to your comrades while in the locker room.

“Are you sure?” Agrafina asked while wiping away her sweat. “Not to say I distrust the outworlders, but you don’t even know if they’ll establish some kind of station for you to use.”

“I agree,” Said Timur, who was busy looking over his halberd. “Besides, how can you be sure you would find your family out in space?”

“I get what you guys mean, but... There’s been this feeling I’ve had ever since they descended from the sky.” You reply, looking in the mirror. “If I could just go out and sail through the stars, maybe I’ll finally put a name to this feeling.”

A simple conversation about the future probably wouldn’t mean much in the grand tapestry of destiny, and yet you were proven wrong when a day later, Captain Gepard would request your presence in his office. Had you done something to offend him? Fixing your appearance, you await your captain’s orders before walking into his office.

“Captain,” You salute him, to which he waves his hand.

“At ease, soldier.” Gepard smiles. “Take a seat.”

So you do, sitting down at one of the chairs near his desk while Gepard walks about.

“Captain, have I done anything that requires disciplinary actions?”

“What? No, none of that-” He quickly replies. “There is just something that I want to confirm with you. I’ve heard from your squadmates that you were planning on traveling out into space. Is that true?”

What’s with that strange expression on his face? Gepard looks rather tense. You lightly shook your head, thinking it was just your imagination. “Affirmative, sir. When the time comes for Belobog to reunite with the stars, I wish to retire from being a Silvermane guard and seek my place in the cosmos.”

Gepard frowns, furrowing his brows and looking to the side. “I see... Is there any reason why you feel the need to do so?”

“Truthfully, sir, I’ve always felt quite out of place here on Belobog... Or Jarilo-VI, as the outworlders call it.”

He raises an eyebrow, prompting you to continue.

“You’ve met my parents, yes?”

“The Smirnovs, yes. They are the ones to refer you to the Silvermane guards.”

“Well, despite my appearance... I am not their biological child.” The words feel foreign coming out from your mouth. It felt odd to admit that part of your life, especially to Gepard. “I may look like a perfect combination of the Smirnovs, but the truth is that I groomed myself into looking like this.”

“Is that so...” Gepard rubs his chin in thought. “But why are you telling me this?”

“It’s because I am not of the Smirnov clan that I wish to travel the stars. I truly have my parents to thank for raising me, but these days I’m more of a burden to them.” You laugh. “I love them, I truly do, but I believe it’s time for my chapter in Belobog to end, and for a new chapter to begin in the vast infinity of space.

“Perhaps if the Astral Express makes a stop here, I could try and ask the conductor to allow me to travel with them until I find what I’m looking for.”

Gepard looks at you with an expression you can’t quite describe. If you had to try, you would say he appears to be trying to solve a difficult puzzle.

“If you would excuse me sir, I must get back to training.” You say, standing up and saluting. You don’t see the determined glint in his eyes when you turn your back.

The next day was something many of you looked forward to. A day off. Although you all still had a duty to protect Belobog, it didn’t hurt to rest once in a while so you could prepare for the next day of fighting the Fragmentum. “Where should we go? If you ask me, I’m dying to get my hands on some sweets!” Agrafina exclaims.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” You hum in thought. “It has been a while since I’ve indulged in some desserts.”

So you, Timur, and Agrafina make your way towards a cafe. As you line up, you briefly wonder who was the large mountain of muscle before you, though the realization strikes when you caught sight of that messy, blonde hair.

“Captain Gepard,” You say. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He turns around and looks at you with a smile, almost unrecognizable out his uniform. Although you don’t have any sense for fashion, Gepard’s ensemble can immediately tell the ordinary man that he’s of higher standing than your little trio. His suit had nary a wrinkle, dyed in a dark blue that contrasted the usual pristine white of his uniform, complete with a dark brown fedora and shoes. It’s almost a little embarrassing when you compare your more casual coat and boots, but you don’t really care about that all too much.

“Are you here for some desserts too?”

“I suppose you can say so. I’m merely here to but something for my sister.”

“Miss Serval, I assume? Send her my regards.”

The line had moved forward as the two of you conversed. By the time you reached the counter, you stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Gepard. The cashier smiles brightly at the two of you. “Welcome, welcome! What would you like today, esteemed customers?”

You repeat your friends’ order, but pause when you remember you haven’t exactly decided. Pausing, you look towards the menu. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“I’m glad you asked! Since the outworlders from the sky have reconnected us with the rest of the universe, our staff thought about creating desserts from places other than Belobog!”

Intrigued, you urge the cashier to show you some options. She eagerly pulls out a menu and slides it towards you. Indeed, all of these names are entirely foreign to your Belobogian self, seemingly nigh incomprehensible. The amount of choices presented makes you freeze in your tracks until another presence grounds you, a gloved hand pointing at one of the options.

Right, Gepard was next to you.

“How about this... Caramel Pudding?”

“An excellent choice, sir Landau! Will that be for the both of you?”

You look to him with a raised brow. Gepard looks back, before looking to the cashier. “Yes, make that two Caramel Puddings. One to go, if you please. I’ll pay for both of us.”

“Captain...” You murmur, feeling a bit flustered. “You don’t have to. Agrafina and Timur have already given me the necessary shields for our desserts.”

However, Gepard just shakes his head. “Think nothing of it. Is it so wrong to treat my men?”

You say nothing in response as the cashier rings up your orders and presents you with two boxes of desserts. One held your trio’s order, while the other contains Gepard’s. When you make it back to your group, they immediately salute when they see Gepard walking alongside you.

“Sir!” “Sir!”

“At ease.” Gepard says, before looking to you. His blue eyes seem to contemplate you as you hand your dessert box to Timur. “I suppose I’ll leave the three of you, then?”

Before you could respond, Agrafina grabs your shoulders and beams at Gepard. “Actually, I think Timur and I have something we need to take care of!” “Wha-” Agrafina pushes you in front of Gepard, who stares down with wide eyes as she grabs Timur’s arm, who cries out in protest. “C’mon Timur!”

...Suddenly, you’re left alone, standing close to your captain. You look up, unsure of what to say. Gepard is at a loss for words, the dessert box in his hands acting as a barrier between your bodies.

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...”

It was so awkward you ended up tagging along with Gepard on his way to Serval’s workshop. It was even more awkward when you end up being smooshed against each other when you took the tram. Gepard looks to the side, red coloring his cheeks as attempts to keep some space between the two of you. It was... cute, you had to admit.

When you paid off your fees, Gepard steps down before turning to offer you hand. You take it without a second thought, hopping down. Your eyes widen in realization when as you gaze at your hands, comparing them to Gepard’s. You took on the form of a male as you “grew” up, but you can’t help but notice that Gepard’s hands were bigger. The realization doesn’t last long when Gepard coughs. You retract your hand, lacing your fingers together. “Sorry, Captain-”

“Gepard.”

“...?”

“Call me Gepard.”

“...Alright, Gepard.”

What exactly was going on here? Not only did your friends abandon you with the captain, he’s telling you to call him by his name? You ponder about your current circumstances as Gepard leads you to the workshop. He steps aside and lets you enter first.

“Oh hey Geppie!” Serval greets from behind the counter before tilting her head at you. “And who’s this?”

“Hello, Serval. This is one of my soldiers. They’re accompanying me for the day.”

You didn’t exactly agree to tagging along, but you nod.

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Serval.”

“Awwww, that’s nice of you!” She smiles before looking to Gepard. “So what’s the occasion?”

“Nothing special,” He says, bringing out the dessert box. “I figured I would stop by and catch up. I visited the cafe earlier and brought you something.”

“Nice one. Let’s see... Huh, what’s this... Caramel Pudding?”

“It’s one of the new items- Apparently it’s an outworlder recipe.”

“Ah...” You suddenly remember your own pudding, left in the dessert box you gave to Timur before they left you. “I didn’t get to taste mine.”

Gepard frowns, before taking the pudding and giving it to you. “Take it.” You attempt to protest, trying to give it back before Gepard firmly pushes it to your chest. “I insist.” He smiles.

“...We can share it, if it’s okay with you.” You speak, not daring to look up.

Gepard blinks, his cheeks flushing pink. Serval snickers, earning her a look before Gepard grins. “That would be more than fine with me.”

“H-okay, out with you two.” Serval says, pushing the two of you out of the building. “I’m not about to become a third wheel in my own home!” She laughs despite your and Gepard’s stammering. “We’ll catch up some other time, Gepard.” Serval says before shutting the door.

“...Uhm. Where shall we go, then?” You timidly ask.

“I suppose we can find a suitable place to share the pudding, if you wish.”

Right- Better eat it before it spoils... The two of you are then sat on a bench, your hands opening the box containing the pudding. Both you and Gepard take a moment to stare at the food. “What’s it made of...?” You murmur, bringing the pudding to your nose and smelling it.

“Apparently, the base is a custard topped with caramel...”

“Custard, huh... it smells sweet.” You set it back down as Gepard brings out a spoon. You watch as he takes a portion of the pudding and angles it to your face. “Gepard?”

“You wanted to eat the pudding, right? It’s only fair that you have the first taste.”

Does he have to spoon-feed you, though? You wonder how this looks like to onlookers. Still, you did want to have a taste... Nodding, you part your jaw and open your mouth. Gepard gingerly places the spoon in your mouth, watching as you close your lips around the utensil. His breath hitches when your lips slide off the spoon, noting the thin trail of saliva running from the spoon to your lips. You can’t help but let out a small moan as you savored the sweetness, audibly gulping down the substance. Suddenly Gepard thinks the floor looks extremely interesting as you lick your lips.

“So good... Gepard, now it’s your turn.” You say, taking the spoon from his hand and slicing into the pudding. He gazes at you with blushing cheeks, leaving you to wonder if he had been struck by some kind of flu. Still, you guide the spoon to his mouth, feeding him in turn. Gepard closes his eyes as he hums.

“I can definitely taste the caramel... But the texture is not at all what I expected.” He says. “You seemed to enjoy it, though.”

“I couldn’t tell you why, Gepard.” You reply, looking at the pudding with starry eyes. “It just... feels right to me- eek!” You let out a squeak when he slides up against you, taking the utensil from your hand. “G-Gepard?”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I were to keep feeding you?”

Your mouth parts open as you lock eyes with Gepard, opening your mouth as he feeds you more pudding. Eventually, you’ve managed to completely finish the pudding, sighing in content as you instinctively lean into him. “That was... good. We should buy more sometime.” You blink as your brain catches up to your words. “I don’t mean that you should buy more for me- I mean- Uh-”

Gepard chuckles. “I’d gladly buy you more if you want me to.” He says, taking a napkin and wiping off the left over remains from your face. You pout, feeling a bit coddled. Your pout turns into open-mouthed shock when Gepard looks at the napkin, then at you, then places his mouth over the it.

...You’re not entirely sure what message he’s intends to send, but you’re fairly certain it’s more than platonic. Either way, Gepard disposes of your trash in the nearby trash receptacle. He holds his hand out. “Shall we?” He asks. By now, the sun had reached its highest peak, almost acting like a spotlight towards him. The way the light bounces off his fair hair, how the shadows highlight his face, how his eyes seem to glimmer in anticipation.

So it’s no surprise that you put your hand on his as you stand up. This time, it evolves to you wrapping an arm around Gepard’s. The sight of you hanging off Gepard’s side inevitably caused some whispers.

“Look, isn’t that Gepard Landau?”

“Not just him- Who’s that man with him?”

“It’s about time he found a lover.”

“Do you think the family is aware?”

Although the onlookers try and keep their volume as low as possible, your enhanced hearing still picked up on those comments. You keep a straight face, holding Gepard close. Eventually, you find yourself at the Landau estate. “Take of your coat,” Gepard says, hanging his hat on the hatstand. “I’ll have lunch made for us.”

You tentatively shuck off your coat, leaving you in just a dress shirt. Every step you take as Gepard leads you to the dining room is delicate, painted with a touch of nervousness. The reality suddenly hits you, that you’re inside the home of Gepard Landau himself, your captain. That’s not even thinking about the possibility of meeting his family.

“Here we are.” Gepard beams, holding out a chair for you to sit on. You do so, watching as Gepard sits across you. “Do you have any preferences? I know this is a sudden arrangement, but I’m certain the chefs are able to make whatever you want.”

There it is again, the battle of choice. You bit your lip, eyes darting around. “...I’m craving some goulash today.” You say, eyes anxiously sweeping for Gepard’s expression. He nods in approval as a manservant approaches.

“Excellent choice, sir,” the servant says before looking to Gepard. “I assume you’ll be having the same, my lord?”

“That’s right. Please have some bread and wine prepared as well.”

“Of course, sir.” The servant bows before he walks away. A moment or two later, he wheels in trolley with a pot of goulash, bread, and a bottle of wine. He serves the two of you, and dutifully pours the wine into your glasses.

Lunch was a quiet, yet gentle affair. You can’t help but look at Gepard once in a while as you eat your stew, looking away as you munch on your bread. The taste of strawberries and black pepper hits your tastes as you sip your wine. “I have to say, Gepard, I wasn’t expecting for the day to turn out like this,” You smile, swirling the wine in your glass. “Eating outworlder sweets and eating lunch with you... Haha, I’m sure you don’t treat your other soldiers like this.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Any reason why?”

“...”

Gepard looks to his wine. He closes his eyes, and drinks the whole thing in one go. Drops of red liquid run down his lips, wiped away by a tissue.

“...I just want to get to you know better.”

You’re no Aeon, but you can taste a lie when it happens. You take a moment to gaze at Gepard, noting his tense posture and blushing face- Perhaps from the wine? You can also hear the faint tapping of his feet, itching for some kind of action. You close your eyes and set the glass down. “Captain, please. I may not be experienced, but I’m fairly certain I can discern when I’m being courted.

“If I’m wrong, then I apologize for being presumptuous, but I would have to be illiterate to not see the writing on the wall.”

Gepard sighs, leaning against his chair. “...That is correct.”

“May I ask why? Out of all the bachelors in Belobog, I assumed you would take a lover that’s of the same status as you. The Smirnovs may have some standing, but we do not possess the same prestige as the Landaus do.”

“...Truth be told, I’ve been wanting to court you for quite some time. I haven’t the time to properly to do so, but...” He lets out another sigh. “I heard from your squadmates that you seemed interested in wanting to explore the stars. When you confirmed these thoughts, I thought that I would take my chance.”

“...I see.”

You should have seen it sooner, really. Honestly, you feel rather guilty playing along. You stand up and give Gepard a sad smile. “Captain... No, Gepard. I must apologize. Although I am flattered... I’m afraid I musn’t accept.”

“...”

You walk up to him and kneel. “Please forgive me, Gepard. I have to go soon, and it would be incredibly cruel for me to leave you while you have your heartstrings wrapped around my hands.” Closing your eyes, you bow your head slightly as you place a hand to your chest. “Captain, thank you for your hospitality. I must leave now. I hear that the Astral Express is making another stop-” You’re interrupted while you’re in the process of standing up, a hand grasping at your wrist. The hand pulls at your person and you fall into Gepard’s proximity.

Time seems to slow as you crane your head to meet Gepard’s gaze, for the briefest moments you think you’ve had lunch with an impostor. Was this the same Gepard who fed pudding to you? Eyes boring into your own, a shiver runs down your spine when he traps you in his embrace. “Gepard?”

The space shifts- And you find yourself in a bridal carry. Gepard’s steps ring heavy as he makes his way somewhere. Shifting your weight in one arm, he opens the door to a room and walks in, using his leg to shut the door with a slam. A quick look around the room indicates that this is most likely Gepard’s room. He sets you down on the bed, leaning over you with an intense look on his face.

“Forgive me. I cannot push down my feelings no longer.” He takes your hand and kisses your wrist, closing his eyes. “If this is to be our final meeting, then please...” He leans in closer, and you can faintly smell the remnants of wine on his breath. “Allow me to please you, as a lover would do.”

This is a really dangerous situation... Well, for Gepard, at least. You could easily overpower him and leave this place... But there’s something interesting happening between your legs. You allow Gepard to kiss you, his eyes squeezed shut as you watch. There’s no telling what happens to Gepard now, as his tongue manages to slip through your lips. Purple-tinted saliva runs down Gepard’s chin, his cheeks reddening, as his hips begin to move on their own. You let out a groan as Gepard ruts against you, aware of a hardened presence seeking your warmth.

Ah.

Fuck it.

Closing your eyes, you kiss back against Gepard, allowing your much longer tongue to tangle with his. He moans, allowing for you to slip it further in his throat. Gepard’s eyes shoot open, though whatever he wants to say is muffled as you flip your bodies over and straddle him. His hands fly up and clutch at your dress shirt. Right. Clothes. Gepard gasps for air, coughing as you rid yourself of your coverings. How adorable.

From his perspective, Gepard’s vision is unfocused, blurry and hazed. His skin feels like its being baked alive underneath his suit. To top it all off, his cock feels suffocated within his pants. Although he tries to look at you, a sudden surge of of heat causes him to throw his head back into his pillows and whine, hips bucking upwards into your body. You laugh. “Patience, Gepard. Just let me slip into something a little more comfortable.”

“Wh-wha...”

“Pardon my rudeness, Gepard.”

Both your shirt and pants are thrown into a random corner, followed by your socks, leaving you in nothing but your underthings. Gone was your fleshy exterior, replaced by hardened chitin. Gepard whines as you begin to undress him, eventually leaving him clad in nothing but his underwear. You kiss him again, shoving your tongue down his throat once again as your hands pin his wrists above his head. Eventually you disconnect from him, mandibles chirping in satisfaction as your other set of hands begin teasing his chest.

“W-wait, not there!” Gepard whines, trying his best to wriggle out from your grasp. “I- I’m sensitiIVE! Ah!” Your mandibles knead at one mound, your tongue circling his hardening nipple. He keens as you pinch at the nub, arching his back into your touch. He gasps, panting as you play with his chest. “A-Ah! Ohhhh~ Ahhhh!” Gepard cries out your fingers tug at his nipples, squirming as tears gather in his eyes.

“I’ve always wondered how you’d react if you had your chest played with. You’re way noisier than I thought you would be.” You’re a bit too nonchalant to be saying that as you pull at his nipples, causing him to whine. “I haven’t even gotten to your ass yet.”

“I- I-” Gepard stutters, trying his best to finish his thoughts. But you don’t allow him a moment of respite as you bestow a bite to his chest, sinking your fangs in the tender flesh, leaving an angry red mark. He throws his head back, letting out a scream. Pain mixes with pleasure, Gepard heaving as your form shifts to an even bigger size. He yelps as you tear off his underwear, reducing it to scraps of fabric. You’re treated to the sight of his dick standing erect, the tip reddened and precum running down his shaft.

“By aeons, you’re a sight to behold. Don’t worry, Gepard,” You coo as you turn him over to his stomach. “Just give a moment.”

“What are you doing? W-Wait, don’t put your tongue there- Eek!” He flinches you smack his rump, watching as it jiggles from impact. He whimpers, staying his own tongue as you push apart his ass to reveal his hole. Lathering your claws in spit, you breach the his ass ever so gently, watching his reaction. Gepard groans at the feeling as you insert another finger inside, stretching his hole. “Ah... Ah... That f-feels... Good.” He whispers.

“Don’t comment so soon, captain.”

Before he could ask what you meant, he’s cut off by his own moan as you shove your tongue inside. The feeling is wholly foreign to him, his upbringing not giving him the tools to comprehend pleasure such as this. Meanwhile, you thrust your tongue in and out of his hole in order to sufficiently lube him up for the main event.

You eventually withdraw your tongue from his ass, grinning as he lets out a whine. “Hah, that was fun. I think you’re ready now.” You finally remove your underwear, letting your ovipositor spring free. You angle the head to Gepard’s hole, teasing the entrance as you chitter at him. “Hey captain, how do you feel about children?” His eyes shoot open as you start pushing at his hole. “You still need to continue your legacy, don’t you?” You don’t give him enough time to answer as the tip breaches his entrance. Gepard’s leg kicks upward as his eyes roll into the back of his head. You’re unable to discern if he’s screaming or moaning. Either way, you continue pushing in as Gepard moans, feeling his walls constricting your dick.

“Ohhhh! Nggggh! Hah- haaaah! Oh fffffu-! So deep...!” He cries out. “I feel full...”

“Yeah? That’s how you’ll feel after I get you pregnant.”

“But-” Gepard looks over his shoulder with flushed cheeks and crying eyes. “But I’m not female- Th-tha- aaaah... wouldn’t be possible.” He shakes as you rub his ass, crying when you thrust into his ass, your hips smacking against him. His cries increase as you start a rhythm, your cock rubs against his prostate.

“Oh don’t worry, the Propagation finds a way.” You laugh, gripping his hips as leverage. Moans and cries fill the room as you begin speeding up, your hips slapping against his ass in a lewd display of lust. Gepard moans into the pillows, fingers digging into the sheets as you chase your high. In the process, Gepard’s moans devolve into screaming and pathetic cries before whining out, pushing his ass against your thrusts as he experiences his very first dry orgasm. You laugh again.

“Good boy.”

Your obsession with throwing Gepard over the edge begins, as you deliberately edge yourself in order to keep Gepard cumming over and over again. You put Gepard in all sorts of positions- His legs pressed to his chest, watching his face distort in pleasure. His chest bouncing in tandem with his own bounces, his hips unable to still as he pleasures himself on your ovipositor, cock slapping against his stomach. You watch in fascination as Gepard cums all over himself, semen splattering on his abs and chest.

By the time you decide to end your coupling, Gepard is barely able to comprehend anything other than your dick rubbing against his walls. You have him in the missionary position, studying his fucked out expression. “Ready yourself, captain.”

That was the only warning he gets when you start slamming into him. Though his voice is hoarse from screaming, Gepard weakly moans as you move in and out, legs feebly wrapping around your waist as you growl. With a roar, you shove your cock deep in Gepard’s ass, filling him up with your release. He sobs, watching as his stomach bloats from your orgasm.

“Not... Done yet.”

Gepard’s eyes shoot open as you begin laying eggs in him, body instinctively squirming around trying to escape, but it was futile as egg after egg slid inside him. Tears flow down his face as he feels his prostate being simulated again and again. Eventually, his body tingles as he orgasms one final time. Just in time for the last egg to nestle inside.

Through the haze of lust, Gepard notes his distended stomach and rubs his bump. He shivers as you pull out and lay next to him. He falls asleep...

And then he wakes up.

Seeing you sitting at the edge of the bed.

He sits up, the blankets falling off his body, and gasps when he sees his stomach. You don’t react, keeping your back turned to him. Though discomforted by the clutch within his body, Gepard manages to crawl over, sitting beside you.

“You’re finally awake.” You plainly say. “How are you?”

“I’m fine... Sore, and perhaps unable to walk.” Gepard admits, a blush creeping to his cheeks.

“I was worried. I thought I broke you.” Your frown deepens. “This is the first time I’ve had sex with anyone, and it ended up with my eggs being inside you.” You look at him. “I’m sorry.”

“Perhaps the apologizing should go to me,” Gepard says as he rubs his tummy. “My forwardness lead to this situation-”

“But I was the one who escalated, and now look at you. By the Amber Lord, my parents are going to kill me when I tell them...”

Gepard puts his hand to your face, a soft smile on his face. “Please, don’t feel so bad about yourself. I admit- I’m unsure of how we’ll proceed after this... But it’s going to be alright.”

Your lips go into a tight line as you stare at his stomach, resting your hand on Gepard’s. “...Right. We have children to take care of now.” You cringe. “Aeons, I really did mean it earlier huh. I’m guessing you didn’t expect for our first time to end up like this.”

“Admittedly, I was hoping I would be the one to get you screaming.” Gepard chuckles, kissing your neck. “Maybe once I get these eggs out, I might be still able to do that.”

“Ooooh, captain, aren’t you a kinky one?” You laugh. “C’mon, lets get some dinner in you.”

Later on, Serval screams for joy when Gepard tells her that she’s becoming an aunt while Bronya officially grants both you and Gepard temporary leave in order to not stress him out. The Supreme Guardian smiles as you walk out hand-in-hand.

The Landau family would later gain five new additions to the family, all children having the signature blonde hair of the family.

As for you? Well, your journey to the stars has been postponed indefinitely.

OMAKE:

“...How exactly did you explain to Mom and Dad about. Well-” Serval discreetly gestures to the Quintuplets, as she took to calling them. The five Landau children were fast asleep in their bed, either hugging each other or a toy. “Their new grandbabies?”

“It went far smoother than I anticipated,” Gepard admitted. “Mom seemed confused, but she brightened up when she realized it meant children for her to spoil. Dad on the other hand just threw me a book on child rearing and left.”

“Huh. Yeah, definitely way smoother. I thought Dad would freak out.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s still processing everything.”

“How about your husband?”

“They don’t seem to think ill of him, but Mom asked some pretty inappropriate questions about the baby making process.”

“I’ll be honest, so am I!”

“Well Serval. When a daddy and a papa love each other very much-”

“Hey! Don’t talk to me like I’m a child.”

[sntechsupport]

Okay, I'm pretty sure we don't have any mods installed, but we're getting one hell of a fucking error that's left us baffled. So first, when we tried to start the game we just got a black screen, and nothing happened and we thought the game was just bust. But then one of my co-players went outside (amazing) and the sky is...Skaia. Clouds filled with past present and future events and all. it's like our home planet is in there instead of the Battlefield.

The space agency noticed too, and confirmed that past Skaia, all the stars and planets and stuff are still there. But Prospit is also there now. And somehow always was? Idfk how this works.

I managed to Wake Up and have a look around and got my hands on game documentation and all the terminology is completely different. Like, apparently the incipisphere is called an ingressisphere, the veil is called the "Ergo", and...Skaia is also called "Ergo", for some reason. And there's a reference to a ring--definitely not the furthest ring--that supposedly encircles Skaia, which also has some weird pinching going on instead of being a sphere. What the fuck is going on?

I have no idea. That is terrifying.

SN Tech Support (Gear)

[reflections-in-a-critical-eye]

Hey there BMT

Happy new year

So...after today's Tae Wlive...I was left feeling a bit confused

Okay to be honest...ever since the solo chapter two era began...I deleted my twitter account and it has been one of the best decisions I made...but in my journey as an Army...Tae has always rubbed me the wrong way and I couldn't really pinpoint what exactly it was about him because when you first come into this fandom it is ot7 kumbaya all the time....so I can't help but realize Tae doesn't like being left out on being in the spotlight...he is someone who seems to know what goes on in the fandom like how most of his solo stans are shippers of him and the maknae...and how said shippers are one of the biggest reasons this fandom is going to shit and how they portray he's supposed soulmate..so...it's how he always comes online when one of the other members is on the spotlight for some reason and he feels the need to name drop the maknae..like today...he comes on for two minutes,comes back and mentions how he is with the maknae and friends but he decided to do the live cause he was bored...plus I found it a bit weird how he didn't mention Jihope being in Paris....considering he likes fashion...something so big and new and exciting for his bandmates,his family,friends...but instead go on and just rally up his psycho cult by adding innuendos with strawberries and "pineapples?"....and I'm just wondering JK couldn't even pop in his head for a second to say hi but then I sit down and remember he likes to lie?troll?be funny? So many narratives to explain away his behaviour....anyways...what was the purpose of all this....you are one of the bangtan fans who is so level headed and I wanted to know if I'm just tripping..

Have an amazing day/night

Alright, I think it's time for a real talk here. I'm not going to mince my words because I don't care what anyone says. I'm no Army, you all know where I stand, so let's fucking go.

This fandom is made of butthurt, two-faced, kumbaya, fruity bangtan-lover people who are rarely able to show some spine because they're too afraid of losing their clout on twitter and their followers on tumblr. They're so programmned to believe that a bunch of seven men are the epitome of perfection, unable to do something even worthy of mentioning any type of criticism because they all live in this fairytale-like world. They are super human, incapable of actions and emotions that govern the daily lives of us, the inferior human race. Well guess what? Believing it doesn't make it real.

We can like nasty people and we can dislike them for the same damn reasons. We can dislike nice people and we can love those good people all the same. And guess what? BTS are people. Tae is one of them. Rm is one of them. Jimin. Yoongi and so on. And we can like BTS, while at the same time, not like some of the things they say or do. It's not the end of the world, the sky won't fall on us. Just as we have complex emotions and reactions towards the people in our own lives and towards our own self. I know I'm seen as some Tae/RM anti. Unfortunately for those people, I can never give them the satisfaction because I don't have a ''hate Tae today and talk shit about him'' on my to-do list every day. And they can say I'm biased and I only care about two people in BTS and I see them as perfect and I get frustrated when someone else talks shit about them. Yeah dude, I do care only about two of them. There ya go. The Earth is still spinning. And you know what? I can dislike stuff about them too.

I don't like Jimin treating the fandom as if they're all kids and even going as far as to cover a damn photo on a hotel wall. It's stupid and it won't help and he's part of the problem. I once thought that Jungkook is going to do something more artistic in the future because I saw the potential after My Time, but for now, all he did was confirm how damn basic he is from an artistic pov. I think he made a wrong decision making that song for the World Cup in Qatar and it shows that money comes first. I don't like RM because he's pretentious as fuck. I don't like Hobi because he's too damn loud and as a fan, I couldn't give a flying fuck about his presence at FW or what brand deals he gets. I think Jin is severely out of touch and money does that to you.I think Tae is insecure for no fucking damn reason, but he is. I think Yoongi can be so damn insensitive sometimes and he doesn't know when to shut up. And, for the sake of inclusivity and fairness, I'll add myself too in this dislike fest (not that I'm some world superstar and I have no fans, but you know what I mean).I am a selfish bitch that tends to ghost people. I have ex-friends that probably hate me and I don't blame them.

What does all this mean? That my opinions are facts? That the aspects I've mentioned reflect someone's entire being? That when I look at Hobi, all I see is an obnoxius loud guy? No. Of course not. He's not just that because none of us are only one thing. Layers, people. As simple as that. And if I or anyone else ends up thinking that Tae is insecure and doesn't like being left out, then so be it. Just as I mentioned all that stuff that I personally don't like, there are many more reasons that still make me enjoy them. They're not horrible people worthy of being burned at the stake. But one bad word and this fandom acts like that's exactly what one means when they are not a fan of a BTS member. Then they jump to call people antis, bitches, cunt whores and every other insult. Because that's certainly nicer that any sort of criticism made towards BTS, but it's an acceptable and desired form of bullying. If this was twitter or perhaps my inbox after this text is posted, some will jump and say that Tae would burn me to keep himself and JK warm. Oh no, I'm about to cry and do my penance and apply 30 lashes on my naked body.

Everything is so absurd and every day when I go on twitter and come here, I'm taking the bad pill on purpose so I can enter this alternative reality. And I accept that, I made my bed. But I'm also not going to be some sheep that parrots whatever this fandom deems acceptable.

So yes, anon. I don't blame you for thinking this. Yes, it does seem to look like a pattern. Why? I don't fucking know. Why doesn't it seem genuine? Because there's a history of lying for no damn reason. No one in their right mind should be upset that he's hanging out with his bandmate (be it in person or playing online games). That's not the problem here. It's just that it has become such a habit of only him doing this one-side whatever the fuck he is trying to do, that I had a bunch of people in my inbox from one-two weeks ago saying that this exact thing will happen at the right moment. And it did. I say we should place some bets next time. It will be more fun.

Why does he suffer from a bad case of mimetic desire? Is it needed? Not from an outsider pov, but I have no idea what insecurities Tae has. Except from that time he told Jungkook during their ITS talk that he uses weverse to get some love from fans because he was indeed insecure at that time. So, that tells you something. Which means, it's not completely out of the realm of all possibilities that some of the stuff he does can be on purpose. I'm glad I'm not a Tae stan or some ot7 army cause I would feel kinda shitty seeing Tae's attitude towards his fans. He laughts at them on Weverse while they believe they're laughing together. Look at how the others are using a live stream to connect with the fans they so much love, while he uses that because he's bored for 5 minutes. What is he? A teenage girl that gets bored after the guys come over? Is this high school? I didn't know he's some 16 year old cause at least his behavior would make more sense. But his fans thinks this is cool behavior, except he's a rebel without any cause that makes threats when the Paradise heir gets dragged in a scandal and other times he's keeping his mouth shut. Anyway......

And if we're dropping names (which doesn't happen just with JK, it's only that he's the main character lately) and if JK was there too, why couldn't he just give a shout and call him to say hi to his beloved fans? No one would think it's weird. We have footage of all the group hanging out together for years everywhere. Either tell him to shut up cause he's about to be live and doesn't want anyone to know, or actually do something? Cause this is what I don't get? Making situations be odd when it's not necessary. Now, it's not confirmed that JK is actually there, it could be just a theory and people having bad hearing and apparently Jungkook can sing like shit sometimes. We don't know.

And I don't want to hear anyone saying he doesn't know his stans and his shippers. First of all, they all do and second of all, he's on damn twitter and there's evidence of that. No, he doesn't have to call out his fans, but why rile them up? But then again, all of them are like that, so there's no escape.

Tae doesn't need to go live and talk about Paris Fashion Week and what his bandmates did. He's not the news so he can cover all the events that are happening. But the timing...like clockwork, every single time. Sometimes it's during and sometimes immediately after. Now he waited a day. Good for him, he's being considerate. If anyone would have to patience to look at the bts archive for the last half of year, I bet the pattern is more easily recognizable.

The point to all this and I'm going to end this post cause it got way too long, celebrities (that includes BTS) are people like everyone else. They put themselves in the public eye which means that everyone else watching them is bound to draw conclusions. Some are favorable and others are not. And saying that Tae seems to want some spotlight and he's not very nice sometimes is not a smear campaign. Whoever believes that, get a life. You have no idea what that means. But this fandom distorts all sense of reality and the actual meaning of words.

People can like Tae for exactly the same reasons I don't. I wish he would be an actual bad boy. That would make him at least interesting. I like shitty people. I like nice people who do shitty things. I like people who are considered persona non grata. So what? So if his fans like Tae for who he is, then absolutely fine. But then I can also say that I don't. That's the basics of all of this.

And one last thought. I can't truly take someone seriously or argue with them in some weird act of defending men. I value myself a bit more than that. So whoever wants to be an Army on a high horse and call me names, you can take them and shove them.

Happy New Year, Anon!

[elysianslove]

[2:34 am]

“suna?”

thankfully, it’s two a.m. and suna’s sleepy enough to give his undivided attention to you from the first call of his name, as opposed to your fruitless attempts throughout the day and your endless suna? suna? sunarin? rin? rintarō. rintarō! suna! which can quite frankly be embarrassing.

with a deep sigh, he twists on the bed to face you, cheek pressed against his arm, squishing it, no doubt leaving a future red mark for you to make fun of. once comfortable, he hums in acknowledgment, blinking sleepily at you.

“can i ask you a question?” you tentatively ask, and with curious, innocent eyes, he encouragingly nods at you.

“anythin’,” he confirms, sinking deeper against the mattress.

steeling in a breath, you mutter, “what’s your reason to live?”

you’re not sure if it’s the sleepiness or something else, but it takes him a moment to register your words and question, almost as if the gears in his brain are struggling to piece together and work. but then he clicks his tongue and goes, “just one?”

softly, you reply with a shrug, “the more the merrier.”

it sort of scares you, the ease with which he gasps in a sharp breath and begins talking, like he hadn’t needed to give the concept much thought because it was always at the forefront of his brain. he didn’t struggle to respond, to find an answer, and somehow it makes you sad. but either way, you listen in, carefully, as he begins his list:

“first, my sister,” he says. “don’t know what she’d do without me, to be honest.”

you can’t hold back your scoff and the roll of your eyes, retorting, “how civic-minded of you.”

he grins back at you, lower lip tucked under his teeth. “i know,” he replies. “but it’s true. when i think of leaving her behind, all alone, it makes me feel like shit. i know she’s got friends n’ all but— she’s — she’s still— i don’t know.” his eyes fall from yours momentarily as he gathers his thoughts, before he clears his throat and manages to glance up at you once more. “i just have this sense of duty towards her, like i’m responsible for her and everything that she is, past, present, future. and i don’t hate it. i — i wanna be there for her, you know?”

the smile on your lips this time is genuine. his lips mirror yours. “so you really are civic-minded.”

“shut up— anyways, i’m not done. uh, music! ‘course. imagine the amount of shit i’d miss out on if i just— died? like every other day i discover this song and — it’s like, on repeat, for days. i memorize that shit so quick— and the feeling it gives you! doesn’t matter what feeling, just the fact that you are. it‘s great how i can listen to any specific song and either make myself feel like i’m the shit or i’m shit.”

pathetically, all you can say is a mesmerized, nostalgic, “yeah,” but he doesn’t chastise you for it. the thing about suna is that he’s talkative, unbelievably so. if it’s the right time of the day, the right topic, and the right person, he won’t stop talking. and maybe, you’re glad and grateful. because his list of reasons to live is never ending and because he talks about life like it’s beautiful and worth living and everything you couldn’t ever bring yourself to believe.

“— also, i’ve always wanted to fucking sky dive. that shit is so fucking cool— my god. and like— late night drives? you know the ones i always take you on and you put on your trashy music— ”

a sharp gasp from you— “take that back you asshole!— ”

“— and do you know how much blackmail i’ve got on atsumu? i can’t stop now! my collection’s gotta grow—”

“yeah that’s fair.”

“and, shit like— the amount of clothes i could be wearing? and the amount of rings i could be buying? or tattoos i could be getting? i actually don’t know if i want a tattoo but still! i can’t get a tattoo if i’m dead. i’ll be missing out on so much shit just because i’m six feet under— man, that’s fucking lame—”

and you find yourself agreeing— yeah, it is pretty lame.

“also, what about taking pictures of sunsets and hoarding them on my phone even though i‘ll never look at them again? actually, apply that to ninety percent of my camera roll. that’s a reason to live, right?”

“totally valid.”

“of course it is. and i haven’t even fucked someone in all the places i’ve wanted to. or done half the shit— scratch that, all the shit i’ve wanted to try. you want me to die without ever having done anything bdsm related?”

the way he says it, as if it were the biggest crime to have ever been committed, makes you laugh. genuinely.

“can’t go down without making a sex tape either.”

“yeah, absolutely,” you agree, although a little sarcastically.

“are you making fun of me?”

“nooo.” it’s a little sarcastic too.

“whatever, you’re a bitch anyways. but—” time stops momentarily, and the laughter and giddiness ebbs away but not particularly badly, just gracefully into— something better. something more sincere, serene, soft and sweet and dizzying. you feel like you’re floating as he says, “if i’ll live for anyone, it’ll be for you. you’re worth it.”

and a part of you really does believe him.

to those who needed to hear it, you’re worth it <3

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vi)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 1.9k

A/N: BUCKY BARNES IS BACK AND HAS A CONFIRMED PERSONALITY 

also omg everyone who’s been sending me ideas- ur the lomls. 

if you have any ideas for future inventions/evil plans, lemme know! i might actually end up using them

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Your place or mine? ;)

He stares at the text.

The right answer is mine. See you at the lair.

“Y’all are dating now?” Clint peeks over his shoulder. 

“Fuck no,” Bucky says indignantly. “God forbid.”

“Okay, man,” he retracts, giving Bucky space to turn around and face him. “What do you want to call your mini dates then?”

“Missions,” Bucky corrects him.

“No one wants to go on a mission. You volunteered to go back there.” 

“It’s for the good of the tristate area.” 

“I bet.” The snort he lets out contradicts his words. “Whole world is depending on you, Barnes. Go save them from the treachery of your crush.”

“Enemy.”

“Girlfriend.”

“Mortal nemesis.” Bucky narrows his eyes at him. “Go further, I dare you.”

“What are you gonna do? Choke me? Punch me with your metal arm?” Clint cranes his neck. “Bring it, big boy. I’m not scared of some kinky shit.”

He hates living here. 

The door is left open for him. 

This time, even though the lair is still illuminated by the green light out in the front, there’s a minor change. Sunlight streams in through a skylight in the roof. 

There’s a ladder there, leaning against the rim. It gives him an entrance to the roof, which, judging by the lack of any other presence in the lab, is where he’s supposed to go.

As he gets closer he notices there’s a note on one of the rungs.

‘Evil’ with an arrow pointing upwards.

He rolls his eyes, discarding it on the floor before swiftly scaling the steps.

“Ah, Mr. Barnes,” he hears your voice call out even before his head pops up above the surface. “We’ve been expecting you.” 

He pauses, looking around. “Who’s with you?”

Because other than the gigantic machine pointed up towards the sky, there’s only you with a visor and sunglasses. The  best way he can describe its design was that it was shaped like a pine cone, had a large antenna pointed towards the sky, two handlebars near its base to manoeuvre it with a large button in between them. 

“Just imagine I have my henchmen with me,” you urge. “I’m on a budget, man, I can’t afford them yet. Maybe when my cloning machine finally works-”

He doesn’t answer.

“It’s a James Bond reference,” you add when he doesn’t show any signs of answering. 

“Haven’t watched it yet.” Bucky shrugs. “We’re doing Star Trek right now.”

“You’re done with Star Wars?” you, receiving a nod in confirmation. “Nice. You’d find the spy shit ridiculous anyway, it’s way below your level.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He makes a mental note to add the Bond movies to the list. 

“Speaking of stars,” you begin, gesturing to the machine. “I’m going to harness the power of the sun.”

“For what?” He doesn’t bother asking how, he already knows you’ve figured out something. 

“There’s a science exhibition and my team’s stupid solar car experiment isn’t working and I need it for them to win.” 

“So build a better one.” 

“No, ours is the best and if Jeff and his stupid baking soda volcano beat us then we’re going to have a murder on our hands.”

“Your hands,” he emphasises. He has nothing to do with this.

“I said what I said, boy.” You glare at him. “This is our problem now.”

“How much power are you taking?” If it’s insignificant enough, it wouldn’t matter much. He thinks. 

“The whole thing.”

He laughs. He stops when you don’t.

“You’re taking all the energy of the sun to power your shitty science model.”

“Your face is a shitty science model,” you mimic him in a higher pitched voice. “I will do anything to win.”

He wonders which grade kid you stole that insult from was in. There’s no way they were anything older than 13. He could use it on Steve, maybe.

“Everyone on Earth will die.” He feels the need to remind you, even though there was no way it was actually going to take place. Eat shit, Clint. This superseded the tristate area.

“Not for eight minutes.” You look at your watch. “And, if Jeff dies then I win by default.”

“You’ll die too,” he points out. 

“I’ll die a winner.” You nod seriously as if that makes it better. 

He’s not that worried. Experience tells him that you’re not a mass murderer willingly. 

“You’ll die an idiot.” 

“Only if you don’t stop me.” Your lips curve into a smile. “And how will you when I do this?”

You yank the machine to point towards him and slam the button. His hand reflectively pulls in front of him to defend himself. Something hits him with enough force to send him skidding backwards slightly. 

He removes his hand carefully from in front of him, looking at you. 

Something feels off.

“You just-”

The knives strapped to his thighs suddenly feel heavier.

“Took your powers?” you finish his thought. “Yeah.”

He feels his body tip towards his left. He’s suddenly very aware of the weight of the arm. Had it been this heavy all this while? 

“You’ve barely changed,” you noted, “You’re just regular Bucky but like, 20% less beef.”

After all, he was a boxer when he was a teen. One of the best men the Howling Commandos had even before the serum.

His shoulder feels heavier though. And somehow he thinks he’s sensing things a little less. He can’t really hear the faint buzzing of the generator downstairs anymore.

“Yep, that’s real muscle.” He turns when you poke at his shoulder. He doesn’t know when you got there. “You’re like a modern day Schwarzenegger. Grade A beefcake.”

He can’t see the construction site near the horizon as clearly as he used to. 

Something about this situation makes him feel like he’s going to have a midlife crisis, even though he’s overshot the age by a huge number. No one has a midlife crisis at 106. 

“Now that we’ve established that this works,” you say, back near the machine again. When did you walk there? “Let’s show this bitch that I’m the brightest star allowed in this solar system.” 

He shakes his head to jolt himself awake, shoves aside his mental dysfunction and breaks out into a sprint when you pull the device down to aim it at the sky. 

He latches onto the side, using his left hand to pull himself up, straddling the machine.

“Excuse me,” you exclaim like it’s a minor inconvenience and he feels the machine sway wildly under him. “You’re weighing it down, get off my inator.”  

You’re shooting recklessly, trying to shake him off. It’s not dissimilar to the mechanical bull Natasha made him ride during a mission down south so she could win money off placing bets on him. They had lobster that night.

He reaches down to its side, hoping to feel maybe a panel he can rip off. He finds nothing.  

He hopes none of the rays are actually hitting anything. It’s a little harder to stay on than he’d imagined it would be, and he thinks that maybe this wasn’t the best plan. 

He changes his mind in a split second, swinging himself over so that he can climb the underside of the machine like a monkey bar. He feels like a fucking insect. How was Peter not mortally embarrassed? 

He factors in the fact that his hands are getting clammier and his grip is slipping faster than usual. Also, he can taste his lunch at the back of his throat.

“Motherfucker,” Bucky curses when his hand slips, leaving him to hold on only by his metal arm. 

“You okay?” you call out, not giving him a second to recover unless he really needed it.

He lets out a grunt, swinging his arm up and catching hold of the antenna, yanking it down and towards the machine itself. He pulls himself up so that he’s straddling the machine again. 

One more shot and-

“Very smart, Barnes,” you say dryly, letting go of the handles. 

He sends you a sly grin before sliding down the barrel, kicking the large button with his heel right before he jumps off. 

The beam shoots out, instantly meeting with metal. The device automatically gives a mechanical groan before powering down, turning off altogether. 

“I hate you,” you huff, before noting his paleness. “D’you want some water? An IV maybe?”

He dismisses it with a wave of his hand, inhaling heavily to catch his breath.

He’s tired, more so than he would have been under any normal circumstance. He feels a little dizzy, a little disoriented. 

“Don’t worry, your magic powers will be back in a few minutes or so.” You examine the bent antenna, pressing the button and sighing when it stands there lifelessly. “Once Jeff wins, I’ll send the dry cleaning receipt to you. You can pay to get the tear stains out of the kids’ outfits.”

“Your tears or theirs?” He’s relieved about the powers returning, he thinks.

“Both, bitch.” Your eyebrow quirks at his retort. Clearly, he had more energy in him than people realised; his brain seemed to be working fine. He was stronger than you thought. Good for him. 

“You’re smart. You’ll figure something out.” He lets out a final exhale before standing up a little straighter. 

“Thanks. It’d be better if you asked your billionaire tech genius to send us something, but okay.”

“It’s a middle school science exhibition. Make a potato battery or something.”

You tsk-tsk. “No points for creativity, Mr. Barnes.”

It creeps into his mind without warning. He wonders if he actually wanted the powers back. Wonders what his life could be if he maybe retired, settled down. For the brief time he feels like his pre-war self, he starts to think like his pre-war self.

“I’m not the one who’s about to lose to a baking soda volcano,” he finds time to respond, however. 

“Your face is a baking soda volcano.” You narrow your eyes at him. “I will not lose.”

“You’re running out of time. Chop chop.”

But the thought hits him. Who is Bucky without his super soldier serum? If he doesn’t have his powers then he can’t think of what use he is to the Avengers.

Who the hell is Bucky if he can’t provide a service to others? How else does he make up for being himself?

His, what he’s now deemed, afterlife crisis is starting to look more apparent.

He compartmentalises and stores it away in a box. He’ll bring it up with his therapist later. 

“I’m going to win and then you’ll be sorry you weren’t a part of it because you didn’t let me steal the sun.” 

“If you win, I’ll still be glad I didn’t let you.” He climbs back down the ladder, feeling the ache in his muscles reduce with every passing minute. 

True to your word, his powers do return a while later. 

And while he’s watching Avatar: The Last Airbender with Peter in the living room two days later, his phone beeps with a text. 

It’s a picture of a blue first place ribbon next to a toy car that looks like it’s powered by a potato battery. Beside it is an out of focus middle finger that is aimed at him. 

Congratulations, he texts back. Told you potato batteries always win.

Your face always wins, he receives in return. He can’t tell if you’re insulting or flirting with him. 

He just shuts his phone off and goes back to watching the show. 

Next part

[poguesarerogues]

Good Riddance (chapter 3)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron X OC

Word Count: 1,218

Warnings: none

Synopsis: The 'tip of an iceberg' of fights begins as Rafe confronts you about not replying to his messages after leaving the party.

A/N: This chapter hasn't exactly gone to plan. It was a bit difficult for me to write because I feel like I'm already having writers block for this series so I have no idea what this will lead to in future chapters. my apologies for the choppiness/sloppiness of this chapter.

Previous Chapter ————————————————————————

If gods existed then surely, they have cursed you, or at least it seems like it since nothing has gone your way regarding your relationship with Rafe, which you now consider to be past tense, as well as with your endeavors to get rid of anything and everything regarding him. You curse the heavens above and hell below for what lies in your path as you force the door shut, now having to face the one person that has caused you so much suffering. Vile words that you so badly want to scream out at him become choked as you bite your own tongue. Even though you’ve now come to the realization that he is insufferable as a human being, you still give him the time to lift himself to his feet and face you rather than bombarding him with an attack of curses and accusations while he’s still on the floor. Even though you know he deserves every bad name in the book, even though he has hurt you in ways that he promised he never would, your anger still doesn’t win over the part of you that lets him take control of the situation, or at the very least begin whatever argument will take place.

“You left and didn’t answer any of my texts or calls. Do you know how many times I’ve called you? And you never picked up.” His face is emotionless but his jaw is clenched as he looks down at your tinier form in front of him. Even now it’s so hard for you to not get lost in those sky blue eyes of his.  

“Like I needed to tell you. You should’ve known that I would leave considering the fact that you made it very clear that you didn’t want me around.” You spit out with malice.

“You were being a little bitch, sulking to yourself just because other women find me attractive and want to be around me…” he pauses to run his fingers through his hair “some of them just want to be around me because I have drugs to sell to them yet you go around acting as though everyone is out to fuck me and you act as though I’m giving them exactly what they want when you know damn well that all I’m doing is selling coke and occasionally macking on a drunk bitch because they get clingy with me. That’s not my fault!”

He throws his hands up in the air before pointing at you “Y/n, you act like I do this all the time when I don’t and when I do sleep with other girls it’s always whenever you deny me. I’d prefer to only be with you but, when you refuse, I’m not gonna just miss out. Oh, no. I’ve got options so why shouldn’t I have my needs met? I haven’t done anything wrong. And don’t act like you’re so innocent.” His voice has risen, his emotions now showing through as he points an accusing finger at you while he stares you down with the deepest frown you’d seen on him yet.

“Everyone remembers that one time you went around clinging yourself to whatever man you could get your hands on after you took a hit, but I guess you get a free pass, right? You really want to go around being a hypocrite don’t you?”

Your mouth gaped open; Rafe had never used the same situation against you before yet now was the time that he decided to bring it up and use it in defense of his own wrongdoings to such an extent. All the other times that he had started a fight he’d only go on to say that everyone messes with people outside of a relationship all the time so it shouldn’t get under your skin as much as it does and he had never openly admitted that he fucked other girls, before now he had only ever told you that he’d make-out with them. The fact that he has just confirmed your deepest fears about what had been a high possibility during your relationship and the fact that he would go so far as to use a time where you were under the influence as a means to make you feel bad and to make you seem like you were on the same level of his unfaithfulness to your relationship even though it happened only once was a new low for him and even more reason that you wanted to end things with him.

“That was only once AND I WAS HIGH!” you scream at him “you do it regardless of whether you’re drunk or high or sober so don’t you dare think for a second that we are on the same page.” You’re fuming now, your breath ragged as you hold back screams and the tears that rush to your eyes.

“And unlike you I feel guilty about what I’ve done. I feel guilty about going around that night, I feel guilty about all of the times that I considered going after another man because our relationship lacked something I wanted, but at least I never did go to another man except for that one moment. I feel guilty for all of the lies I’ve told you even though I knew to say them because they’d keep me safe… safe from you. I feel guilty! Could you ever say the same?! NO! Because you never feel any guilt about anything! It’s always ‘not a big deal’ or nobody’s business or not your fault! Well guess what?! Now it is! This is your fault! The reason I left the party and the reason I’m no longer talking to you except for now, because we’re stuck together until this storm ends, the reason why I’m ending this relationship- IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!!!”

A moment of silence goes by, Rafe standing still as a statue besides a brief moment when he bites on his lips causing them to thin at, his eyes also darting around and his nose flaring undoubtedly all from barely controlled anger, which you know will likely end up coming out verbally, and perhaps even a bit of physicality involved as well.

It isn’t long after you shift your weight while crossing your arms against your chest that Rafe speaks up in hopes, and belief, that he’ll get the final word before moving on to putting you in your place in other ways that he much rather prefers and enjoys than verbally attacking one another.

“You know what y/n, I do feel guilt…..Yeah… I do feel guilty actually.”

You’d be caught off guard, but Rafe has his mouth left wide open, his eyes looking as they do when they’re dilated, they give away the fact that he has sinister plans rattling in his head just the same as his now predatory stance as he leans forward just slightly but he begins walking to your right despite his stare never once leaving you.

“I feel guilty for not showing you exactly where you stand in this relationship. I feel guilty for not making it clear that what I say goes and that you have no choice in the matter. I feel guilty for not making it more obvious to everyone including you that you belong to me.”

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

Tag list: @gillybear17

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-Eight

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: the beginning of the end :,) if u made it this far i think ur cool

***

“Where do you see yourself in five years?” Lana asks.

Nesta closes her eyes, letting the picture swirl and take shape in her mind.

This time last year, she would have imagined nothing. Nothing but a desk in a busy law office, and maybe a nice apartment if she was lucky. That would be it. But now she sees…

“Somewhere with good food and good music,” she muses. “Maybe a sea breeze.” The sun-faded buildings of Portofino fade into the foreground of her imagination. “There are lots of people with me,” she hears the sound of children shrieking and Cassian’s rumbling laughter, “but it’s okay, because I love every one of them.” Her eyes open. “Is that a good answer?”

A near invisible smile tugs at the corners of Lana’s lips. “You tell me, Nesta. Do you like what you see?”

“It’s a little too cinematic if you ask me,” Nesta says nonchalantly, picking up her bag from the ground, “but I suppose all dreams are that way.”

“It’s a good dream,” Lana says. “A worthy dream, and one you deserve to chase.”

Nesta shrugs lightly, not too worried about the burden of the future for once. “Maybe I will.”

“In that case, congratulations on completing your final therapy session,” Lana says, setting her notebook aside. “You’ve made some amazing progress this year.”

Nesta gives her therapist her signature what’s-wrong-with-you look. “I’m going on vacation, not firing you for good. I’ll see you again in two months.”

“Two months can be enough to lose all your progress, if you forget everything you went through to get here.”

Nesta isn’t stupid. She knows that she isn’t suddenly desperate to make babies or be maid of honor at her sisters’ weddings or some bullshit. She knows that the image she just dreamed up, with Cassian and kids and her unburdened heart, is likely more than five years away. If it happens at all, it could be ten, even twenty years of hard work away.

She’s not nearly finished growing yet. “I’ll see you in two months, Lana,” she repeats.

Lana smiles at her fully this time. “Enjoy your summer, Nesta.”

***

The air is different in the Smokies.

Nesta rolls the truck windows down so she can inhale it, relish it. Wind whips her hair every which way as they drive down the winding freeway cutting through the lush mountains, and something about the look on her face makes Cassian chuckle and press down on the accelerator.

Nesta watches the red needle on the speedometer cross ninety, then one hundred. She can barely feel the June heat with how fast they’re going.

In the end, it was Feyre and Elain that reached out and invited her to the Tennessee summer home. Cassian had made it obvious that he wouldn’t push her to go if she didn’t want to, and at first she really didn’t want to. But Feyre had looked so hopeful when she asked Nesta to come with them, and even Elain had revealed a glimmer of eagerness that Nesta would say yes.

So against all odds, she agreed to go.

Exchanging one mountain home for another isn’t much of a getaway, but Nesta can’t help but be excited. Even with the unhappy memories of her childhood, she loves these hills more than any other.

The pure exhilaration of being back in Tennessee overcomes her at some point during the drive, knocking her out in the passenger seat where she sits. In her drowsy state, she distantly hears the windows being rolled up, before feeling Cassian’s hand guide her head to rest against the glass. The rest of the drive is warm and sunny, enough to lull her into a deep sleep.

The next thing Nesta’s aware of is the crunch of gravel and the feeling of the truck tires slowing to a stop. Fingers brush against her heated cheek, and then Cassian is murmuring at her to wake up.

Blinking her eyes open, Nesta twists around to see their destination.

For a moment, she thinks she’s still dreaming.

“Welcome to Holly House,” Cassian says with a grin. The house in question is quaint and sprawling at the same time, the way most upper class Southerners like their houses. The whole thing gleams with a fresh coat of white paint under the afternoon sun, complemented by a sky blue wraparound porch. Colonial style windows and proud columns decorating the facade of the building makes it look like the setting of a fairy tale.

Beyond it, Nesta can see cherry blossoms. Pink, fluttering cherry blossoms that fly off their branches and swirl through the air, some of them disappearing into the thick woods behind the house. Woods that Nesta has walked countless times before.

“The rest of the guys won’t get here until tomorrow afternoon,” Cassian is saying to her, “so we have the whole place to our—”

Nesta isn’t listening anymore. She unbuckles her seatbelt and shoves open the truck door, hobbling outside on unsteady feet to make sure she isn’t hallucinating things. But no, this is…

“Cherrywood,” she breathes, eyes wide in disbelief.

Cassian gets out of the truck, coming up beside Nesta to slip his hand into her shorts pocket. “What’s wrong? You okay?”

“This is Rhysand’s summer home?” Nesta points at the house. “This place?”

Cassian looks around at the building grounds in confusion. “Has been for the last two decades, yeah.”

It’s been eleven years since she last stepped foot on these grounds.

With wonderment in her voice, she utters to Cassian, “I’ve been here before.”

At his puzzled look, she explains, “I lived just on the other side of those woods.” She points to the trees. “There’s an old cracked road that hasn’t been maintained since it was first paved, and you can follow it straight to the poor side of town. Whenever I wanted to get away, I would come down that road and trek through the woods, and I’d end up here. I stopped coming because…” she trails off.

Because she got caught that one time.

Cassian seems to realize it at the same moment as her. His hand slips out of her pocket. “You…”

Nesta remembers a tall boy with shocked eyes and shaggy hair, and she shakes her head slowly in forceful denial. It can’t be true. It’s too much of a coincidence.

But he points at her, then her feet. “You—with the size six Converse,” he sputters. “It was you.”

Before Nesta can confirm or deny it, he grabs her by the wrist and starts tugging her along, up the porch stairs and inside the house.

Even with Rhysand and Feyre’s renovations, it looks undeniably the same as all those years ago. The living room is to her right and the farmhouse style kitchen and dining area is to the left, though she speeds by it all as Cassian pulls her farther inside the house, to the closet beneath the curving stairs.

He lets go of her hand to search the small closet, muttering, “I know they were here somewhere.” But the closet looks like it was stripped empty for renovations, with only bolts in the walls indicating that shoe racks used to hang there.

Cassian turns and heads for the stairs, and Nesta blindly follows him. She also wants to go upstairs, wants to see if the bay window looking out onto the garden has stayed the same.

Like he read her mind, he leads her straight to the room she used to spend hours reading in. It’s smaller than all the other bedrooms in the house, but it’s always been her favorite because of the view.

As Cassian keeps looking for whatever it is he’s looking for, upturning boxes and checking beneath furniture, Nesta drifts toward the bay window. She looks from the cherry blossom trees outside, to the full-sized bed, to Cassian, and a weight drops even heavier in her gut. She has to reach out and grip the edge of the dresser for support.

Finally, Cassian pops out of the closet victorious. In his hand are a pair of ragged shoes that Nesta hasn’t worn in a long, long time.

He comes over and drops them with a thud at her feet.

“Whose room is this?” she asks with a rough voice, still staring down at the shoes.

“Mine,” he answers simply.

“Oh.” She met him before. She met him before.

When Nesta dares to look up and meet Cassian’s eyes, what she finds there nearly robs her of breath: wonder, astonishment, and unwavering fealty. He breaks into sudden wholehearted laughter, which dazes her even more.

“What’s so funny?” she demands.

Cassian gets out between laughs, “What was it Rhysand said about Feyre? When they found out they were close to crossing paths when they were younger?”

Nesta’s earth-tilting shock slowly slips away, replaced by a stern look. “Don’t say it.”

He pretends to remember. “I think it was fate.” A wicked smirk pulls at his lips at Nesta’s resigned sigh. “But I have another word for it, too.”

“Don’t say that, either.” She pleadingly holds up her hands, only for Cassian to snatch one out of the air and intertwine his fingers with hers.

“Soulmate,” he says quietly, now less amused.

Nesta swallows thickly, not having any words for him. All she knows is that he is never going to let her live this down.

“Imagine if we’d gone to the same high school,” Cassian says to her later that afternoon as they lounge in his old room. “Fuck, I could’ve saved myself so much time with all those random girls.” They’ve been swapping childhood stories for the past hour, as if they might find more instances in their history of a red string tying them together.

Nesta doesn’t need coincidences or fateful run-ins to know that a string has always been wrapped around her ring finger, pulling her to Colorado and to that cabin. But for Cassian’s sake, she’ll gladly amuse him. “I would have been a freshman while you were a senior,” she says matter-of-factly. “It never could have happened.”

He hums in thought, head propped up in his hand, elbow propped up against the bay window seat. “Maybe if you were older. You would have been the smart, quiet girl, and I’d have been the player jock, and as soon as we locked eyes in math class, I’d be head over heels in love with you.”

Nesta cackles from where she sits in the window seat above him. “Now you’re just writing fanfiction.”

Cassian grins up at her but doesn’t send a rebuttal her way. The conversation falls into a lull, until Nesta has to reach out and ask, “What are you thinking?”

His smile turns a little sad. “That I wish we weren’t doing this right before I leave for another country.”

Right. That’s what’s been hanging over them the entire trip to Tennessee: that as soon as they get back to Colorado, Cassian is going to be on a plane to Milan.

Getting Keith O’Connell to quit—how exactly Cassian went about accomplishing it, he still won’t tell Nesta—left Rhysand at square one with his search for a team leader for his overseas venture.

When Cassian brought up the idea of taking the job to Nesta, he sounded like he hoped she would shoot him down, talk him out of it. He both wanted to go and was reluctant to leave, like his very soul was glued to his home and he didn’t want to unstick himself.

So Nesta, being his home, had to do the unsticking for him. She nearly accepted the year-long Milan position herself for Cassian’s sake, and it took weeks of coaxing and convincing to put him at ease about the whole thing.

“But we promised to go together for the first time,” he kept saying.

“We’ll still go together one day, and it’ll still be our first time there with each other,” she reassured him.

Eventually, he relented to her and Rhysand’s pressures with a single condition. “I’ll do six months. Not a year.”

Only Nesta knows deep down how much Cassian needs this opportunity. Though Cassian must know it a little bit too, because he wouldn’t have taken the job if he didn’t.

Nesta might have needed him in order to come out of her shell, but now he needs to get away from her in order to find his own shell. Something he can call his own, unburdened by his loyalties to the people he loves. So he can find who he wants to be for himself, without always being attached to her hip.

Rising to her feet, Nesta raises her arms in the air in a full body stretch. Her back and legs ache with being curled up in that window seat for so long without movement.

Dropping her arms, she holds out a hand to Cassian still sitting on the floor. “Come on,” she urges him. “Let’s go outside. I haven’t seen a Smoky sunset in years.”

“But it’s not evening yet,” he argues while taking her hand.

Outside, they explore the garden that leads into the woods while waiting for the sun to slink down the sky. Cherry blossoms ride the summer breeze wherever it takes them, resulting in Cassian sniffling and scratching at his neck as they walk hand in hand.

“Rhysand wanted to take these trees down and replace them with a flower garden for Elain,” he tells Nesta as they walk. His sinuses sound clogged, but he’s refused to go back inside until he’s explained every inch of the land to Nesta. “I convinced him not to because it would ruin the view from my bedroom window. Didn’t I make the right choice?” He throws a grin in her direction.

Nesta’s swallow is tight at that grin. “The view from your room was always my favorite part about the entire place. So yes, you did good.”

His eyes widen at that tidbit of information, and she can almost see him tucking it away as more Soulmate Evidence.

They stroll through the woods for a while, and Nesta points out the path she would take to get to Cherrywood—she still insists on calling it Cherrywood, even when Cassian argues that the house’s original name has been around since the sixties.

“Show me the rest of the way?” Cassian asks her, face lit up in boyish hope. “Show me where you ran away to that day I found you.”

Nesta almost expects the memory of the rundown apartment complex she grew up in to feel like being shoved into sludge: dirty, cold, and slimy. Instead, she finds she has no problem with looking back at her old home, no matter how many ugly memories she holds from there.

However, the dappled sunlight streaming in through the trees overhead has turned from yellow to dark gold, and she shakes her head in apology to Cassian. “Another day,” she promises him. “It’s almost sunset.”

They walk back to the house, rounding it until they reach the front. At the bottom of the hill that the house is perched on stands a pier that leads all the way out to the lake. Green mountains frame the lake from both sides, creating the perfect cradle for the sun to sink into.

They go all the way out to the edge of the pier, as if they’re trying to get as close to the sunset as physically possible. Dragonflies lazily swoop by as the lake is gradually painted in a hundred different colors.

Once there’s more darkness than light in the sky, Cassian nudges Nesta with one of the arms he has around her. “Look.” He points.

Along the shoreline of the lake, little dots of light have lit up to welcome the evening, their blinking glow so small that Nesta almost doesn’t catch it. Fireflies.

Nesta watches the insects flit in and out of the long grasses of the lake shore, getting tangled in the weeds and wildflowers. In that moment, she remembers something Cassian once confessed to her not long after his birthday.

I want to see more beautiful places with you.

Nesta ticks this beautiful place off the long list in her head—the first place out of many that she plans to see with Cassian.

More beautiful than the scene before her is the man in her arms. The man who was kind enough to understand a woman who barely understood herself, and to be her friend when she had none. The man who is extending his kindness right now by not having made any breaking-and-entering jokes about Nesta so far, though she’s sure he’ll pull them out eventually.

Discovering that she once found Cassian, just to let him slip by running away from him, only to find him again over a decade later—it comforts the tiny part of her that’s loath to say goodbye to him in two weeks.

Like Cassian is thinking the same thing, he murmurs into the dark, “I can’t wait to come back to you.”

Nesta huffs in amusement. “You haven’t even left yet.”

“I know.” After a moment, he adds in a low voice that not even the fireflies can hear, “Thank you for convincing me to go.”

She reaches up to squeeze his bicep. “Always.” And then she adds what she really wants him to hear: “Don’t come back until you find what you’re looking for.”

“I better find it quick then,” he jokes. Still, he nods in promise against the side of her head.

The only sound after that is the chirp of cicadas and the occasional lap of water meeting the pier beams. Nesta and Cassian stay outside in the June heat long after the sky turns ink blue.

***

a/n: next chapter is just some ic bullshit so take all ur bittersweet sentimentality here and go

tagging: @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @arinbelle @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea @teagoddess99 @mystic-bibliophile

[thelakesuite]

new gameplay video screencaps & analyses

future aint shorter it just proceeds really quick. does somewhat look like twd's sarah, but we don't see her lil side-ear-hair-bits. fairly certain this is a demo segment from a convention (i mean it fuckin explained what a cube is at the start), so it's not confirmed that these are the only player characters. 'the past' one being rose, obvs.

again, demo segment, this might not be part of the game proper, but iirc these bugs are associated with emma & albert respectively, if anything. the video chose 'bee'. also new anims so idk maybe it's relevant

same past area as in the steam demo, but 1. it's so red 2. new letter! dated to albert's death! he somehow both fully expected himself to get murked (or just poor timing) and was the one to hook up to Da Future. i thought it just kinda barged in, no this shit was consentual. sorta. rose didn't sign up for any of this, maybe

almost definitely some kinda bug over there (bee?). if my venture plans get screwed by this game i'm gonna be vigorously upset. but anyway

confirmation that the past room is at least metaphorically inside the 'cubical device' so that's cool

man doesn't that look. well kinda shit but it's nice. mostly established symbols besides the Rusty Lake Obelisk. why on earth does this exist though, did albert get into glassblowing for a time? doesn't get used in the footage so who knows

ah fuck me bugs are gonna be relevant for this one. at least not the same ones i'm using. forgive me i just like how this looks. albert looks normal, yet he did not get into interior design, those frames are just kinda there. the other walls were blank why'd you do that

so when they confirm that 'the past' got a matchbox, 'the future' gets one that falls from the sky? not from the 'cubical device' or anything, just god hand-delivers it. i hope that's not just a given

mmm, ps3 matches. i won't knock em too hard, though, 3d modelling aint easy

they put a lot of detail into this background, i feel like. maybe it's actually relevant. maybe not.

lil flippy-puzzle. panels being: albert and kid-rose, the house, the bee, one of the voodoo dolls, a cube, and a crow. what's P-17? sounds like an age rating. i think the doll is sam's technically, as ida's had that yarn/worm hair, but i am not exactly an unbiased party. please let him show up god.

ok yea i hate the art style sometimes. are we keeping coal in a velvet-lined box? that's the only way it's ourple like that. at least it boosts my self-confidence by showing the big fish have ugly moments too

no wait after you get the coal the picture changes to a bee. is that intentional? how would it do that? nothing else changed tf is up

mind how rose is gonna burn the house down, al looks even worse, geez.

the fan thing they've got going (the 'cubical device' turned a fan on) is cool but c'mon you're just sliding a jpeg across the screen

overall mood for the game: scared

i know this is only 3 minutes of gameplay but it feels so disjointed. like the worst thing an escape-room game can do is make most of the puzzles just code after code, since it never feels like you're actually doing puzzles, it just gets tedious. that's what this game has to do by design, and i don't think the cooperative nature will overcome that.

still gonna play it though, that part of my character is firmly established

[keilemlucent]

pretty eyes & starshine: ii

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i   ||   part ii   ||   part iii (epilogue)

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @firein-thesky​​

word count: ~15.2k

Healing takes time, but it’s easier with someone else around who’s on the mend with you. 

(You and Keigo learn to start living again.)

warnings: codependency but make it sexc, injured reader, post-trauma symptoms, reader has abandonment issues, angst, ouchies <3

a/n: part 2 :’^) we made it!! soft hurt and very horny codependency that involves keigo’s immaculate d*ck. all that is left after this is part 3 which will be more of an epilogue :’^) 

enjoy loves <3

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

The doors to exit the hospital scare you.

How can they not?

They’re... automatic.

The glass panes are wide, sliding and slapping as folks come and go, the quiet ring of metal on metal and the slap of the plastic padding makes your heart race.

Get over it, get over it, get over it—

It’s just some doors, they’re normal.

You’ve walked through automatic doors so many times. Never before had you even taken conscious note of them. 

(But that was before you heard them let in that man who—)

Without thinking, you take a little, tentative step back from them. 

Consider you are leaving your own slice of healing hell; you are shakier and sweatier than you would’ve liked. Your clothes are like the ones... he used to wear, cheap garments obviously pulled from some industrial multipack that stank like plastic and rubbing alcohol.

You hate it.

But you didn’t have another choice. Your old articles were bloodied and disposed of long ago, and the hospital gowns you wore during your stay were far more uncomfortable than your scratchy, wide pants and crewneck long sleeve the same pale, lifeless blue as your old bed sheets. 

It would be enough.

You shift the crutch under your right arm and shuffle the backpack on your shoulders. It contains just enough to get you to the shelter, where they’d supposedly have a bed— a cot, more than likely. You had a toothbrush, some extra socks, and a prepaid card for a single, one-way train trip across the country and into the unknown.

Tears stung your eyes as you lingered by the doors.

It all feels so uncomfortably real. The world kept moving, and you’re reentering it far-more battered and perpetually bruised. 

And completely alone.

(The thought horrifies you to your core, but you try to ignore it.)

Despite the time you spent at the hospital, you were leaving without a hint of reverie. Everyone, nurses and doctors and anyone who has fucking eyes is too busy dealing with the casualties that had lasted months. 

It didn’t matter how long you stayed. You were just a body. A fucked up one too. 

You count yourself lucky to even have the backpack, as cheap and sterile as it smells.

It all unnerves you, but you didn’t have a choice. Numbness settles over you as you accept your future. 

There... is a little glimmer that he will show up.

(He won’t. Empty promises.)

(Everyone leaves.)

(Why’d you call him, anyway?)

(Because no one had spoken to you like a human in a month.)

Solitude makes people desperate and crazy.

You are a little crazy, you know. Maybe not in a bad way, but certainly in a way that is eating you up and out in ways you don’t understand. You don’t have the energy sort through it all. You just have to finally start moving forward. Or try to. 

Tentatively, you walk toward the doors, stepping out and onto the pavement. You lurch and you would’ve tripped if not for the crutch shoved under your arm. 

For the first time in a long time, you suck in fresh air and the trickling sunlight. It feels fresh, cleansing you with each little inhale as you face your cheeks to sky. You have your moment, basking before your journey.

Then someone whistles. You ignore it at first.

The person whistles again, calling out— 

“Your ride’s here, starshine!”

Your breath punches from your lungs. You whip your head to the sound. 

Though it’s overcast, you do see your morning sun.

Your steps stutter as you nearly trip over your feet.

He is standing, not far at all, leaning against a shiny black car, sleek and expensive and out of place. He’s all overgrown hair and lazy-expressions, one which stretches into a grin as he sees you.

And you see him.

(He really came?)

(Of course he did.)

Your crutch nearly clatters to the ground as you stumble toward him. The moment you waver, he’s running to catch you.

You meet each other halfway.

And without a goddamn lick of shame, the moment you near him, your arms lock around him. Your face buries into the hollow of his throw and you inhale. The scent of him, a bit spiced but mostly skin and sweat fills you. Not a hint of antiseptic. 

 And you shudder at how good it feels. 

He stabilizes the two of you, greedily wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing as if to give a much-needed greeting. 

There’s a moment of heat between you, familiar and blessed and so damned missed that you both share shuddering breaths. 

“It’s good to see you, starshine,” He soaks up any part of you he could get to. So casually, he touches like he wants to consume you.

You squeeze him just as hard.

“You came?” Your words muffled into his skin.

He simply nods, and the only confirmation you need to sink into him. Perhaps, there’s onlookers, but neither of you have the mind to care. All you care about is the shift of his muscles beneath your fingertips, the heat of him, his golden, pretty visage—

Like he had so many times, he tucks hair behind your ears and tension drains from him. 

So tenderly does he squeeze around your middle where he holds you up, “Let’s go home, starshine.”

You want nothing more.

...

The drive to your new home is long, but you don’t mind.

The world has changed in the months you’d been tucked away in the forest-hidden hospital. As disconnected as you were, you still heard of the unrest and upheaval across the country. The political clashes are marked by the... contrarian billboards lining the highway, new slogans battling each other every mile or so. 

The scenery slowly goes from flatlands, to wetlands, to rolling hills that are a lush green. From the safety of the car, you could see that the air even looked wet, and you could imagine the way it would stick in your throat and tacky the tips of your fingers. 

“Where do you live?” You finally ask, voice soft in the melancholy softness of the light mist that sprayed the car.

“In the mountains, high-up,” He squeezes your hand (the one he’s been holding the whole ride). Quietly, he adds. “I still couldn’t bear to be too close to the ground.”

He laughs, though it fades into the suddenly heavy air.

This is the world, isn’t it?

You blink, gulping at the face of your reality, and let your eyes go half-lidded as you trace the shapes of growing evergreen as your drive takes you higher and higher. 

...

Keigo had made up the guest room for you.

He doesn’t have much for extra sheets and softness, let alone decor, but he does what he can. The bed is made and pressed with clean lines, freshly washed. The curtains on the windows hang heavy, but warm up the room with their clement, tan fibers. It’s a start, with lots of space for you to add your own touches as well.

He’d spent the night prior on it, laboring, like he was preparing a nest as opposed to a simple bedroom.

(It is a nest, but he doesn’t need to accept that just yet.)

There wasn’t anything else to do for a while when he first escaped that fucking hell. He’d really given up. Keigo was uncomfortably content to rot away as he had dreamed of since he’d been burnt. The little, dusty corners of the cabin would’ve made perfect places to waste away in peace and alone. 

Except, he didn’t.

Keigo started to make the home better.

He isn’t sure if it was out of some need to just do something, and the outdated, worn cabin was his most available canvas. Part of him is convinced it’s some buried avian instinct, and without the Commission’s constant hovering, he has no reason to suppress those more animalistic urges. The need to nest somewhere cozy and safe took him over, and he had gotten to work.

The cabin is cleaned up incredibly well. New appliances, floors patched and polished. The furniture is mostly old, but it’s obviously been shined and tended to. The living area isn’t horribly large, but it’s more than enough space for the two of you. It has wide windows that looked down upon the slopes and peaks that your home is nestled in. The colors are warm oranges and tans that are easy on the eye. Nothing too red and nothing too blue.

Nothing too imposing.

(Nothing too reminiscent.)

He leads you from the car, gingerly helping you up the rickety stairs to the front door. 

The wound on your leg may be ‘healed’, but you don’t appear comfortable in the slightest. Your expression pinches with half of your steps, the bending of your scarred flesh undoubtedly painful. It makes something in his chest squeeze as he navigates you into his house, from the snow into somewhere warm. A place that he crafted all on his own. Shaped with his own hands. A real possession, all his own. 

When you enter, you don’t say anything, only tightening your grip on his hand.

“I like it,” You smile, soft and dreamy, worrying the strap of your backpack. “... Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay?”

“Of course,” Keigo assures you. Of course, it was okay for you to stay. “I’m happy to have you here, especially when the other option is one of the shelters.”

You wouldn’t have lasted a day with your bum leg and natural softness.

The thought has him gulping, the heat flaring in his chest as he tugs you closer, ghosting his lips over your temple.

With only a bit of stumbling, he shows you the rest of the home.

...

You’re quiet the rest of the day, curled up on the couch in the same clothes you left the hospital in. There’s clear exhaustion in your face, from the dark circles ringing your eyes and the tremble in your hand and leg. Keigo is content to cover you in a nice knit blanket he purchased down in the nearby town, and let you rest.

His own back burns when he catches glimpses of your scar. It ran down all the way to your ankle, even bleeding onto the top of your foot. The gnarled flesh brings back memories of screaming and metallic exam rooms.

And he, like you, stares at a wall for a while before making dinner.

 You can’t manage much.

The TV glows with some show you might’ve watched and been engrossed in it.  But the hollow feeling in your chest keeps you submerged in the static of your skull. It’s more comfortable than acknowledging how quickly the picture moves in front of you.

Your only motion is a ‘light’ scratching over the thin fabric of your pants.

‘Light’.

He enters sometime later, bearing food and an easy smile that falls all-too quickly. 

“Hey, starshine— oh fuck,” His voice clips as he enters, setting down steaming plates on the coffee table and pulling your hand from your thigh. The tips of your fingers are stained with enough blood to make your eyebrows shoot up. 

Your eyes shoot to your leg, where you’d apparently tore through the thin fabric of your pants and torn your skin up without even thinking. So close to the scar—

Heat flares between, light bouncing in your eyes as you cover the hole, “S-sorry, fuck, I didn’t even realize.”

“It’s okay, it happens,” Keigo assures you, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Let’s clean you up quick and then eat, okay?”

You nod, exhaling a weight from your chest as the light skitters out of your eyes. 

And the heat fades from the room. The absence of it chills Keigo, and the abruptness makes his nose scrunch. 

He patches you up quickly and with a precision that screams ‘yes, I have done this far too many times.’ The wound isn’t too severe, just a nasty-looking scratch. The dried blood on your finger is wiped away. 

You both settle onto the couch, eating in silence.

Something hangs in the air, thick and unsaid. Questions and paragraphs that have been ignored up until now. Not out of will, perhaps just tired negligence. 

But, Keigo has always been the blunt type, so he finally asks one of the many facets that needs to be broached. 

“What’s your quirk?”

A little surprised sound lodges in your throat with a bite of baked fish, “My quirk? I thought you figured it out already.”

Keigo raises a feathery eyebrow, “I’m a bit slow these days, starshine.”

The nickname makes something settle pleasantly under your ribs, and the light, little orbs of yellow and orange return to your eyes. 

And heat fills the room, like it had so many times before. Like those first nights in the common room, stargazing in the lamp and starlight. It’s warmth that bleeds between his bones and tendons, through and through.

Keigo puts it all together, jaw going slack and eyes going wide.

Had he never realized it?

It does make sense, in retrospect and without a sinfully heavy dose of painkillers swimming in his veins. The heat that permeated all of the nights you sat, eyeing the stars and each other.

The odd heat of it all. 

You’d been warming the two of you. Souls cold from the sterility of it all. 

“That’s your quirk?” Keigo leans in closer, inspecting the little specks of light in your irises. The tell. “This whole time?”

“U-um, yeah,” You worry a hangnail. “I don’t mean for it to be activating all over the place, but it has been since everything happened.”

“Why’s that?”

You chew the plump of your bottom lip, brows pinched.

Without thinking, Keigo bows to the will of the ever-present, needy feeling in his chest and presses a little kiss to your forehead, willing it to smooth away some of your worry. 

I’m not upset, the action says, but the cabin is quiet.

“... You know how cats purr?”

Keigo quirks an eyebrow, “I do.”

“Well, I think it’s kind of like that,” You met his eyes, the light returning and the fire-like warmth tickling the hair on your arms. “Cats purr when they feel good, but sometimes, they purr when they’re not doing well.”

“... ‘Not doing well’?”

“If they’re in pain, or if they’re really scared,” You go quiet, tracing a seam on Keigo’s jeans. “They’ll purr to comfort themselves. It’s like that.”

Comfort themselves.

No wonder all those nights you spent together, you felt so warm. It was your quirk— 

And you must’ve felt awful. 

Part of him feels betrayed, just for a moment, before it dissolves with the watery look you wear as your injured finger traces over his knuckles. 

And the heat of you flares. 

Your quirk is a part of you.

“I didn’t think to tell you.” Your voice wobbles, yet remains vacant. “‘M sorry.”

You don’t need to apologize.

If anything, the knowledge only strengthens Keigo’s resolve. 

...

The first weeks at the house are odd as you both settle into rhythms of living. There’s an orbit to how you choose to live, though it’s not predictable or reliable. It can’t be, there’s no way for it to be. You float around each other like little planets to a fickle sun, unstable and wavering, but elliptical, nonetheless. 

You’re both learning to be human again with your own rhythms.

Keigo’s biggest challenge is dragging himself from bed each morning. The lazy bones he thought the Commission had broken and beaten out of him still remain somehow. Now that he has no obligations to tend to at the break of dawn, he thoroughly enjoys lazing about in the sheets, even if he’s just staring at his wood-paneled ceiling wishing that Dabi had finished the job and burned him dead.

He’s doing great.

Despite his sluggishness, you move about on your own. 

You make coffee each morning, and curl up on the couch under the same knit blanket. A few patches of the multi-colored throw have been pulled apart by your restless hands. 

Neither of you comment on it.

Though Keigo takes longer to rise, you move far less during the day during those first weeks. You’re tethered to the cushion until the sun goes down.

It’s like the nylon straps at the hospital never left your wrists.

Your vacant nature scares him, if he’s honest. There’s an unspoken, massive wound you carry with you, both physically and mentally, and its manifestation is a little haunting. 

Keigo knows about trauma, knows about how the mind worked and how to, you know, deal with it. He is— was, a hero, for fuck’s sake. Trauma is in the job description and he’d had his fair share of bruises before he went undercover, before he killed Jin (REALLY don’t think about it—), and lost his wings. He’s stitched himself up by filling up his schedule with anything he could. Distractions. Things to occupy him, help him forget for a while. If that didn’t work, he always had a bottle or two of imported soju that he could nurse.

Again, coping.

The state you’re in is the opposite of coping, it’s being. Existing. The strain you carry from everything shows in you, and the way that it’s manifested terrifies him.

Keigo is smart enough to know to keep a few boundaries. He can’t fix you and he can’t get it in his head that he can. He’ll smother you; he knows he will. The solace he finds comes from being there when you need him, and always being close by. 

It’s all he can do to soothe what’s obviously an open wound. He has his own, that you tend to in your own way as well when you can. It’s all give-and-take, naturally and easily. 

You’ll find yourselves on the couch together, leaning and touching so naturally, but with no intent. Your little fingers trace shapes over his clothes, hearts and lettering he can’t catch. The heat of you will cling to him, whether your quirk activates or not.

He holds you, simply and truly. Tries to be a new, kinder being. 

...

You don’t have much that is solely yours. 

You’d been living in an odd combination of Keigo’s clothes and the single outfit you arrived with. It works, enough. Most garments are worn until they’re filthy, but it takes you a little too long to notice. 

Keigo notices.

One day, he sits down with you and his heavy, black credit card and helps you pick out... whatever you wanted. The guy is loaded and will be until he dies, and he’s smitten to help you pick out whatever you need. 

You’re more challenged by the task.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to do this,” you murmur into his collarbones, narrowing your eyes at the laptop screen. “I have enough.”

Keigo clicks his tongue, rubbing the fraying fabric of your shirt, the same, cheap scratchy fabric from the hospital. Your pants are soft cotton, old ones of Keigo’s that he should probably throw away. You adore them, and spend most of your time in them, too.

“You deserve some nice things that are yours, don’t you think?” He coaxes with some extra soft touches as you glare at the screen.

Perhaps, you think to yourself. Your jaw locks.

You deliberately avoided thinking about your lack of... things. The absence of all the bits of you that you had once carried tugs at something deep in your chest. Grief, probably. Loss at the very least. Your home has been torn apart and you have nothing. Not a single remnant of then except you. And you’re hardly a good cast of the existence you once lead. 

The world feels dimmer with the thought. 

...

The house gets cold at night.

It’s inevitable, with the chill of the snowy valleys and peaks slipping through drafty windows and cracks in the woodwork. It slunk into the house once the stars rose, sinking bone deep. It’s easier to ward off during the day. The little stray touches and the ambiance of shared presence helps. 

But, you slept separately. 

It’s cold— so fucking cold in your beds. Keigo hates it. Despises the way how it makes his eyes droop and his body heavier than it should be. Despite not having wings any longer, his other avian traits lingered, and torpor was definitely not in his top three faves. He can only be thankful that he thought to invest in an electric blanket for himself, for his nest.

Though it would be a lot better with you in it, the last thing he wants to do is push you. You’re fragile. Everything is fragile. Keigo has laid awake on more than one night, trying to make sense of all of it, everything and coming to the conclusion that sleeping in his too-big, too-cold bed would have to do.

Sometimes, there’s no way to swallow the state of things.

...

“Your packages are here.”

You look up, eyes wide and sweet.

Oh, yeah. Material goods.

Clothes.

Objects.

It takes a while, but the result of your shopping spree is a small horde of packages down at the town post office, all with your name attached. The idea of so much newness is daunting, but your few remaining garments are threadbare and practically falling apart. It’s necessary, you acknowledge, even if you’re terrified of not living in Keigo’s worn crewneck. 

(Change can be good, you remind yourself. The thought is quiet.) 

Keigo stands by the door, buttoning up his coat and lacing up his boots as you watch from your soft perch on the couch. The blanket has a new, wide hole picked in it, but you don’t notice. 

“Would you like to come with me and pick them up?” Keigo flicks his gaze to you with a careful, easy smile.

You hadn’t left the house since you’d arrived. 

The thought sends your stomach knotting and sweat gathering in your palms. You jerk your head side to side, sinking back down into the cushions.

Keigo doesn’t hold it against you. You can tell by the way his expression softens around his eyes. 

He leaves after kissing you on the forehead a few times, telling you he’ll be quick to return. It’s not often that he leaves, though he’s always timely on coming back. His excursions are never more than a trip to the town market, thankfully. An hour or two feels like a lot, but the too-still air and quiet of the floorboards without Keigo’s pacing unsettles you.

Not having him near unsettles you. The thought of having him gone for too long shoots something hot and needy in your chest.

(Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave—)

Thankfully, just like always, Keigo isn’t gone for long. And he returns bearing a few armloads of packages and some takeout curry. You take it all, and him, greedily. 

(Thank you, thank you, thank you.)

...

It’s a few days later when Keigo wakes to you knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning. 

It had been a... rougher day. You had been a bit livelier early on, joining him on the snowy patio for morning coffee and even taking a quick walk around the neighboring forest. With the snow so deep, you could only go so far though. The motion of it aggravated your injury, left your gasping and clawing at Keigo’s arm as the scar tissue pulled.

The scar is still dead, thank god, but the impact is just as present physically as it is mentally for you.

The rest of the day you spent curled up on the couch, taking little sips of water between short naps. That night, you hardly touched your dinner. Keigo was smart enough to cut up some fruit and lay it with a handful of crackers and offer it to you throughout the rest of the night. You nibbled at the bits, but hardly consumed much at all.

You went to bed early, giving him a hard hug before retiring to your lonely room.

Those days are the worse, the bad ones. They’re the ones where Keigo wants to break all the boundaries he still has. The little touches and kisses he gives you are one thing, but there’s much more he wants to do. Craves doing. But, pushing you too far or too hard would break you. He’s smart. He knows that. So, Keigo doesn’t wait. He satiates all those protective needs. 

He accepts circumstance, just as he always has. 

(He doesn’t understand how much you crave him, but that’ll come later.)

             That night, things begin to shift. 

His voice cracks with sleep as he calls for you to enter. You linger in the door frame, clutching a pillow to your chest, like a scared child who’s had a— 

“Nightmare?” He asks, sitting up and tugging a blanket with him to cover his bare chest. 

The cold air of the cabin hits his scars. He hisses under his breath, shoulders drawing tense. You must notice, eyes going a little wider as you recede from his room. The darkness of the hallway nearly dissolves you. His chest aches, hands tightening around the fabric in his fists. 

“Come back here, starshine, come on,” Keigo calls, praying you’ll heed him. “It’s alright. What’s wrong?” 

Keigo half-recognizes that that’s a very loaded question, but you’re both a bit sleep addled. Maybe it will slide. 

Your eyes alight in the pitch of the room, sputtering with little orbs of amber. Your atrophying arms squeeze the pillow, and you take a few more tentative steps closer. 

“... We’re safe, right?” 

The question surprises Keigo, enough to make his old wounds ache.

One loaded question answered for another.  

It’s reasonable to ask. It’s very reasonable to ponder. Keigo has wondered about it too. The townsfolk don’t know who he really was, and he was quite secretive about the initial move. The world hadn’t caught onto the fact that ‘Hawks’ had moved him and his new love to an isolated little cabin in the woods, and hopefully they never would. Society had a lot bigger problems, according to the over-processed news channel he tuned into on occasion. 

Keigo was old news at this point.

So many heroes had been called out for poor behavior. Scandal after scandal, coverup after coverup. Corruption, everywhere. It was an industry secret, all of the bullshit behind closed doors.  Keigo’s little double-agent schtick and you know, murder of a good man (for the love of god, do not fucking think about Jin) was still bad, but the public had a whole new slew of bullshit to torch people at the stake for.

Still. 

He’s glad no one knows about your little hideaway or you.

“We’re safe, starshine. Very safe.”’

It makes his answer easier to say, more honest. 

You inch closer from the doorway. There’s a tremble in your shoulders that runs to your hands. You’re only wearing a t-shirt and thin shorts, maybe just panties, he can’t tell. Your scar runs down your thigh and calf, gnarling and twisting the flesh it dared to mar. The seam of it is a shining black that Keigo had failed to notice before. 

It reminds him of why you’re so scared and the types of nightmares you must have. 

“... Promise?” You stop at the foot of the bed, throat bobbing with a thick gulp.

Keigo gives a sympathetic smile, patting the sheets next to him, “I promise. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

You look skeptical, but climb into bed with him all the same. 

Something stirs in Keigo’s chest as you do. As he watches you clamor over the sheets and blankets he... nests in, the heat of it fills him. A combination of yours and his own, spills through his ribs and down to his toes.

He shudders with it, something needy wriggling down from

You sit up on your knees, sinking into the mattress and holding the pillow tight to your chest. Watching, eyes still alight and wide.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keigo asks.

You don’t, you both know that, but breaking the silence is a start.

You push the pillow against the headboard, trading it to link your fingers with his, over his chest and pressed to the linens. 

You squeeze and let out a breath you’ve been holding. There’s a weight to it, like there’s something you’re actually carrying. There has been something you have been carrying, but only you are able to see it— feel it in its actuality.

But, that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder the burden alone, especially on darkened, lonely nights. 

He tugs you closer, mindful of your tenderness and the scars you both bear. The night is only lit by starlight, and the room is dark with the new moon. It makes it easier to be closer as you settled into the bedding next to him.

It’s uncomfortable for a few moments.

Despite how much contact you share, this feels different. The little touches, kisses and caresses you trade throughout the day are second nature. Comforting someone else who so obviously needs it. His person who needs it. 

(He wonders if you think of him as your ‘person’ too.)

You lay on your side, facing away from him as you fall into his nest, still tense, still on edge and unsure. It reminds him of those first days at the hospital, when you both had lost your tongues and yourselves and just enjoyed the stars together in oddly comforting silence and broken conversation. 

It’s a process, he reminds himself. 

Keigo slides closer, throwing an arm over waist and adjusting the blankets with his other. There’s plenty, piled on top of each other without much reason. Careful hands properly tuck you into it all, next to him, with him. He brings them up to your chin, pressing stray hairs back into place and laying a trailing kiss or two over the back of your neck. 

“... Is it okay if I stay?” Your voice sounds far-off, like the question is more for yourself than for him. 

He can feel the unease and fear still bound up in your shoulders. It’s always there, whether it’s a moonless night or a snow-glitteringly, sunny day. The tension he presses his thumbs into is held in all of the muscle of your back, in your hips, your hands— everywhere.

It makes part of him ache.

A few little coos, soft little rumbles, roll from the back of his throat. 

Normally, he’d be a bit embarrassed. But at the birdish chirps, you’re falling deeper in the sheets, the nest, and against his chest. 

“Please stay,” He assures you with a squeeze. A small comfort, one he’d keep giving. 

 The odd quiet returns, sans the little sounds in his chest. 

Slowly, tentatively, you turn in his arms. Your own lock over his waist, splayed low on his spine. The pads of your fingertips brush scars, the old ones and the new. It makes him writhe a bit in his own skin. It’s unfamiliar, compared to all of the cold prodding and meaningless pleasure he was used to.

It is the closest anyone of familiarity has been to the scars in a long time, and you, preciously, grace him with the softest touch. No expectation in it, just some much-needed, shared bits of love. Once again, precious. 

And you both relax into it all. The ambient thrum of the other's body, the shared breath and smells that mingle between you. There’s little pains and stings that never really go away, but with the other so close, neither of you mind. 

It’s hard to tell when your quirk settles, and the organic heat you create together fills the rooms and your lungs. 

All Keigo knows is that he falls asleep with your lips brushing the hollow of his throat, still and warm against his chest. The feeling of the living rhythm of your body with your breath lulls him off, content and hazy. 

...

You never sleep alone after that night.

Keigo pulls you into his room, or you pad in after brushing your teeth and pulling on your soft, soft sleep clothes. The bed feels a lot less big and lonely with the two of you wrapped up in each other, fully giving in.

It puts Keigo at a remarkable amount of ease. 

The urge in his chest to ‘keep you safe’ feels the most sated at night, when he can keep as close as you both can bear. Your hands always make their home at the base of his spine, or the fat and flesh between his lower back and his rear. The pads of your fingers rub away years of stored tension and weight, quietly and kindly before you fall asleep each night. 

During the day, you’re equally as needy, though you’re slowly becoming a bit more independent. You’re more lucid in general. Though the couch and worn blanket are your greatest comforts (other than him), you’re beginning to stray and poke around the house a bit more. 

The shelves have a few more familiar comforts, things Keigo had slowly accumulated to pass the time. There’s a video game console or two he’d never used, a few stacks of books he’d heard were good, and some tucked away art supplies if inspiration struck. 

As much as he urges you to take and use whatever you’d like, you’re still tentative. The first few times you pluck a crisp book from the shelf, Keigo’s back aches with how the old muscles that once controlled his wings tried to puff-up non-existent feathers. Despite how it tugs at all the wrong parts of him, he still glows at the progress.

You start to help him with dinner too. That’s some of your favorite time. 

There’s a rhythm to it, when you both start preparing meals together. Keigo can’t season food for shit, (though, he’s made leaps and strides with cooking that pats himself on the back for) but he’s quite skilled with a knife. Remnants of his training that have domestic applications. 

He doesn’t tell you that that’s why he’s so good at dicing vegetables and paring meat, he just chatters to fill the air. You tend more to the process of cooking, seasoning and watching and nodding along to his words. 

The more meals you share in creating, the more you start to speak up.  

It’s progress, even in something so small. 

...

But progress isn’t linear. 

It’s not even a goddamn line and it’s fucking infuriating. 

...

The depth of winter bears down on the hills, the house, and the two of you. You’re coping, both of you. But the momentum of it is fragile.

It scares you, secretly and privately. 

You feel fragile, and you have for a long time. Your scar remains tender, gnarled and ugly on your leg. You avoid looking at it at all cost, though Keigo has free reign to graze tender touch nearby it. 

That’s how you find yourselves, leaning on each other on the cushion of the couch and idly watching the glow of the television. Your cheek tucks over his shoulder and you watch with half-lidded eyes. You’re only half-there as Keigo changes the channel.

He hums after a few moments. 

“There’s a storm coming tonight,” Keigo tells you, lips just a touch dry against the shell of your ear. “I’m going to go to town and—”

 Oh wow.

You interrupt, fisting the front of his shirt, “Can I come?”

The question stuns both of you.

Your eyes are honest as you peer up, genuinely unsure if you can.

“Of course, starshine,” Keigo assures. You notice the way his eyes, his pretty eyes, look wide and bright. All for you. Wow. “Let’s get you out of the house, hm?”

Getting out.

Time has stretched out and you can’t remember the last time you left for anything more than a little stroll on the backroads, Keigo on your arm. Going to town and seeing people strikes something odd that has your stomach churning. 

You’re nervous when you finally pile into the car, both bundled up with hats, mittens and scarfs (Keigo wears a mask to better hide his identity, but he’s sure some of the townies have figured him out.) The tasks are simple. Stock up for the coming storm and make sure he pays to plow their little backroad out once the storm passes. Easy, things that wouldn’t take too long, but it still makes your palms sweat. 

Keigo massages your thigh as you drive into town. The comfort of the snowy hills and evergreens disappears, and it has you in goddamn knots. 

You squeeze his hand, locking your jaw. 

“I’m scared.” You break the silence as the small structures of the town come into view. “I don’t know if this was a good idea.”

You haven’t decided again. 

He kneads his thumb into the tension in your thighs with a little smile, “Let’s give it a try.”

“It’s scary, though.”

“I know.”

You pull at a hangnail with your teeth but say nothing else as you roll in and park at the small market.

The first thing you notice is the goddamn doors. Automatic doors.

When you see them, you want to climb back into the car, maybe the trunk for fuck’s sake, and hide like you’ve never hidden before. Go home and bury yourself in a snow pile with how your heart hammers in your chest and your breath catches.

Deep breaths.

You catch yourself, just a little. 

You keep walking, Keigo’s hand in yours and you enter the market like nothing feels as wrong as it is.  

The store is small, but there’s a decent selection, all things given. Keigo places a basket in your hands, tells you to ‘go nuts’ and ‘literally get whatever you want, especially if it’s salty or sweet’ and you heed him the best you can. He busies himself talking to the clerk, organizing with that honey-voice you crave. 

You take a few deep breaths and walk around the market like a normal person. 

(Even though, the last time you were in a situation close to this, you got that nasty, cute scar on your leg.)

(You suppress the thought for as long as you can.)

The basket gets filled quickly, but you stuff it to the brim. Keigo picked out plenty of good food, and had learned how to cook decently, but having some... agency felt nice, if not fucking terrifying.

You’ve got your back turned to the entrance of the store when the (automatic) doors suddenly swish open. 

A chill so cold and hard shoots down your spine and you freeze, hovering over a box of breadcrumbs.

One...

 How long was it between that sound and when he touched you?

 Two...

 This was a terrible idea.

 Three—

 It was four—

 Four—

Four seconds, you propose, as your heart beats out of your chest and you sweat under your arms. Four seconds from the door opening to pain. 

You wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Nothing.

Just more voices from the front of the store, a figure entering your aisle and then leaving.

You hate the way you're so rigid, tense enough in your shoulders for it to hurt. The ghost of the wound on your leg makes you want to fall to the ground and writhe, but you grab the box of breadcrumbs and try not to think. 

It works, and you land next to Keigo, presenting your filled basket to be rung up. 

You bury your face into his shoulder and take a deep inhale. Keigo keeps you close, tucked in your side with an arm around your waist. Your anxiety must’ve been quite visible, as he takes to quietly rubbing your shoulders over your sweater.

Things get hazy as you feel safer. Keigo laughs and sways the two of you as he speaks to the clerk. 

(Her sons are going to blow your little house out when the storm passes. The family cat recently got out and came back pregnant. Her husband has been reading some odd literature he found on the internet. Something about ‘the strong triumphant over the weak’. Her daughter might be able to return from her foreign university now that the travel restrictions had been lifted.)

Everything moves forward, even if it’s unpleasant.

It’s an awful reminder at an inopportune time. 

You watch your feet as you crunch your way back to the shotgun side of the car, only relaxing when you hear the doors lock and the engine thrum.

...

The storm comes, just as the faces on TV said it would.

You’re in the country, in the hills and mountains where the weather is already turbulent and changeable. All the same, the overcast skies dump snow over the land and blanket the world in quiet and cold.

Snow silence sucks the sounds from the air, sans the howl of angry wind. 

You’re tucked away and safe. It’s Keigo’s only solace.

After going into town, you keep more to yourself as the storm takes it sweet time rolling in. He recognizes the far off look in your eyes; it’s the one you wore stargazing, but there’s no kind smile on your face. Just a thoughtless frown as you go through the motions of your day.

It makes his chest ache.

(Part of him regrets bringing you with him to the market. It rots part of him, and he can only hope it sprouts again.) 

Finally, when the storm truly comes and the hills get heavy and crisp white, a bit more of you returns. Keigo wants to take the fragments you’re willing to give him and tuck them close, horde them and squeeze. The way he’s gotten abashedly greedy for you has him handsier and needier. 

He’ll take what he can get, and give what he can too.

It’s easiest to bear at night, probably out of habit. Maybe the time in the hospital fucked both of you up (yes, for sure, it did), but nighttime was the time where you were open and easy with each other.

The storm gives the perfect opportunity to all of your time shamelessly twisted together, only leaving for brief coffee breaks and light meals. Otherwise, you’re both nested. 

Pillows and blankets piled on the oversized mattress, all soft against your scars and old scratches. Keigo’s still fond of the color red, he can’t let that go, but he trades in the scarlet that was once his ‘brand’ for a deeper burgundy. All the sensations are rich and velvety, whether it’s the bedclothes you’re wrapped in or the touches you share.

It feels safe.

The feeling is something almost foreign to Keigo. He’s been getting used to it, even as the isolation weighs down on him. No one around means no reason to be so alert. The house isn’t bugged, there’s no villains or Suits watching his every move. He’s just a flightless bird, with no cage, but no captors either.

It feels amazing.

It feels even better that you’re always the heat against his side. That you and your perfect, sweet hands always know how and where to touch. Your words flow easier when you’re so close, so surrounded and so deliciously suffocated.

Keigo fills you up in all the best ways, and you’re finally able to breathe easier.

You tell him your secrets, little stargazing facts and facets of you that you’d held away and far from him before.

“Do you know what cosmic microwave background radiation is?” You ask, sweet as your lips nip at his jaw.

“No, not a clue,” He laughs, the giggle only you get to hear. 

You hum, shifting your thighs so it lies over his. Your hips grind, slow and unhurried as wind rattles the windows.

“It’s this ambient radiation that’s just everywhere, all the time, forever,” You tell him, voice going a little huskier despite the fact you’re talking about theoretical astrophysics. “It’s left over from the Big Bang. A little bit of the beginning that never stops.”

“And how do you know all this?” 

“A documentary, love.”

The questions fade as your lips slide together, lazy hands sliding into each other's hairs. You pull, only lightly, just to bring him closer. Keigo gets greedy, (again, always), licking into your mouth and tasting you. It’s all cheap coffee and the stale mint of toothpaste, and he drinks you down like the finest nectar. He sucks on your tongue, moaning at the way you keen and shift next to him.

It’s not enough. It never is, so he rolls to sit himself over your hips and grab your jaw in a tight grip. He can’t be too forceful, he can’t— his little birdbrain won’t let him do anything too rough to you, even if neither of you would mind it. He tilts your head just right.

You roll your hips up, breath mingling with his as it hitches and shudders from you. It’s so much, so much good, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

Keigo pulls away, eyes half-lidded to take in your own blown pupils. It makes something purr in his chest, to see your eyes already glassy and wide for him. Your neck is thoroughly covered in darkened splotches, already sucked and bitten while the storm sang. 

Little marks of him.

“You’re all mine, you know?” Keigo nearly moans at the way your expression goes gooey and sweetened. He tightens his grip on your jaw just a fraction, enough to make you gasp before he licks and nips below your ear. Just to make sure you hear him. “‘Everywhere, all the time, forever’, I’ve got you.”

“Y-you do,” you gasp as Keigo shifts your sleep shorts off, pushed away forgotten in the nest. The thin tank top you’re wearing is hardly covering anything, not that either of you care. The nearly-sheer fabric of it stretches over your collars and curves beautifully. It does nothing to hide the way your breaths heave or the sweat and heat gathering on your neck.

You’re bared to him.

And if Keigo’s being honest?

You own each other, in the most pleasantly fucked up way.

“Y-You’re so good,” The word holds weight, so much heaviness. Keigo groans, palming one of your breasts and rolling one of your nipples. It’s ambient, something to occupy himself as he resists your words. Just a little—

Your hand slips into the front of his sweats, bare beneath, and wraps around the velvet of him. Thick and hot, firm in your hand but not close enough.

You squeeze, almost in warning.

“You are good.” You gasp as Keigo pulls off you, leveling gazes with you, all pretty eyes reflecting the starshine and snow. He is good. There’s so much more to it than that, but your poor, fucked up little mind can’t synthesis it yet. Only that Keigo is good, warm, safe, and wholly yours. And you’re his. You stretch to ghost a kiss over his lips. “My good boy, always keeping me safe. You keep me so well.”

He stills, even as you slowly pump in his cock. It twitches in your hand, your thighs squeezing between his hips. 

Keigo’s mind races, in the best way.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He murmurs, head tilting and body sagging to drink down your kiss-bruised lips. More, more, more— “You just need to be taken care of.”

“I don’t need to,” You lie, huffing. 

Keigo raises an eyebrow, biting his lips as your grip floats down to his balls, massaging them in your soft grip. It’s tender, weirdly vulnerable, as the whole of you two are.

“Maybe you don’t need to, you’re very capable,” Maybe not right now, but he knows it’s in there. “But you want it.”

“I-I like it,” You scramble the wording, shoving down his sweats, huffing again and urging Keigo to kick them away. Your palm goes to his cheek and drags him closer. “I like you a lot, love you, you know. You make me feel... safe. It’s a good feeling.”

It’s the most honest you’ve been in a long time, and it sits in the air. Keigo remains silent for a moment, silent and trying to control the way his birdbrain wants to take you. Wants to fuck you up and ruin you for anyone else.

You’re his, aren’t you?

“Good girl,” Keigo breaks the tension, squeezing your hips to the point of bruises. His, his, his. “I keep you so good, don’t I?”

You nod, spitting out little affirmatives between kisses. They dot his cheeks and forehead, slipping to his nose and downward. You pull his bottom lip into his mouth, letting out a little half-sob as Keigo’s touch drifts to your cunt, to your clit that’s swollen and untouched. 

More, more, more—

“You keep me so good,” You gulp, whining and grinding into the heel of his hand. Slick coats your sex, sticky and hot. “So, so good—”

Keigo drops down the bed, ignoring the flare of his scar tissue, to seat himself between your thighs. They get thrown over his shoulders with a squeeze. His hands cup your ass, slipping a pillow beneath your hips before eating your cunt like he’d die if he didn’t.

It’s one of his favorite things. Stuffing you full of him until your belly swells is another, or seeing the way his cock opens and stretches you until you’re gasping for breath and begging for more, more, more—

Keigo slips a finger into you without resistance. He curls it, unyielding as he massages the little knot of nerves in you that makes you arch and beg for more, for him.

You choke on a sob when he adds another finger, and he hushes you so sweet, tears prick your eyes. 

“Starshine,” He coaxes, withdrawing only to give your clit, a few kitten licks and slow kisses. His gaze flickers towards yours, holding your wet eyes. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

You nod, the meat of your thighs squeezing around him. Keigo would be happy to die like this, you soft and opened for him, crying for him. Broken and cracking for him, by his tongue, by his touch, Him. His.

“Who takes care of you?” He curls his fingers, and you throw your head back into the nest of pillows. 

“Y-You,” Your voice breaks and you rub at your cheeks. 

“Who knows just how to keep you so well? How to make you feel so good?”

He presses a third finger in, tending to your clit as you cry above him. You’re molten around him, and he laps you up until the smell and taste of you is all he comprehends. 

This is what you both need, isn’t it?

Each other. All of each other.

Your cries turn sour quickly, and it has Keigo jolting up, fingers withdrawn and leaving you to feel empty. The little sobs turned into hiccupping cries, one's stifled with the back of your hand. 

Keigo rises over you, tugging you hand away to get at your cheeks, kissing them soft and sweet. 

It isn’t often that you cry, surprisingly. You probably should more often. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Keigo urges. Please, please, just tell him what the fuck is wrong. He knows, you know, the meat of it all. But please tell him something he can tend to. Something he can stitch up because god, he needs to be useful— “What’s making your cry sweetheart? Tell me.”

You paw at your forehead, “It’s silly.” 

You sniffle and look at him with the most unguarded expression he’s seen you worn. The vacancy is gone, the hollowness and pain has been pulled away in the safety of that perfect nest and all that’s left is—

“‘M scared,” You mumble. Your arms curl over your chest, covering what’s primitively most precious to you. “I’m scared.”

Your eyes grow bright and heat, hotter than anything he’s felt from you, explodes over the room.

He’s half-choking and he fucking loves it. 

Something in his chest snaps and he worries your hair, bringing his nose to yours, nuzzling and nudging your hands away. He nips you. His poor little birdbrain.

“I’m afraid you’re going to leave.”

Keigo stills.

He sits with your fear for a few beats.

“I’d never leave,” He says easily, truthfully and fully. He couldn’t.

Those long nights in the hospital and the warmth passed between you had so easily gotten you wormed his chest, right next to his second and third rib. He can feel it, always; you’re ever present. He grabs your arms and holds them to yours sides. You’re exposed, soft flesh and squirming a bit beneath him. He wants to mark you purple and near-bloody, so that no one would think of you as anything other than his.

His, his, his.

He shows you.

Worn hands, a bit chapped with the dry air, pull your high to rest on his shoulders. He massages your calves, kissing your ankles.

“I mean this real lovingly, starshine,” He breaths deep, fisting his cock with a few slow strokes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t get a chance to protest as he slides into you in one stroke. The stretch of him has you burning; he can tell by the way your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his shoulders as your little cries only get harder.

“Bear it, I know you can,” You had before, and you would many times more. The stretch feels amazing, even if it burns something in your core. You like it, how the pain pricks something that shoots into your toes. Only Keigo gets to fuck you up, gets to own you. “You’re always good f-for me— f-fuck, so fucking good—”

His, his, his.

There is, of course, the inverse.

You grab his jaw, your grip tight like his was earlier, and you meet his gaze. You blink away tears, sniffling, but expression set with determination.

“You’re mine too,” You squeeze around him, grinding down to the root of his cock. “‘M only good for you because you’re mine too, Keigo. All of you.”

Without thought, your hands ghost over his scars.

You have avoided them for so long. It was an untouched spot, something tender and from a time where Keigo was being that was entirely and wholly different from who he is now. It’s a piece of him that’s always been off-limits.

But you’re both so cracked open, you do it without thought.

And something in Keigo snaps.

He pushes you down by the backs of your thighs, folding your legs to your torso. And he fucks you.

His hips slam against yours, opening you up with pants and groans. You feel full, full of him in every and all ways, everywhere, always, and forever. 

You’re greedy with your touches, tugging him closer and uncaring of the way your nails scrap over his shoulders and arms. His body is yours and you’re his. It’s disgusting, it’s fucked up and perfect the way you slot together. It’s like little, scared pieces of existence slide together, and everything feels whole, yet open and uncracked.

Keigo fills you up with a sob, tears dripping down his cheeks as you pressed down on the burns and scars that rack down his back.

“Fill me up,” You demand, the heat of you swelling as his hand dips to your clit, circling and rolling with the little pleas falling from both your lips.

The world drips as his thrusts go harder, sloppier as you tip your head back and scream. Your voice breaks, hoarse from all your pleading and possession. 

Keigo stuffs you, tip of his cock pressed to the deepest parts of you. His cum, all him, leaks from around his cock as he gives a few more weakened grinds. He makes sure you’re full, content and sated and his.

He falls over you, coating your cheeks in kisses and praise. You sputter little sobs for him, begging for him to be closer, despite the way he still fills you even as he softens.

It never feels like enough, the closeness. But you’ll settle for all of him that you can get. 

...

The storm passes, and you spend your time much the same way. Fucking, feeling, and for a little, blessed while, forgetting.

Eventually, the snow stops falling. The wind that has been whipping the power into tree trucks and your windows falls still. It’s peaceful, then. Not that it wasn’t before, but without the weather bearing down on you, you’re both less hungry. Still greedy, just not starved.

You share the first morning after the storm outside, on the porch. Keigo had shoveled a little clear patch and you’d brushed off the two, brittle lawn chairs that had seen better days. You fixate on the task a bit too much, the steaming coffee you’re to share is forgotten. The straining plastic of the chairs is a yellowed-white and bright red. It felt strong enough under your fingers, cold fingers, as you cleared away the snow. 

It feels like a remnant

Whatever fixation you have on the object passes as Keigo runs a hand up your spine. His hand is wide and warm, still a bit warm from the toasty mugs.

You rearrange your chairs and yourselves to be close as can be, in your little patch of snowless porch, and sip at your coffee as the world begins to wake up. 

...

Oddly enough, the storm helps you make forward progress, at least a little. You take up making breakfasts on your own, occasionally carrying plates into the bedroom with a big, previously unseen grin

Keigo returns the smile so big, his cheeks burn for hours. 

You take to a few of the little crafts and things Keigo has been hoarding. Paper folding and little canvases with acrylic painting are your favorites. Sometimes, you paint your little strokes and press creases from the comfort of the couch. Other times, you make you place for the day at the kitchen island while Keigo makes his day-long meals. 

There’s a rhythm to it that’s so good.

It’s progress, and seeing it visibly start to the fill the walls feels good for both of you. Your little canvases get hung around the cabin, little portraits of the stars and their mother, all for you and Keigo to admire. ;;

 ...

             He gets the call exactly three weeks after the storm passes. 

Keigo awakes before you to the shrill ring of his cell. It vibrates against the bedside table, loud enough to wake the both of you. You both startle out of sleep, squeezing each other. 

He takes the call in the other room, after he sees the contact name.

[Suits] Calling...

 He paces as he listens to her drone on.

There’s no greeting, no “hey, how does it feel to be a flightless fucking failure?”. It’s business. Just business. It’s always been like that with her, and the lot of suits that treated him like a fixture until he got particularly cracked and unsightly.

“So, you come into Tokyo, we’ll do a small event—”

“The event you’re describing really doesn’t sound small,” Keigo tilts his head and gives an angry smile to his own reflection in the mirror. “It sounds like a circus that I really have no interest in being a part of.”

“It’s for the people, Hawks—”

It makes him snap.

“Stop fucking calling me that.” He growls into the receiver, grip tight enough to hurt. “Stop calling me, stop asking me, I am not coming back.”

The woman is silent on the line for a beat, before spitting, “What if I didn’t give you a choice?”

His blood runs cold before burning in his veins. And he laughs.

“You think you could?” He only feels a little hysterical. “You don’t have any power, not over me, not over anyone else as far as I’ve seen, Madam President!” 

“Hawks—”

Shut up, shut up, shut UP.

“The Commission is dead, the world is in chaos, and putting the corpse of a hero on the big screen isn’t going to convince anyone that this is all fixable,” Keigo chest gets tight, and he can’t tell if it’s from the uncomfortable laughter he’s spitting or the sobs that are locked in his chest. 

“So, you’d rather turn your back on the people you swore to protect?” Suits speaks with no emotion, not an ounce of feeling. “Selfish.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish. The word echoes in his mind, worms its way down his throat and suffocates him. 

“You’re really going to say that to me? Of all fucking people?” He feels his nails break skin where he’d been clenching his fist. “Me, selfish?”

“You left, didn’t you? Ran away?” The woman has the stones to fucking laugh. “Everyone’s lost something. You’re not special, and it doesn’t justify—”

“What the fuck are you getting out of this?” Keigo interrupts, burning, burning— “Did you call me to go to this little gala or did you call to dig into your perfect little hero? You told me I could be done. Should’ve known you were lying, you always lie—”

“You’re being childish.”

“Oh my GOD!” Keigo nearly screams and doesn’t notice how you’ve tip-toed from the bedroom. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I hear you screaming at me, the woman who practically raised you, like some petulant brat. Get a grip, Hawks.” 

He snaps.

“STOP FUCKING CALLING ME THAT!” He screams into the phone, vision going white and scarlet. “I am not Hawks! Hawks is DEAD! Why can’t you understand that? There’s no fucking hero to attend your little ‘healing’ gala, there’s just me. ‘Childish’, ‘selfish’, and wingless, babe. That’s what I’ve got, and this is what I am.”

Suits takes an audible sigh, and Keigo can almost see how she’s shaking her head at him, “You’re being ridiculous, Hawks. Take at least a goddamn ounce of responsibility for your actions that helped cause all... this.”

Ah, there it is. The thing Hawks has so properly compartmentalized, tucked so far back in his psyche that it’s almost impossible to reach.

How much of the dissolution of... everything is on him?

Something in him snaps, and it slips through his own fingers. 

  “I’m not going and this, Madam President? This is for me.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

He hears her unspoken words echoing in his skull as he hangs up, slamming the phone on the countertop.

Something hotter than rage and more poisonous than pain fills his blood, and it makes him want to both wretch and break his fingers in the same breath. He slams a fist onto the phone, cracking it against the countertop. He can buy a new one— 

“S-Sweetpea?”

Keigo freezes.

You’re at the mouth of the hallway, hardly out of the shadows, eyes wide and fearful. His chest somehow gets even tighter. 

Normally, he would’ve rushed to comfort you, calmed himself down to console you for seeing his little outburst.

But he doesn’t that day.

He breaths ragged with his lips slowly curling, panic’s ugly cousin turning his spit acrid behind his teeth.

“Here, let’s go back to bed, okay? We can—” You take a few steps closer, hand outstretched and eyes beginning to light.

Oh, and Keigo’s hit by fucking envy, and it’s over. 

“Don’t.” 

You freeze, “Pretty eyes—”

“Don’t, just don’t.”

You don’t move as Keigo trudges to the door, throws on his thick parka and snow boots, pocketing his keys and grumbles to you that there’s leftovers in the fridge.

It’s shitty and selfish.

And he just doesn’t care.

He can’t make himself care as the door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing off the trees and so quickly dampened by the snow. 

...

Keigo drives, white noise in his ear that echoes the wind in the treetops of the mountains he’s descending. He’s only half there as he leaves town. 

It’s still too much. 

...

You, on the other hand? 

You’re frozen, stuck-still, as you watch Keigo climb into the car and drive off. Maybe your mouth has gone a bit agape, you aren’t aware of your body. 

You panic. 

There’s no other word for it, not that you were able to think of as you were untrenched in it. 

There’s something thick and knotted that is rolling unraveling in your chest. The... thing is worse than a feeling and runs deeper and hotter than you can manage.

You tried to manage it.

While Keigo is god fucking knows where, you paced the house, always within eyeshot of a window. Hoping for a glimpse of his dark parka, or the tufts of his blonde sticking out in the snow, a return—

Fucking nothing.

He just left.

No return time, no destination, just a departure with no explanation. He’d obviously left the cabin before, you’d handled those times quite well, but he’d never stormed out. Never raised his voice and screamed and then just left. 

Is he okay? 

(You heard most of the call, at least his side of it. Is that awful Hero Commission he told you about calling him back? Or even worse, dragging him away.)

(He’d tell you, wouldn’t he?)

(Guess you’ll never know! Because he’s fucking gone.)

It made something seize in your chest, hot and awful as you walked your circuit, praying. Worry is damning. 

How could he just... leave?

You need him back.

You alone without him.

Your thoughts rot you, despite the winter’s cold outside. The chill of the cabin seeps into your bones, coats them and leaves you sticky and downright paranoid. The lack of... presence (his presence) was driving you up a wall. The air is too still, the floors quiet and without the telltale old creaks of movement that you’ve become accustomed to, and the cabin is silent other than your breathing and rabbit’s heart.

Beneath the anger was a thick layer of fear. 

You are alone.

The feeling rolled its way into you as the sun began to dip lower in the sky.

What if he never comes back?

Of course he is, you remind yourself, hurriedly, worrying the scary on your leg and picking at the core of it. He wouldn’t leave.

Why wouldn’t he?

The thought gets your poor little heart racing faster, air choking in your lungs. Your head whips to the window to see the empty, snowy driveway.

“I-I’m alone,” You break the silence of the house, the walls answering with their pensive quiet and the wind shaking the fresh snow from thin branches just outside.

All alone.

All fucked up and broken and fucking alone.

“He wouldn’t leave,” You start talking to yourself, threading a hand in your hair, gripping. “He cares, he wouldn’t just leave.”

He cared about being a hero too and he left everyone else.

What if things changed? 

Insecurities, new ones and old ones, cloud your mind and vision and stuffed your lungs. The grip on your hair goes tighter. 

All alone in the mountains.

All.

Alone.

It scares you more than anything, how much you need him.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you tug at the roots of your hair. It hurts, but everything is starting to hurt very quickly, and a bit of hair pulling is child’s play to how it feels like your chest is being hollowed out.

You really have so little. It stuns you in the moment as you choke back a sob. The little house in the mountains, Keigo, and the starlight you still both enjoy— that’s fucking it. You’d never returned to your ‘apartment’, or rather the remnants of it. Any possessions you had were lost to destruction and unsalvageable. Your meager relationships and friendships had fallen away when you were bound to hospital for months.

He’s all you have.

“No, no, no,” You nearly trip in your pacing, dragging your feet as you accept your reality. “He can’t l-leave.”

The world responds with silence. The mountains are cold and lonely, just like you are. It’s cruel, it all hurts and after being in a daze so often, the reality of your situation hurts like a hot brand.

He’ll come back.

He cares.

You desperately try to convince yourself as you tug your parka on, throwing on your boots. You don’t bother to fasten or tie anything, you just stumble onto the deck blindly and scan the hill of the drive.

Not a single soul.

Something rotten curls up behind your teeth. Bile climbs the back of your throat and you have to swallow to keep from vomiting. Your chest is too tight, the world is too bright, and you’re terrified.

You’re not sure what to call the type of panic response you have; it doesn’t make any logical sense. Your heart runs in your chest, your breath is hot and tight, and you simply slip to the ground in the fresh snow.

And you wait.

...

Keigo drives until he’s nearly out of town, into some flatlands near the river that gurgles and churns nearby. The surrounding forest is the perfect place for a pensive walk. 

It’s the best place for him to just get it out.

It had been a long time since Keigo had just talked to himself. Audibly sorts himself as he walks along the bank of the almost-frozen river. He doesn’t keep his voice quiet, no, its full volume complaining. It’s anger that’s bundled up in his chest that’s finally being lit and the smoke of it nearly chokes him out. 

It’s not fair.

He does feel a bit childish, thinking about it like that. But hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t they told him that he’d done enough? He lost it all and was just starting to the plant the seeds for a new life to sprout. Couldn’t he just have that? He’s not the shiny thing he used to be he’s fucking worthless. And that’s fine. He’s made peace with it and can find worth outside of saving people.

He’s capable. Adaptable. And he’s doing it all at his trademark speed.

But the thing that makes his gut twist is facing everything he (ran away from) left behind. The only short statement he’d given after Dabi’s video was nearly as viral as the actual video of him killing Jin (don’t think about it, don’t think about it—) 

He’s not sure what possesses him to pull out his phone and pull up the video. It’s not hard to find. 

It hurts to watch, but he does it anyway. Fucking masochist. 

He’s standing beside Enji and Tsunagu, all of them in hastily tailored suits. They all had their visible injuries. Scars and brands that had just been carved and burned into skin. They look haggard, they look beaten. 

Because they were.

Keigo watches as he adjusts his microphone in the video and gives his statement. Stupidly simple and vague, all at the same time.

“The villain Dabi did not lie. I am the son of Takami, and I killed Twice of the League of Villains. It was all necessary. Please accept my apology for the upset I have caused.”

His voice doesn’t even sound like him. It’s manufactured and broken. He remembers how the smoke had charred his throat and lungs for the first few days, before he was transferred from Central to the big facility in the tall-tree-ed forest. 

He bows on the video and Enji begins his statement. Something solemn about the suffering he’s caused his family, how he wants to atone and how he is atoning. The public was too angry to listen and is too angry to listen. And the world Keigo ran from is the result. 

He lets himself cry.

Finally.

His shoulders shake as he hunches over himself. The tears slip down his chilled cheeks and make little divots where they fall into the snow beneath him. His little gasps turn into sobs, the kind that hurt your chest and give you a headache that lasts for days.

He repeats a little mantra between scratchy breaths—

“I’m still good.”

“I’m still good.”

“I’m still good.”

He falls against the thick bark of a tree and slides down to the ground. 

He let’s go.

It’s good for him, cleansing. Maybe it’s the rushing of the nearby river or the snow he's buried his hands in, but with each ragged breath he can feel some of that filth that’s clinging to him fall away. Not all of it, not by a long shot. 

But feeling the worst is the first step to feeling your best. 

So, when Keigo’s ready, he stands and moves forward. Trudges onward, albeit a bit slower. 

...

Keigo returns home just as the sky begins to change from red to indigo with the night. It paints the pines and evergreens an eerie, dark color, shadows long and deep against the fluffy snow.

His gut twists in knots as he gets closer to home. 

He’s tired. Exhausted. His eyes are still puffy from his tears, sore and aching. His body still feels tight, tense in his shoulders and arms as he grips the steering wheel. He needs rest. A good cup of tea and maybe a beer later. 

And you.

As weak as Keigo feels, he knows he fucked up... just a bit. 

It wasn’t fair to storm out. He isn’t dumb. All the same, if he stayed with you in the cabin, he probably would’ve said something he regretted. Or locked himself in the bedroom all day. It wouldn’t have been good or fair for you or him. 

(Coward.)

Probably, but he was also burned alive fairly recently, so he had to give himself a bit of credit. 

As he nears, his stomach drops. 

You’re on the porch. You sit on the steps, parka pooling around your waist as your head rests on your knees.

Something’s not right.

Some of his old, honed senses trill to life, seeing you. Something in his gut twists, the muscles in his back tense, the old ones that controlled his wings. 

You must be cold. 

Keigo leaves the car and slaps on a smile, “Waiting for me, starshine?” 

You twitch, curling over your body harder. 

Something is very wrong— 

He calls your name, your actual name, and you hardly stir. You all but twitch from where you sit, head tilting up just the slightest bit.  It’s not enough to ease any of the worry pulling his old muscles, if anything, it makes it worse.

He falls to his knees in front of you, ignoring the crack his bones make.

“How long have you been out here?” Too long, he knows the answer, but he still has to ask.

“... A while,” You murmur, barely audible. “You’re back.”

“I am,“ Keigo pushes you up by your shoulders, scanning your face as more fear curls in his gut. 

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused.

“We need to get you inside, now,” He isn’t sure if he sounds scared or angry (probably both), and he can’t make himself care. 

You’re freezing.

Too cold, way too cold.

Keigo had to take plenty of survival courses during his training with the Commission and he had learned plenty about hypothermia. His avian anatomy made him more susceptible to the cold and knowing the symptoms for himself kept him from turning into a bird-adjacent popsicle more than once. He’d rescued his handful of civilians—

(Don’t think about being a hero right now or you’re gonna start crying again.)

You’re not some civilian, you’re you and you’re in front of him with darkened lips and dull eyes and full panic breaks his ribs.

...

You remember how pretty red the sky was.

You like sunsets. 

You should see if Keigo wants to watch the sunset sometime.

Keigo’s gone.

You could drive—

Keigo drove away. You’re alone.

You aren’t sure how long you sat in the chill, but it was comforting despite how your fingers and toes began to ache. Outside, there were plenty of sounds and sights to keep you company. The wind whistled through trees, and the sky echoed a few, far-off sounds from distant civilization. 

It was nice. Peaceful, at the very least.

...

“Inside, you need to be inside,” Keigo sputters, pulling you up under your arms. Your feet drag for a moment before going flat, and you sway in his arms. 

Getting you inside makes his body ache in new ways, your weight mostly on his side. Old pains crawled to the surface as he dragged you to the couch, setting you down on the cushion and assessing you better.

His hands run over your body, over curves and divots he knew and loved and the chill of you filled him with dread.

“Your pants are wet from the snow,” Keigo swallows, rising. “I’m going to grab you dry clothes.”

As soon as he tries to move away, you catch his wrist in a weak grip.

And finally, half-lucidly, you regard him with terror in your eyes.

“You l-left,” You spit, lips curling over your teeth. “You left, Keigo.”

You use his real name and he really wants to die a little. 

Sure, Suits used it on the phone with him and it made him see blood fucking red, but it’s you, and you saying the name he never really had, for the first time, so fucking angrily makes part of his secretly fragile heart break.

He freezes, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at you.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly. “Let me get you warm, then we can talk, okay?”

You don’t look convinced, tightening your grip on his wrist and pulling him closer.

Keigo gives in, so, so easily, dropping to his knees and pulling your icy hands into his. He rubs warmth into them, bringing them to his lips and breathing hot over your knuckles.

“Please, starshine. Let me get you warm.”

“I’m already warm,” Your voice slurs, entirely unconvincing.

“I say this very lovingly,” He says, somehow cracking a smile, “but you’re genuinely hypothermic. You can be as mad at me as you want, but you need to get warmed up.”

You chew your lip, cupping his cheeks with your freezing palms, “... You’re not leaving?”

Your voice drawls and Keigo makes a note to turn up the thermostat.

“No, god, no, I’m not,” He tries to assure you, shaking his head, but your grip only gets harsher. He placates you with a squeeze to your knee. “Please let me help.”

He can’t tell you how much he needs to. How hyper aware he is of your chill and of his own thumping heart. That protective urge in his chest wants to just pull you to his chest and wrap you up in him, in his heat, but that’s for later.

Your eyes' gaze goes softer, little specks of light bouncing between your irises. The room fills with blessed, familiar heat and Keigo can feel his shoulders slacken and some of the worry in his chest dissipate.

...

He returns with some of his own soft joggers, fleece-lined and well-loved. He grabbed a few layers, and an armful of blankets and pillows. Anything he could carry gets brought as his little, avian mind craves something he suppressed for years so well.

Nest, nest, nest.

Heat them first, then nest. 

He helps you slip into your new, dry clothes as your teeth begin to chatter. Thank fucking god. Keigo is smart enough to check your toes as he slips onto fuzzy, thermal socks, and they all look to be healthy and functioning. 

You’re quiet during the whole ordeal, save for soft breathing and snapping teeth. You occasionally grab his hand and hold it to whatever part of your skin was bared, mumbling something about how warm he is. 

Keigo eventually gets you settled and surrounded by blankets and pillows which you sink into, eyes hardly open. Only then does he feel like he can pull away enough to start the nearby fire.

It feels somewhat unnecessary, given you’re still heating the room. It’s probably somewhat for the atmosphere, considering the sky is nearly fully black. A bit of crackling flame and light would do you both good. 

(He rarely lights fire, but considering the flame is a kind red and not a fucking disgusting blue, he can bear it. Especially now.) 

When the fire is stoked, he turns back to you and deflates. 

“I’m sorry,” You say, all soft and half-lidded from the blankets. “That was... dumb.”

“It was.” 

Keigo can’t fight you on the obvious. 

There’s a goddamn list of questions he wants to ask you. ‘Why’s and ‘what’s, but he has a pretty good idea of why you were sitting outside and what you were thinking. 

He’s not sure you’d want to talk about it anyway. 

The couch creaks when he sits down a few feet from your little nest, running a tired hand over his face.

“... You know, this couch folds out,” You shift a little, slow and lethargic. Still cold. “We should sleep out here tonight.”

He turns to regards you, and it takes everything in him not to fucking break.

“Why?” His voice shakes and he knows you can tell.

You hum, leaning toward him, “Change of scenery. I think we could both use it.”

“Later.” Keigo agrees. The urge to wrap you up in his (wings) arms feels unbearable, the little avian tickings in his skull loud and needy. “Warm first. Futon later.”

You huff weakly, but lift the blankets to let Keigo slip behind you. His body curls around yours, finding the coldest parts of you and tending to them first. His hands clasp over yours and your feet get tucked between his calves. 

“Thanks,” You murmur, neutral and vacant.

Keigo doesn’t push you.

Instead, you stay tucked in his arms, still shivering, but significantly less cold. Your lips and cheeks look a far healthier color and they’re warm to the touch. He traces his fingertips over the curves of your face and neck, preening in the only way he can muster up.

You eventually break the silence, when the fire is all but embers.

“I heard some of that call…” Your voice trails off. “It sounded bad.”

“It was,” Keigo agrees with a little nod. He really doesn’t want to think about Suits and, you know, the rest of the world, but it feels necessary. “Very bad.”

“Who was it?”

“Old boss.”

“… And?”

Keigo sighs, squeezing you probably a little too tightly, “Why don’t we focus on warming you up from your hypothermic excursion and not my shitty life as a shitty hero—”

“You weren’t a shitty hero, Keigo,” He can hear the mourning in your voice and it makes him want to die, just a little. You cup his cheeks, eyes sad and soft around the edges. “You were a really good one.”

“Was I? News to me.” He laughs, the bitter sound tasting like bile. He hates it, the feel of it mixed with the heat and softness of you. It feels wrong. “I don’t want to talk about all that, starshine. Please just drop it.”

Your face hardens.

“No.”

“… No?”

“No, I’m not done,” You sigh, big and hard. “I think we’re more fucked up than we talk about, Keigo.”

He winces, but you keep going, and he doesn’t move to stop you.

“Probably.”

Your jaw sets like stone on stone. It makes him internally wince as your hands go to cup his cheeks.

“I’m fucked up, you’re fucked up, everything is fucked up. We can ignore it up here, quietly, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Yes.

“Yeah.” He feels his gut roll, but he doesn’t stop you. His grip goes tighter on your hips. “You’re not wrong.”

“Can we just… Acknowledge it? Please.” You ask, beg, softly as you rub his cheeks with your thumbs. “Please, Keigo.”

He doesn’t know what to do at first. He really wants to lock up. Shut down. Lock all the nasty feelings in chest, behind his heart, so they can burrow into his spine and keep him moving forward.

He wraps his hands around your wrists.

Your eyes look glassy, tears sticking in your bottom eyelashes, but not daring to fall. Not yet.

“Keigo, I’m fucked up, I know that, and that’s okay,” You deflate a little. “I’m getting better. We’re getting better. I know we are.”

“We a-are.”

Keigo’s voice cracks, hoarse in his throat and tight as the uniform belt he used to wear. His lungs feel hot, too stuffed even as he tries to swallow the heat that’s welling up on the very back of his tongue.

“You are good, Keigo, I promise,” You lean in to give his forehead the lightest kiss and Keigo feels part of himself die in the best way. “Please, let’s just talk.”

And so, he does.

…

He tells you about Jin first.

You’d heard about him, the villain Hawks killed during the War. Published for the world to see, over and over, forever. The video was one you’d only seen once, during your early days at the hospital, but you could recall the footage on your grainy hospital television.

Your pretty eyes, pretty Keigo, cut him down. One of his old feathers, hardened into a stiff blade, struck Jin across the chest, arcing up to his neck and slicing a few important arteries  and veins. It was an imperfect job, one that probably made his death more painful and prolonged than it needed to be.

You don’t let go of Keigo’s cheeks as he tells you the story. You can’t, you’re too busy thumbing away the little tears that roll down his cheeks.

He speaks between sobs that break from his chest. Underused and much-needed.

“He was good, starshine,” Keigo curls in a little on himself, but you keep him mostly upright. “I had to, y-you know? I didn’t have a choice, if I didn’t—"

How many more people would be dead?

His body convulsed, the little tears turning fat as he collapsed into your chest and buried himself in you. Like he was hiding, and god, did you let him.

You hushed him, soothed him with little kisses, and listened.

“And then Dabi—”

You hate him, obviously. You only know his name and visage, and you hate him so much it hurts. Part of you wants to rub at his scars like he lets you, but you decide against it in Keigo’s fragility.

He tells you of the blue flames, how the boot felt against his back, how his throat burned for weeks from the heat and smoke. His grip on you goes so tight, you’re afraid he’s going to tear your shirt to shreds.

“He took them, starshine,” Keigo’s voice muffled into your shoulder, the sound of it rattling you. “He t-took them!”

And he slumps against you, well and truly, and can’t muster up another word. All you could do is hold him, rocking him from your little, shared spot on the couch and whisper to him little comforts. You’re crying a little too, breath tight and hazy as you let Keigo shatter in your arms.

He’s not ready to talk about his wings and that’s okay. More than okay.

So, you soothe him. He soothes you right back, rubbing at your sides, hips, thighs— whatever he can reach and touch and claim. You’re good, you’re the closest he’s going to get to permeance and he’ll be damned to let you go when you feel so good and he feels so fucking awful.

You fall back onto the chest, pulling Keigo with you so he can lay atop you. His ear presses to your chest, heart thumping in his ear while you lock your arms around him. Caged in and held, with the lightest pressure on the thick skin of his scars.

“I’ll never truly get it, I can’t,” You admit, quietly as you smooth back some of his tear-matted hair. “But I want to be here. I want to listen when you’re want to talk. Need to talk. You can dash off on your own, Keigo, that’s okay. Just know that I’ve got you to, okay?”

Keigo sniffled, peering up at you with wide eyes, “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I am now, aren’t I? Just a few hours out from nearly being a popsicle,” You hum and joke, glowing from the inside out when Keigo graces you with a little smile.

It takes a few more moments for him to cover, haul himself up to the crook of your neck and breathing hard and deep for a while. Like he’s trying to absorb you through scent alone.

“… Are you okay?” Keigo asks, squeezing you so tight it hurts. (And you want more of it.) “You’re not as cold anymore.”

“I’m feeling okay,” You paw at your face a bit, rubbing your cheeks like they’re still numb and not flushed with blood and sticky with drying tears. “I just freaked out a little.”

“… Because I left?”

You nod, chewing your lips.

“I don’t want to be alone, Keigo,” You whisper it, though he already knows your admission. “I’m terrified of you leaving.”

“When I left,” Keigo rises to meet your gaze, gooey and cobbled. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?”

“… Maybe,” You shake your head, refusing to look at him. “You didn’t say anything about coming back, just about… leftovers.”

You both frown.

“I panicked.” You shake your heard.

“… That’s what happens when you panic?”

“I guess?” Your mouth feels too dry. “I don’t know. I got scared. I panicked. What else was I supposed to do?”

There’s an obvious answer or two, but it’s unspoken.

“I’m not leaving,” Keigo rubs at your cheeks. “You’re gonna have to try pretty hard to get me gone, starshine. I love you too much to go easily.”

It’s a declaration, a strong one, and god does it feel fucking good to hear.

“… Promise?” You ask him as his palms cup your cheeks and jaw.

“Promise.”

“I heard on the call—”

Keigo interrupts you with a kiss, hard and long that steals your breath and makes your head spin.

“Promise.” Keigo breaths, pretty eyes meeting your heat-filled ones. “Everywhere, all the time, forever. I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a start, even if that insecurity is so deeply rooted. The adoration in his eyes, and the sweetness of his touch tempers it all. It’s there still, just like how there’s so much unspoken that needs to be sorted, chewed on, and digested.

But now?

The embers in the hearth need another log or two. The futon needs to be folded out and I’d be best if you shared a cup or two of tea. Preferably something with lavender that’ll scent the cabin with the smells of spring and herbs.

Now, you’re both more than enough.

…

thank you for reading!!💞keep an eye out for part 3! 👀

ko-fi

[hawksugarbaby]

Hawks x reader- snowed in

Fluff

The snow piled up around the door like Icing sugar decorating a cake and the windows frosted over with frozen icicles dangling from the ledge, threatening to pierce the soft snow. "It's so cold Kei" you ran your hands up and down your cold arms layered in goosebumps and pressed your glacial feet against his calves making him jolt forward "JESUS CHRIST!" he shouted wiggling away from your feet making you giggle.

"I'll put the heating on and close the curtains? That might help" he shrugged sending a crimson feather to do the work for him "mhm, you mean your wings will do it for you" you smile softly curling into his side and he grinned putting his arm on your head "you make a wonderful armrest" the bedsheets crinkled and shifted with your feet that kicked his shin jokingly "ouch, i'm in agony" he said casually without any indication he was in pain (because he wasn't) and you pouted angrily turning your head away from him which made his arm fall onto the bed "aw i'm sorry princess, you make a wonderful girlfriend too!" he kissed the back of your neck wrapping his arms around you and rolling you on top of him. "I love you~" he sang, drawing out the love and you dropped your annoyed expression, A bright smile etched on your face instead. "I love you too!"

Keigo wrapped his wings around you blanketing you in crimson feathers that kept the heat as close to you as possible. "Your pretty kei." you said bluntly, keeping your (e/c) eyes on his ruby pools "thank you baby so are you" you said kissing the tip of your nose making your face scrunch up and your eye's crinkle at the corners in a smile. Your legs tangled together and your arms were going numb, crushed between you and your boyfriends chard chest from the lack of options on where to put them.

"Your wings are so warm" you muttered nuzzling into his chest like a big cat, the thumping of his heart was steady and soothing and you matched your breathing to his without reasoning "are they? I never knew that" he sighed placing one hand against your head stroking your hair softly. "Yeah they're like a whole ass radiator connected to you" you said and he hummed in response. "A whole ass radiator?" he repeated teasingly and you snickered "a whole ass radiator" the confirmation made the two of you laugh slightly and keigo peeked out the window, the blinding white blurred from the frozen glass but as if waiting for it a frozen stalagmite fell from the ledge impaling the snow quickly. "Thank god we're not standing under those right now" keigo mumbled and closed the curtain again.

"I wish we could build a snowman or something" you sighed, leaning your head up again and wiggling to find comfort "yeah me too we could have- ow okay you just kneed me in the dick and I do not appreciate that" he wheezed his face burning red and eyes streaming tears "oh my god i'm so sorry I didn't even realise" you gasped kissing his face over and over as if it would alleviate some of the pain, you wiped the tears running down his face with your sleeve and buried your face in his chest. "y'could kiss it better" he teased earning a slap in the chest "KEIGO!" his chest vibrated and he squirmed.

"that feels fucking weird. Don't shout at my lungs what did they do to you?" he turned his face away like a dramatic character from a Shakespeare play and you rolled your eyes "I dunno but your still breathing so they have that to apologize for" keigo's mouth fell open in shock and his eye's rounded in amusement "i'm hurt" "no your not you liar" "I am truly in pain, I don't think I can go on" he clutched his shirt and said "just know I always loved you" then sank his head onto the pillow heavily his tongue lolling outside of his mouth.

You wailed loudly and dropped the back of your hand to your forehead "whyy! My one and only love, I'm sorry I never should have treated you so cruelly" your dramatization made the blonde laugh and you gasped "HE'S ALIVE!" the volume of your shouting was enough to have the neighbors bang on the wall in annoyance "SORRY MY BOYFRIEND WAS FUCKING DYING!" you shouted through the wall and rolled your eyes sinking back into keigo's chest and turning to your cheek rested against him instead. "Rude" you tutted and Keigo nodded in agreement, knocking his head against the headboard that banged against the wall annoying the neighbors further.

"Keigo I have a question" you lead the conversation and keigo panicked, what if you proposed, what if you asked him to propose, what if you wanted a dog, what if you wanted kids, what if you wanted food, oh god what if you wanted takeaway! With the snow building up to the letterbox he didn't imagine you would manage to get any takeaway to the house right now. Please don't want takeaway. "Do you like this house?" okay it's not takeaway "I think i'm content here but I wouldn't mind something new" he admit scratching the back of his neck and looking at the wall behind him "not a fan of the neighbors either" he stuck his tongue out and you chuckled drumming your fingers against his forearm.

"so I was wondering if you maybe, at some point it doesn't have to be now, and you don't have to make a decision right now but-" "spit it out princess, your stalling" he smiled stroking your cheek gently with his thumb and you sighed mumbling something under your breath earning a glower from your boyfriend. "Would you wanna move in with me? Eventually, If you want, you don't have to but I think it would be nice" you lowered your voice at the end.

Keigo laughed and kissed the top of your head "yeah I think that would be nice" he agreed and you grinned, a giddy feeling developing in your head and you wiggled in excitement. "If you keep wiggling your gonna create a problem you'll have to deal with" he smirked and you immediately stopped moving "I take back the proposition you can stay here with your horny ass." you tapped him on the nose sitting up and moving so you were straddling his stomach.

His wings couldn't wrap around you as well when you were sitting up so he dragged a blanket over your shoulders and tucked his wings back underneath him. "Could we get a bigger house? Maybe one with a nursery..." you trailed off. Fuck. there was the kid's question he was afraid of. Keigo figured he should ask the all important question soon, you had been dating for 4 years but keigo had never been so committed to a relationship before, maybe it was the abandonment issues or how his job filled up his life but you were special you were different. Maybe it was time for this conversation then.

"You want kids with me?" he asked in disbelief sitting himself up and sitting against the headboard analyzing you carefully like a trap "of course I want kids with you. Not right now but in the future i'd like kids" keigo had never come to terms with the idea of someone wanting to spend their life with him but as the snow fell caging you in he suddenly didn't mind more days like this. Talking and cuddling for the rest of time would be amazing but kids were scary to him, he wanted to be better than his father and he wanted to be there for his kids, pick them up from school and help them with homework but would his work get in the way?

"Kei I know you had an awful childhood, and I understand why you might feel... cautious about the idea of having children, but you are the only person I would even ever consider worthy of dating me never mind raising our kids" you comforted, kissing him softly placing your hand on his and squeezing tightly. "I just don't know if i'd ever be a good dad, i'm barely a good person, I literally just about function as a human" his eyes darted around the room for something to focus on but they kept landing on you. You were what he should focus on right now. "Baby you would be an amazing dad, a busy one yes, but an incredible one! And sure you're a little dysfunctional but so am I! Your an amazing person and I love you okay and if you don't want kids right now that's okay, we have all the time in the world-" "-we have until menopause" "we have until menopause"

He sighed and swallowed thickly "okay." he said curtly, nodding away to himself and pulling you in for a hug wrapped up by his wings. "Okay?" you raised your eyebrows and tilted your hand rubbing your cold hands up his back "I'd like kids eventually. But not right now I think I wanna marry you first" he sighed brushing your hair behind your ear and pulling you into a tight hug and crossing his fluffy wings behind you "y-you wanna marry m-me?" you stuttered and he laughed "of course I wanna marry you I just don't know your ring size yet and I didn't know if you want to marry me" he kissed your forehead and you smiled softly "of course I wanna marry you!" you exclaim wrapping your arms around him and barraging him with kisses across the bridge of his nose. "I'm glad because I wanna marry you too"

You lay there for a while longer just talking, it didn't matter what you talked about, you made a conversation out of it. "Can we PLEASE get a cat" you whined giving him your biggest puppy dog eyes but he remained stoic "we're not getting a fucking cat they just try to pull my feathers out and it's really annoying" he shook his head raising his palms to the sky "but they grow baack" you wiggled your arms and he chuckled and pet you on the head "i'm sorry baby it just really hurts and I don't wanna deal with that every day" he apologized and you sighed knowing you wouldn't get your way "what about a puppy then" "babyy"

You snuggled once again into his chest, filled with joy at the prospect of marrying keigo. "The snow isn't clearing up" keigo sighed knowing there wasn't much in his fridge right now "I don't have much to eat but I don't think I could get groceries right now" he tapped his chin and you popped your head up "to the kitchen we shall go and imma make the best damn meal we've ever had" you challenged yourself and keigo smirked "I could have you for dinner" he nuzzled into your neck and chuckled and you tutted tapping him on the head "Sorry baby you aren't a big enough portion size for me" you quickly jumped up dragging the blanket behind you like a cape and disappearing around the corner like the phantom of the opera. "My dignity" he lamented and strolled behind you.

You opened the fridge and immediately shut it again "you have chicken" "yep" "and only chicken" "yep" you smirked to himself and you sighed pinching the bridge of your nose and opening the fridge again and digging for something that resembled a meal. Eventually you had a chicken breast, a couple strips of prosciutto, various cheeses, flour, various spices, basil leaves, butter and olive oil. "Put a pan on with olive oil and butter will you love" you pulled out a chopping board and got to work butterflying the chicken breast "yes chef!"

You stuffed the chicken breast and basil and wrapped it back up in the prosciutto keeping it sealed together. "is the pan warm?" you asked, eating a handful of grated cheddar in the meantime and he nodded holding his hands over the pan for heat "OW okay rude" he pulled his hand off when freckles of oil jumped up and burned his hands. "Silly" you put the chicken in the pan and you jumped at the sizzling whirling behind hawks who folded his wings around you "it's okay baby don't worry" he said going full protection mode.

You served the meal and garnished it with basil and cheese skipping back to bed to eat the meal together. "Y'know this does look better than any KFC I've ever eaten" he praised and wrapped his wing around you turning on the tv that you only really needed for background noise as you usually talked over it anyway. "Hey kei" "yeah baby?" "I hope it snows like this all the time"

[tumbling-darkling]

Midnight Hang-Outs

This is a small crossover between Danny Phantom and DC! (Specifically Danny and Harley Quinn!) Following the prompts from Day 11 and 12 - Midnight and Scars (more of mentioned than revolving around it) Harley might be slightly ooc because I don’t read a lot of DC comics but maybe consider it more of like AU Harley Quinn. Mother hen. She feeds the vigilantes of Gotham on slow nights.

Harley glanced over to the boy sitting next to her on the rooftop of the Gotham Bank, she had been planning to break into it to draw out some fun with any nearby vigilantes but instead she had spotted the scrawniest looking glowing teen she’d ever seen. Well he was the only glowing teen she’d ever seen, but the poor kid was struggling against some freak in a white suit.

He had already devoured about 10 of the breakfast sandwiches she bought from a nearby 24 hour fast food joint, she couldn’t remember the name but her pal, Jeremy, always worked late shifts and gave her most of the grease filled wraps for free. Which she got a total of 20 and was beginning to worry that it wasn’t enough for this endless void. She thought she could calculate this kind of thing better based on Batsy’s kids, then again none of them had powers. That must be the factor throwing her off.

She glanced over him again, taking in his features for probably the hundredth time since she spotted him. White hair that gently wisped around his face like he was constantly underwater, pale blue-green skin with neon green freckles that sparkled like stars in the night, toxic green eyes that matched the freckles, flecks of blue hidden within the irises that shone in the right light. He hand pointed ears and little baby fangs, and his suit itself reminded her of the superheroes she’s faced before, but the material seemed all wrong when she got a closer look. It wasn’t spandex, or that thick armour like fibre that Batsy likes to use. She didn’t know what it was made out of. That flaming looking D was enough to hint at a superhero gig, like Superman and that ‘S’ on his chest. She didn’t care that it was supposed to be a symbol for hope, his name was Superman and that thing was an S, end of conversation.

The kid had taken off those gloves in order to eat, she didn’t blame him though, eating with gloves on was weird, and those white gloves would stain like a motherfucker. What caught her attention about it was the scars. Little one littered this kid's hands, and then there was a ligament scar coating his left hand. It was the brightest of all the scars, glowing slightly a wicked green as if he was still being electrocuted.

She turned her gaze back to the streets below, “So, what are you doing out this late?” She asked, avoiding sensitive topics like the scar. “It has to be way past midnight at this point.”

The kid glanced over to her, then shrugged, “had to chase Boxy all the way out here, the dude flies fast for a ghost obsessed in boxes.”

Harley glanced back over, noticing the kid now had finished the last of the sandwiches as he looked in the bag for more, shoving the garbage into it once he confirmed there was nothing left, “Boxy? Was that the freak in white?”

The kid shook his head, “nah, that was a government agent. G.I.W, or the Guys in White. Must’ve followed me, cornered me after I was already exhausted from chasing Boxy all over town. Boxy is the Box Ghost, blue ghost dude in overalls, fairly harmless but he can be a pain in the ass when he wants to be.”

“Want me to blow the rest of those agents up for you?” Harley asked, leaning closer while flashing a sinister grin.

The kid jerked back, “no! No it’s fine, just caught me off guard! I can handle them just fine, you don’t need to blow anyone up!” He squeaked out quickly, wildly waving his hands around. Harley couldn’t help but grin at the display, he reminded her a lot of Batsy’s kids. Energetic, good hearts (most of the time), think they can handle the world.

“So are you one of Batsy’s kids? Harley voiced her thoughts.

The kid blinked owlishly at her, “Batsy’s… you mean Batman? The Batman?”

Harley shrugged, “yeah, Batsy. He has quite a lot of them so I like to try and stay updated when he gets a new kid. You almost fit the bill, young teen, dark past, though the powers would be new.”

“How do you know I have a dark past?”

“Well, you said you were a ghost, right? Meaning you died and judging by your age, died before you even finished high school. I’d call that a dark past,” she kept out the lingering question of how he died, that wasn’t something you exactly ask someone when you first meet them. “So you aren’t one of Batsy’s kids?”

The kid shook his head, “nope,” he popped the p, “never even met the dark knight before. I barely visit Gotham, well anywhere if I can help it, I try to keep my problems in my home turf.”

“I see, you know what, I should’ve known better. Batsy would never let his kids run around this late anyway,” she hummed. “I did once see him chew a Robin out for fighting crime past his curfew, it got me arrested for sticking around to watch but boy was it worth it!” She laughed. She was surprised that Batman hadn’t gotten to this kid yet, anyhow. He didn’t always stick around Gotham ever since he joined that hero club, but that just meant that this dude had even more of a chance to find this kid. Must be dumb luck or something.

“Batman puts curfews on his sidekicks?” The kid asked, mouth agape.

“Well duh, the guy is all about the well-being of his kids. He has a no killing rule but he gets close to breaking it when one of his kids gets almost killed. He keeps them well fed, makes sure they sleep, I know because I can hear him from across rooftops at times and I fight enough of his kids to notice they aren’t skin and bones like you.”

The kid looked down at his ungloved hands, and she noticed him tracing the pattern of the ligament scar lightly with his other hand. His expression changed as he seemed to run through a series of thoughts before he spoke again, “why did you help me?” He asked, not looking up to meet her eyes, “you are a villain, right? You fight Batman and Robin, and other superheroes too if they face you. You know I’m not a villain, you said so yourself. So why help me? Wouldn’t it be better to just let a vigilante kid get knocked off so you don’t have to deal with him in future crimes?”

Harley felt her heart shatter, who the fuck hurt this kid like this? “I’m not some heartless bitch,” she said in a matter of fact tone, “you and all the teen sidekicks or vigilantes out there are still fucking kids. I have morals, and some villains don’t have the same morals as me, but seeing you getting kicked around by some freak in an alley where no one could see you? That kind of shit rubs me the wrong way. I fight teen heroes from time to time because I know they can handle it, they can fight back and I myself won’t stoop so low as to kill them if I manage to get in a few lucky hits.” She lightly nudged his shoulder, “and it’s not like you’ve personally wronged me or anything. I felt like being nice, helping out. You seem like a good kid, so why not help you out? Maybe one day I can call a favour and you can distract Bats while I kidnap the president?” She joked.

The kid looked up suddenly, sending his hair in rippling waves as he was giving her a wide eyed and the most worried look imaginable. She couldn’t help but let out another laugh, “I’m joking!” She clarified. “But I think we could have some pretty interesting game nights with Ivy. Not illegal game night, more like Uno or something. Maybe just a little gambling.”

The kid relaxed again, “well… uh… thanks. For helping me. And the food. And talking,” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at the sky.

“No problem, be sure to come visit again. Hey, maybe I can even introduce you to Bats at some point! Make a big show and pretend you are a villain and then BAM! Just kidding he’s just a glowing vigilante I helped out once!” She stood up, stretching her arms a little, “be sure to take it easy on your way to your home by the way, maybe take a nap or something on the way there.”

The kid nodded with a smile and stood up with her, then paused as shock filled his eyes and he spun quickly towards Harley, “Wait- how do you know I sleep-?”

Harley laughed, “well, I don’t think ghosts normally eat, so I’m assuming you sleep too,” she offered a soft smile, “just take it easy, and hey, if you ever find yourself in trouble.” Harley then pulled out a business card she usually kept for shits and giggles, handing over the poorly designed card to the kid, “know that you have a friend in Gotham who’s ready to help. And who knows how to get Batsy’s attention the fastest.” She winked.

The kid took the card, a confused grin tugging at his lips, “thanks. Hey, uh. I go by Phantom. Since I never really introduced myself.”

“Well Phantom, nice to meet you,” Harley grinned back.

[morporkian-cryptid]

Lupin III - The Castle of Cagliostro, and its extremely gay and romantic title scene

Hello everyone, this is your new installment of “Elliott rambles about her fandoms”!

Today I am going to be talking (well, mostly yelling) about the opening credits of Lupin III - The Castle of Cagliostro.

Because I’ve rewatched that movie almost two weeks ago, and I’m still going into a fit of hysterics every time I so much as think about it.

[Image description: Lupin and Jigen sitting in front of the Fiat, with a small nomad cooking space set up. It is night, Lupin is reading a map and Jigen is holding a pan above a small gas stove. The lighting is dim and comes only for the stove. The subtitles of the song lyrics read “My love for you burns”]

https://twitter.com/spacequeenemily/status/1118274079662977025?lang=en

This Twitter link is the only video of the title scene I could find online; the image quality is a bit low but at least it’s the full scene. Please watch it, I promise you won’t regret it.

Fair warning: long post with much capslock, very swearing.

Okay, so.

The lyrics of this song, Fire Treasure, go more or less like this (from the subtitles of the movie, which I assume are the official translation) :

I want to go with you, searching for happiness / No matter how hard the road or how the night may grow cold / I just want to wander on with you

Who else is there to comfort and hold / This lonely traveler when their heart grows cold? / Who else but you can make all my dreams come true?

Like a raging fire my love for you burns / All I want is for you to know how I feel / Make me your prisoner and never let go

(additional lyrics which are on the wiki but not in the title sequence)

You, who wander the wasteland  / I want to let you sleep / The shooting star is for you

I want only you to understand / This love of mine that blazes with flames / I'll clear away the enigmatic mist

You can find the official japanese lyrics here on the Lupin III fandom wiki.

Now this is a pretty basic love song, and we know most of the theme songs in this series are love songs and it doesn’t always mean anything (looking at you, Red Jacket opening theme). The music itself (without the lyrics) is used several times during the movie, especially in scenes with Lupin and Clarisse; and reused later in several movies involving similar dynamics.

But the only time the whole song, with lyrics, plays in The Castle of Cagliostro, it’s during the opening credits / title sequence. Aka, Lupin and Jigen’s road trip.

Yeah. This longing, yearning love song about a lonely traveler and the person who silently loves them and wants to follow them through all the troubles of the road and look for happiness by their side... Is played along with of a video of Jigen and Lupin traveling together.

And oh, if only it was just that...

It could have been two guys being bros, two friends having a fun road trip together. They could have shown the banter and playful fights between them that we see in the rest of the movie. But NO. THIS is what they gave us instead:

[The silhouettes of Jigen and Lupin sitting on and leaning against the Fiat, with a boat in the background and an orange sunset-like sky]

[the Fiat driving on a narrow bridge in the middle of an expanse of water glistening and reflecting the pink and purple sky]

[Lupin lying on his back in the grass, and Jigen sitting near him and cooking in front of a small portable gas stove, the Fiat parked next to them. It is night, and the gaz stove gives a soft glow, the only source of light in the picture.]

[Lupin sitting on the roof of the Fiat and Jigen standing left of it. They are waiting for a train with wooden wagons to pass. There are white flowers in the foreground on the right of the screen.]

[Night time, on a backdrop of dark blue sky with white stars. Lupin is sitting on the roof of the Fiat, lighting a cigarette (the Fiat itself isn’t in the frame). Jigen is standing near him, smoking a cigarette, with only his head visible. The subtitles of the song lyrics write “Make me your prisoner and never let go”.]

[The same scene from a different angle, the Fiat is now visible, with grass in the foreground, Lupin is seen from the back and Jigen from head to feet. The dark blue sky is fading into white at the bottom, suggesting sunrise.]

They could have given us a fun, “straight pals being bros” road trip. Instead, they decided to give us a soft, nostalgic ambiance, with orange and pink sunsets, the boys wistfully looking into the distance under a starry night sky, smoking cigarettes together in silence, with the soft glow of a shared meal around a campfire. THEY MADE THE CHOICE TO MAKE THIS AS FUCKING ROMANTIC AS POSSIBLE. THEY WILLINGLY MADE THAT DECISION.

We all know that this franchise’s subtext is not exactly subtle in establishing, to name just one obvious example, Jigen’s orientation (hum hum kabuki-related slang, hum hum bootleg playboy magazine, hum hum shameless flirting with burly soldiers).

But THIS. This isn’t a “I hate women” joke. This isn’t a two-second frame showing a bootleg gay pinup magazine. This isn’t a subtle parallel between Lupin’s relationships with Fujiko and with Jigen. This is the most OBVIOUS and EXPLICIT bit of subtext I have ever seen in this goddamn subtext-packed series. This is A FUCKING LOVE SONG, WITH THE WORDS “MY LOVE FOR YOU BURNS” EXPLICITLY IN IT, PLAYED ON A VIDEO OF JIGEN AND LUPIN ON A ROAD TRIP WITH THE MOST ROMANTIC AND SOFT VISUALS POSSIBLE. ONE MINUTE AND FIFTY FIVE SECONDS OF TYPICAL ROMANTIC SCENE WITH TYPICAL ROMANTIC VISUALS AND A FUCKING LOVE SONG.

This can’t be an accident. You can’t accidentally make a scene like this. I mean come on, “Like a raging fire my love for you burns, I just want you to know how I feel” with a panning shot of a starry night sky and Lupin and Jigen silently sharing a smoke? HOW DO THEY THINK WE ARE GOING TO INTERPRET THIS? IS THERE ANY OTHER POSSIBLE FUCKING INTERPRETATION THAN “JIGEN IS MADLY IN LOVE WITH LUPIN?“ NO THERE ISN’T. THERE FUCKING ISN’T.

They go and try to tell us that Lupin and Jigen are just friends, they give Jigen barely believable female love interests whom he has little to no chemistry with, they write Jigen getting angry when he thinks Lupin might be gay, and then they turn around and make THIS. FUCKING. TITLE SEQUENCE.

It kills me because IT’S CANON but also it’s not! They’re not stating that Jigen loves Lupin, they’re not confirming that they’re a couple, at no point in the 50 years of existence of this damn franchise has either of them explicitly declared that they were in love with the other, and that is most likely never going to happen. But this fucking scene exists. This fucking scene is CANON, and it’s technically still subtext, but it is the most OBVIOUS and IN YOUR GODDAMN FACE subtext EVER.

Disclaimer: I agree that most of the anime and movies’ (still relatively un-subtle) subtext can be disregarded or interpreted as platonic if you want, and I absolutely respect anyone’s desire to interpret them as platonic friends. All visions and interpretations can coexist. That being said, I’m sorry but for this specific scene I will not, ever, budge from the position that it is a fucking romantic love scene and that there is no other possible interpretation, I’m sorry but just FUCKING LOOK AT IT. LOOK AT IT AND TELL ME THIS ISN’T MEANT TO BE ROMANTIC. I DARE YOU.

This scene is just at the VERY LIMIT of explicitly stating Jigen and Lupin’s love. But it’s STILL NOT EXPLICIT. The song says “I love you” but neither Jigen nor Lupin does. The song on its own could relate to any number of characters (and in the rest of the movie it relates mostly to Clarisse, and more generally to all the girls Lupin leaves behind). The video without the music, while being very sweet and having a romantic vibe, could still be interpreted as a road trip between friends. And yet. AND YET. They made the conscious decision to put THAT SONG with THESE IMAGES. And to then “leave it to our interpretation”.

The Castle of Cagliostro was the second movie of the Lupin III franchise. It came out in 1979, not even ten years after the first episode of the anime aired. This is one of the establishing movies of the franchise, the one that propelled Lupin III on the international scene, the door through which generations of fans have been introduced to the series. A now iconic and unmissable pillar of the pop culture myth that Lupin III has become, a jewel of hand-drawn animation, produced by one of Japan’s most internationally well known animated movie director, future founder of one of its most iconic studios.

This isn’t a “blink and you’ll miss it” nudge in an largely forgettable TV special with weird chara designs and a plot created by writers seemingly on crack. This isn’t a subtle nod to long time fans and shippers like Part 5 did in 2018. This is the FUCKING TITLE SEQUENCE of the CASTLE OF MOTHERFUCKING CAGLIOSTRO by HAYAO GODDAMN MIYAZAKI. AND IT’S A LOVE STORY.

It’s been a week and a half, guys. And I still want to scream. I will never be free. Lupin and Jigen are in love and the world needs to know.

[alastanor]

In less than a week my feed has been plagued by the "hot takes" of entitled fans of the Hazbin and Helluva universe.

As a result, I know I promised some analytical information regarding what we know of Hazbin's version of hell thus far, which will be included in this post. But there will be some other things added as well to address some of the more frequently expressed "concerns" I have seen being (rather rudely) expressed in posts.

Some of the things I will be talking about in these posts, so while I will be utilizing quotes or things said in @total-mal 's very well articulated response post, I recommend going to read that response post in it's entirety. Like... now.

The complaints I tend to see typically fall along these lines.

So in this post I will be addressing these things and other things I typically see.

Story

As was very well put in the aforementioned post, the series of Hazbin barely has an hour of content. Yet for some reason people complain that it's a mess. How?

The Pilot itself is meant to establish the setting, who the characters are, what their relationships to each other are, establishing dynamic, and establish the premise of future story that is meant to follow. All of these things the pilot did exceedingly well. A pilot is NOT meant to drop dozens of hours worth of world lore and future plot points in one half hour segment. It is supposed to hook people into being interested in and watching the follow up episodes. Which, considering the rather quick cult following that preceded the pilot debut, I would say it did that and more even without the world lore dump people are demanding.

No story is going to give you every facet of the characters and the world they inhabit in the first episode or the first novel. No story worth it's weight in salt, that is. Any good story teller will tell you that content needs to be put on an IV drip as the story progresses, or else you will lose the majority of your audience's interest.

Helluva Boss is it's own standalone project set in the same universe as Hazbin, but it's job is not to provide lore for Hazbin. The kernel of lore we got from episode two was great. But that is very likely not going to be the norm every episode. Nor should anyone expect otherwise.

The comics were also their own projects, meant to strengthen an already existing narrative with Hazbin and establish both Angel and Alastor's motives for joining the Hotel. They are not meant to expand on the lore. Their existence could also very likely be overlooked by fans who only pay attention to what is popping up on Youtube or on their Twitter feed.

As for Addict, that began as a fan-created song Vivzie liked enough to animate into a music video which expanded on Angel and Cherri's relationship. It was not meant to be an entry to any Vivziepop Hell lore.

Hazbin is a story driven by its characters. This is why the characters are the focus and take up the majority of any screen time given to any entry of Hazbin. Mal puts it very well:

World

So this is where we will be getting into what we know so far about the world of Vivzie's hell.

So Vivzie's hell is, from what we understand, loosely based on Dante's inferno with other inspirations and deviations mixed in. For example, there are only seven circles of hell as opposed to 9.

In Dante's inferno only circle two through five are after the Seven Deadly Sins. Whereas in Vivziepop's version of hell, every circle is for one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

From what we understand so far, Pride is the top circle, or Ring. Sinners, AKA those who were alive prior to becoming demons, are only allowed to exist in Pride.

We do not know what "can only exist" means. As this doesn't imply that sinners can't leave Pride. Simply that they cannot exist anywhere else.

And also from what we understand, the big marker that differentiates each of the circles is the colors of the sky.

Pride, from what we have seen thus far, has a red sky.

While Greed has a green sky.

This is further confirmed on Twitter, however whether it was confirmed by Vivzie or one of the other official Twitters, I cannot recall.

Now, I know there are quite a few who keep asking this question.

And there are many who seem to think that this little detail means that the fact dump from official Twitters means the story and lore are ruined. This is actually false. Especially when you consider that Sinners are not a finite population. Nor is their influx a small trickle. So expanding Sinners into other parts of hell is only a temporary solution to a more overarching problem. It may slow down the necessity for purges, but it would also increase the number needed to be purged each time a purge was necessary. Further, it is doubtful that Lucifer would be keen on the idea of angels traveling deeper into Hell just as it is doubtful that he sees a reason to be exceedingly merciful to sinners- the creation he detests and is more or less what brought him to Hell to begin with. It also would erase any place to escape for Hell-born demons.

So in this regard, no. Nothing is ruined. People just aren't paying attention. The devil is in the details, after all.

As for what the difference is between circles and rings, perhaps this will shed some light.

Rings seem to be segments of a circle that separate sinners by the subcategory of their sin in each circle. Whether or not Vivziepop's version of hell follows this, I personally doubt it. Ring and Circle, from observation, seem to be used interchangeably. So the two could very well be the same thing.

The other bits we know are lore facts Vivzie has given previously that may no longer be true as the world exists now. For example, previously Alastor was scared of dogs. But more recently, Vivzie said that is no longer true and Alastor simply just does not like them. So any older facts should be taken with a grain of salt until they are reconfirmed.

Switching gears on the world, there have been complaints popping up that Vivziepop's hell is not "hell-y" enough because there is not enough fire and brimstone.

To take a phrase from total-mal once more, there are countless alternate depictions of hell as hell being other people instead of the place itself. The phrase exists from Sartre's No Exit, but has been revisited numerous times in other media depictions of hell to display that the definition of "punishment" can be broadened to a much larger spectrum than originally imagined.

In the Hazbin universe of Hell, punishment is the constant threat of physical and emotional harm from those around you, not unlike being in prison or living in a ghetto. You have the increased potential to be abused or taken advantage of if you show a moment's weakness.

And while some in the demon hierarchy might have it better than others, there is still the constant threat of being killed or overthrown by someone stronger or someone just wanting to prove themselves.

In the Hazbin universe of hell, you wear clues to your life, your sins, and your death on the outside for all to see (and in some cases, manipulate). You are thrust into a demon hierarchy one wrung up from the lowest class, unless you are lucky and strong enough to become an overlord. In which case, then you are two wrungs up from the lowest class. And your punishment is living every day with the constant threat of those around you. Of always needing to have your guard up because someone will take advantage of you or worse. That isn't even mentioning the annual threat of the purge.

Livestreams

This is another one that I see get mentioned and awful fucking lot in the complaint/concern/hot take posts.

There are always complaints about how the livestreams are useless, serve no purpose, or are just "jerkoff sessions." Mind, these same complaints almost always seem to come from the same people complaining about having no information about the show or having no lore surrounding the universe or the story.

Nevermind that Vivzie and the cast are all under NDA and cannot disclose much that isn't already known about the show and, where VAs are concerned, cannot do any voice lines that go beyond what has already been said in the pilot lines.

The Livestreams serve SEVERAL purposes, however. One of those purposes is to drum up interest surrounding Hazbin and Helluva, as well as to advertise and to disclose any lore that they have permission to disclose to the audience. Something to whet their appetites as they wait for the small Indie studio A24 to finish production of Hazbin's first season in the middle of a pandemic. Because that last bit people seem to forget is still ongoing.

Without those livestreams done by Viv and the cast, many of the impatient fans in this fandom would be practically breaking down the door on Vivzie's DMs demanding to know where Hazbin is or why she seems to have given up on it. Or at least, more than what is currently going on now anyway.

People need to calm down, let the Devs do their job, and pay more attention to the details given in what we have thus far. Vivzie has done a GREAT job at eluding to the bigger picture in her details. Particularly where her characters are concerned. And I for one am here for it.

[crit20art]

fuck it. jmart kid fic preview

Somewhere Else, 2027

The walk between work and home is always longer going than it is coming. Maybe it’s the fatigue. Maybe it’s some subtle undulation of space. There are things like that here, shimmering at the edges of Jon’s perception, dewdrop-spangled webs catching stray slips of this reality’s sunlight. They aren’t Hilltop tears, just threadbare stretches, places where this world rubs up against the next. Made it a prime candidate for the invasion of Fear, Jon supposes.

The thought sends a shudder through the tension of his upper back, and his jaw clenches, and-- fuck, he’s bitten the goddamn cigarette in half. “Blast it,” he hisses, and spits unceremoniously into the street. He gets a look from a passerby, and has to swallow back the urge to return a much eviler eye. 

He lights up as soon as he gets home. Leans out the window on his aching elbows, closes his eyes, and lets the smoke roll through him. The nicotine glitters around the crown of his skull, stimulating neural pathways that don’t get much exercise outside of this ritual. What did he used to do to feel alive?

Live, probably. 

He’s just tipping a second cig into his palm when knocking begins to resound through his flat. He stands straight and frowns at the dead-bolted door. While he (understandably, he thinks) has some unpleasant associations with knocking, this is not the ominous sort that he might have once feared; it’s light and fast and won’t give it a rest. Monsters have more restraint than that, he thinks. Probably some kid harassing him.

Grumbling like the old man he’s quickly becoming, he grabs his cane and snaps, “Alright, alright,” as he approaches the door. The knocking falters. He opens the door.

His own eyes blink back at him.

Jon drops his cane. It clatters to his faux-wood floor. He’s swaying, then; he goes proper dizzy, and only snaps back to full lucidity when his shoulder crumples into the door frame. He leans there, mouth agape, and blinks stupidly as the child on his doorstep stoops to pick up his cane. She holds it out to him. He stares at her.

She’s tall for her age. (Nine, he knows without Knowing.) Her warm brown cheeks are still soft with baby fat, and freckles crowd her nose. Wild hair wreaths her head and shoulders, controlled only by glittery barrettes tucked into the curly black jungle.

“Uh hi,” she says, and then she smiles. It’s a smile he knows better than his own, captured somehow on this child’s lips. Jon’s knees waver.

“Holy fuck,” he says.

Her smile falls, and she scrunches her nose at him. The gesture is so familiar that Jon thinks he might pass out.

“Uh--” Jon tries to stand upright, but he just staggers and sinks back against the door jamb. “You-- How-- you’re--”

“Are you gonna fall down?” she asks.

“A-almost certainly,” says Jon. She stretches her arm and shakes it a bit, bringing his attention to the cane she’s still offering him. Finally, he makes himself take it. “You’re. I, uh. Um.”

“I’m Aamal,” she says. 

Ah. There it is. Jon’s knees give.

He slumps to the floor, startling the child’s brown eyes saucer-large. Before she can react further, Jon gasps, “How- h-how are you here?”

“I followed the black ribbons,” she says. 

Flashes of magnetic tape tangle across Jon’s memory, as clear to him today as they were nine years ago, when the noose of them cinched tight around everything he loved. 

“They… ah. Right.” Jon lifts a shaking hand to his face, as if touching something real will steady him, and stares at his guest. His--

His daughter.

“Yes, um,” he whispers, shaking, “H-hello… Aamal.” Her name feels small and sacred on his tongue, fragile as a dissolving wafer. How unworthy he is, to say it. “You’re, uh. Y-you’re- you’re here.” His hand skitters up through his hair, displacing combed-back licks of grey over his forehead. “H-how- how- how did you find me?”

And Aamal says, very matter-of-factly, “I saw you in my dream.”

Jon inhales so sharply that he almost chokes. “Your--?”

“My dream,” Aamal confirms, and bounces on her heels. “I have it every night. I thought it was a bad dream at first, because it was so scary? Like, the world was angry and hungry and I knew it wanted to eat me up while the sky watched. But then I realised that wasn’t gonna happen, because my daddies were there with me, and they’d keep me safe.”

Jon covers his mouth again. Teardrops slip over his fingers.

“You are my daddy, right?” Aamal asks, her cheeriness shrinking to something timid, little hands fluttering together nervously. “That’s how it felt in the dreams.”

“Uh- y-yes? I-- yeah. Yeah.” Fingertips still trembling against his lips, it occurs distantly to Jon that it’s probably time for him to pull himself together and try to offer some kind of comfort to the child who, regardless of whatever uncertainties surround her, has definitely hopped dimensions to be here. Gritting his teeth, he gets his cane under him and forces himself to slide back up the doorframe, then takes a few moments to catch his breath.

“Yes,” he says, finally, when he knows the words will come out steadily. “I, uh. I-I’m your father. My name is, uh, it’s Jon. Jonathan Sims. Um. You can- just- you can call me that.”

“Okay, That.” Aamal grins very widely and looks at him with expectant eyes.

“Oh,” says Jon, after an embarrassingly long pause. “Ha. Yes, uh. Call me ‘That,’ right. Um.” He takes a deep breath, and it punches back out of him in a nervous, awkward chuckle that would make most adults uncomfortable. Aamal just beams, and seems proud to have got a laugh out of him. “Well- no sense having this discussion in the hall, is there? Uh, do- do come in.” He stands aside and gestures at the dim, sparse interior of his flat. He does not blame Aamal for the hesitation that precedes her entering. Reflexively, Jon leans out into the hall and squints one way, then the other. Satisfied, at least, that no one is lying in wait, he shuts and bolts the door. 

He turns, and finds for the first time since he signed for this flat that he is not alone in it. His daughter stands in the middle of his thrifted rug, her hands buried in the pockets of her dungarees and her freckles pinched together by her scrunched nose.

She’s here. She’s right here.

“It stinks in here,” she says.

Jon laughs. It’s hoarse and stale, bitten back the moment he realises how wrong it sounds. He clears his throat. “Yes, ah. Smoking’s a nasty habit.” He glances at the pack of cigarettes abandoned on his windowsill, and feels an odd twinge of guilt in his longing for a puff to steady himself. He looks back at Aamal, who has begun to make a circle of the room, touching his shelves, poking at the clutter that always builds up despite his best efforts.

“Um,” says Jon. Aamal doesn’t look at him. She’s shuffling through his books, the little divot between her brows settling deeper as she considers each second-hand paperback. 

Jon clears his throat. “Do you, uh, like to read?”

Aamal turns her frown on him, mouth a squiggle of confusion. “Did you cut out all the eyes?”

Ah. 

“I, uh. Well- uh.” He picks at the ragged grip of his cane. “That’s-- it- it hardly matters right now,” he manages, exhaling raggedly. Aamal opens her mouth, but he seizes what momentum he’s collected and asks, “Are you here alone? Where’s- do you still know Georgie and Melanie?”

Aamal forgets the books instantly, her face lighting up at the names. “You know Mummy and Mellie?”

“Mum- and--? Oh! Oh, they.” His throat feels like it might close up. “They raised you, then.”

“Yeah, they’re my mums.” Aamal wanders past Jon and drops onto his couch, gasping a squeak when the cushion sinks lower than she was apparently expecting. She wriggles for a moment as if trying to get comfortable. “Do you have any snacks?”

Whiplash-stricken, Jon flounders for a few moments before saying, “Maybe?”

Aamal’s brow drops like she doesn’t find that very promising, but she hops up from the couch and makes a beeline for his tiny kitchen. She’s sticking her head into his fridge before he plucks up enough lucidity to follow her.

“Do you like, ah--” What do kids like? What did he like as a kid? “Uh, how about a sandwich?”

“Sure,” says Aamal. She pulls her preferred makings, then rests her elbows on the counter and her chin in her hands, and watches Jon assemble. A long-lost hope flutters at the edge of Jon’s memory, a future he’d once imagined: a little face looking up at him, a meal to be prepared, a solid presence at his side, stolen kisses that might make their daughter stick out her tongue and make gross-out noises in the way of children too young to know how rare and precious it is for their parents to love each other so easily.

“Does your hand hurt?” Aamal asks.

Jon comes back to himself. He blinks down at his hands; habitually, he’s only using the one, letting the other rest half-curled on the counter. “Ah. No, n-not today.”

Aamal stares for a moment, then draws a sharp breath and looks Jon in the eye. “Sorry!”

Jon lifts a brow. “What? Why?”

“It’s rude to ask about scars,” Aamal informs him, and something in her intonation sounds so like Georgie that it twists up Jon’s stomach in an odd amalgamation of fondness and loss. 

“Ah- well, as a general rule, maybe. But it’s alright.” He clears his throat, then stretches his burned hand with a small wince at its stiffness. Aamal watches his shaky fingers unfurl, and her eyes are intent, and maybe he’s imagining it, but… there’s a kindness there, he thinks. He tries not to think of other kind brown eyes, of other gazes falling so gently on his scars. “It hurts less than it used to,” he says softly. “I’ve had it since… lord, about a year before you were born, actually. Eleven months, almost to the day.”

At that, Aamal’s eyes grow wide. “Oh! Did you have me? Like, when I was born?”

“Oh! Uh, n-no, that wasn’t me.” Jon pulls his hand back, feeling very suddenly out of his depth. “Your, uh- did Geo-- did your mums tell you about that?” 

“Yeah. They told me that before they adopted me, my parents were two boys, but I wasn’t confused or anything. I know all about genders,” she says, with all the confidence of a tenured professor. Then she looks around, as if suddenly noticing an absence. “Wait, where’s my other daddy?” She turns back to Jon, and he’s struck by the worst urge to look away. “Will he be back soon?”

Jon meets her hopeful eyes, and for the first time in years, actually feels the wound yawning wide in his chest, deeper and bloodier than the scar through his heart has ever been. 

“No,” he says, very softly. Aamal’s face falls, her brows drawn in question. Jon can’t look at her. He stares at his good hand, knuckles yellowed by his grip on the edge of the counter. 

“He, uh.” He swallows. It goes down like rocks. “He’s not coming back.”

“Why?” Her voice is high, pinched with a note of anger. Unbidden, Jon chokes out a small, miserable laugh.

She sounds just like Martin.

“Because,” he says, raw, both hands shaking now, “I messed up very, very badly.”

thanks for reading this lil preview!! i’m almost finished with ch 1 and planning to publish on ao3 next week. it’s gonna alternate between the present and the past, told through Jon’s POV post-200, and Martin’s POV throughout season 4/5. 

[silhouetteofacedar]

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch.3: Jesus Is A Pisces

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder has forgotten Scully’s birthday every year but one. Actually, make that two now, since this year he’s determined to make the day special for her somehow. He’d asked her casually what her plans were, and she admitted that outside of a lunch with her mother and some church friends on Sunday the 22nd, she didn’t really have any intention to celebrate.

“It’s been a rough couple months,” she’d explained softly, and that’s all he needed to hear.  She’d gained and then buried a daughter within a few days’ time over Christmas, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know how she managed to stay sane after that, and if he thought about it for too long the waves of powerlessness and guilt that rolled over him were debilitating.

So instead he focused on what he could do.

“You wanna do something after work on Monday? I promise to be as un-festive as possible,” he offered.

She looked uncertain, licked her lip. “Just us?” she asked.

“Just you and me,” Mulder assured her, the words giving him a tiny, shameful thrill.

She was quiet for a moment. “Sure,” she said finally.

Come Monday, February 23rd, it’s business as usual in the basement office. They finalize their reports from the previous week’s case, wrangle their receipts, argue over who broke the stapler (It was him, she insists; while he claims she jammed the staples in and made it impossible to use properly).

At three minutes to five o’clock, she clears her throat softly as she gathers her things, and he can feel her preparing to speak.

“Yeah, Scully?” he murmurs.

“We still on for tonight?” she asks, sounding almost cautious, and his heart fractures.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he confirms, leafing through a file. “Be sure to bundle up.” He looks up at her and gives her a reassuring grin.

She looks happy and… relieved? Huh.

“Well, I’ll see you then,” she says, shrugging on her coat as she leaves.

Mulder smiles at the door as it clicks shut behind her. He’s unusually giddy about what he has planned for the evening.

Over the weekend he had gone to the grocery store since his refrigerator was barren, then camped out in his building’s laundry room all day Sunday washing every blanket he owned. He even stopped at the little bakery around the corner from his apartment, purchasing a single chocolate cupcake and a loaf of rye bread.

After work he packs his car with a cooler, a duffel bag, a large thermos of coffee, and a pile of blankets.

He’s surprised to see that she’s waiting for him on the steps of her apartment, wearing a heavy jacket and thick turtleneck sweater.

“I got too hot wearing all this inside,” she explains, climbing into the passenger seat. She seems almost excited, and he strangely wants to cry. God, he’s so fucking glad he had the balls to invite her out again.

“Where are we going, Mulder?” Scully asks.

“It’s a surprise,” he replies.

Seven minutes and three wrong turns later, he reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out the map, handing it to her. “Rock Creek Park, please, Navigator,” he says.

“Aha! I thought the route we were taking seemed… circuitous,” Scully says with a smirk, unfolding the map.

“Just tell me where to go; I don’t need a running commentary,” he gripes, secretly relishing her needling.

In about twenty minutes, they arrive at the park’s nature center. Mulder pulls into the lot next to the field across the road and cuts the engine.

“We’re here?” Scully asks, looking around. “It’s deserted. Mulder, please don’t tell me we’re ghost hunting,”

“Ghosts? No,” he says, climbing out of the car and going around to the trunk. “Help me with some stuff?”

Scully comes around to the back of the car, where Mulder hands her the cooler and thermos. He slings the duffel bag over his shoulder and gathers up the pile of blankets. “Close the trunk, will you, Scully?” he says, walking towards the field. “My arms are full.”

They trudge out to the middle of the field, cold winter air biting their cheeks. Mulder stops abruptly and drops the blankets onto the ground in a heap.

“We’re here,” he announces, setting down the duffel bag. He picks up a heavy wool blanket and spreads it out on the grass.

Scully sits down on the blanket, cooler and thermos beside her. “What exactly are we doing out here, Mulder?” she asks.

“Well first, we eat,” he replies, reaching for the cooler. He opens it and pulls out two waxed-paper parcels, handing one to her. “Pastrami on rye,” he announces. “I went a little crazy with the mustard on one of them, we can trade if you want.”

“You made these?” she asks, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite. “Oh my god,” she groans. “Mulder, you’ve been holding out on me. This is delicious.”

The satisfaction in her voice makes him flush. “It’s pretty hard to mess up pastrami.”

“True,” she agrees, “but I was starting to doubt you could even make food. Your refrigerator is usually pretty sparse.”

Mulder shrugs, opening the thermos of coffee and pouring her a cup. “Cooking for one doesn’t hold much appeal,” he explains.

“Mm,” she agrees around a mouthful of sandwich, taking the proffered cup. “So Mulder, tell me; is there a reason we’re having a picnic in the dark?” She eyes the duffel bag beside him suspiciously.

“I’m glad you asked,” he replies, unzipping the bag and pulling out a tripod. “You know anything about constellations, Scully?”

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. He already knows.

“A thing or two,” she replies casually, clearly attempting to hide the smile sneaking across her mouth as she eats.

“Well that’s good, seeing as I lugged this telescope and a star map all the way out here,” he says, pulling the telescope case out of the bag.

Scully is enraptured, and Mulder thinks this might be the best thing he’s ever done for anyone.

“I haven’t done this in years,” she says, peering through the eyepiece as she adjusts the telescope’s position. “Not since…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to. He remembers her telling him once, on a long car ride to some anonymous, unremarkable town, about stargazing with her father when she was a child. Captain Ahab and his Starbuck, navigating the night skies by way of celestial markers.

The temperature’s dropping, and Mulder drapes the ratty tribal weave blanket from his couch around her shoulders as she searches the heavens.

“You want a turn?” she asks, drawing back from the telescope for a moment.

He shakes his head, plops down on the blanket and gazes at her instead.

They could be astronauts together, sailors of the stars. Dropping anchor in pools of the Milky Way, swimming through constellations and running their fingers through glittering strands of nebulae.

“I’m good,” he replies softly.

“Mulder?” Scully says from under a pile of blankets.

They’re lying on their backs now, side by side, eyes on the sky. Waiting for a meteor, or a passing satellite, or for God to wave hello.

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Do you give any credence to astrology, or is that too close to religion for you?”

“I appreciate its historical and cultural significance,” he replies. “Beyond that, I can’t say I have much of an opinion on it. Aren’t you a Pisces?” he asks, as though he doesn’t already know that she is, and that he’s a Libra, and that the shitty magazine he picked up in the dentist’s office says they’d be a tumultuous but passionate match. Not that he gives horoscopes any weight.

Passionate, though…

“I am. And I’m inclined to agree with you, though astrology’s link with early Christianity is fascinating. For example, did you know that Jesus is linked to Pisces? His birth coincides with the dawning of the astrological Age of Pisces, which spans from 1 AD to the year 2150. There are many scriptural references to fishermen, and early Christians used the fish symbol as a sign of their faith.”

“Huh,” he says, tucking a blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

“I don’t believe that the stars dictate my temperament, by the way,” Scully continues. “But there’s something beautiful about having a constellation in the sky that corresponds with your own birth. Missy knew more about this stuff,” she say wistfully. “She’d read me my horoscope every morning before school while we brushed our hair or whatever, in the bathroom where Mom couldn’t hear. It was fun,” she says with a sigh.

“Do you think she’s out there, in the stars?” Mulder asks and immediately regrets it. He didn’t mean the question to sound flippant.

Scully takes it in stride. “Is it crazy if I say maybe? There’s… there’s things I’ve seen and heard, Mulder, that I can’t explain. Who am I to say how God operates? Maybe He’s laid the stars out like a map for us to read. That’s probably wishful thinking, but life would be a hell of a lot simpler if everything was dictated by heavenly bodies.”

“Better that than by governing bodies,” Mulder agrees.

Their eyes drift along the razor-sharp curves of the crescent moon.

“My mom wants to set me up with one of her church friends’ sons,” Scully says without preamble.

“Huh,” Mulder replies, tracing Orion with his eyes. “Let me guess; he’s a dentist.”

“Emergency physician, actually,” she replies. “He’s nice.”

Mulder suddenly feels the weight of gravity pressing him down to earth. He can feel the rotation of the planet under his back, spinning him at a thousand miles an hour. “You’ve met him?” he asks.

“Yesterday, at lunch,” Scully replies. “He’s a widower, with a six-year-old daughter. I think… I think my mom thinks we could help each other.”

Mulder’s stomach churns, a facsimile of seasickness rolling through his body. “What do you think?” he asks, voice oddly hoarse. “Do you… agree with her?”

Scully pulls the blanket higher under her chin and sighs. “I don’t know, Mulder. I’m thirty-four today, and my career runs my life. I’m not sure how many chances at a family will come my way in the future. It’s not ideal, but maybe I’m past the point of getting to choose.” She pauses. “I’m sorry, I’m being fatalistic.”

Despite the near-freezing temperature, he’s got a cold sweat forming on his back. “You can always choose, Scully. As far as I see it. It’s-it’s important to me that you know that.”

She rolls onto her side, snaking a hand out of the blanket to prop herself up on her elbow beside him. “Mulder, I know you blame yourself for the things that have happened to me. But they’re not your fault.” He opens his mouth and she interrupts him before he can speak. “Don’t argue with me. It’s my birthday.”

He’s grateful for a change of subject. “That reminds me,” he says, sitting up and reaching over to open the cooler.

He pulls out a small pink bakery box and opens it to remove a single chocolate cupcake with a candle stuck in the middle. He digs a lighter out of his coat pocket and gives it a flick, igniting the candle.

“Happy birthday, Scully,” he says sheepishly, holding out the cupcake.

The single flame shimmers in her eyes as she takes the dessert. “Mulder,” she says softly, in a tone that makes his heart turn to liquid. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

“Just make a wish and blow the candle out before the wind does it for you,” he replies. There’s only a bit of a breeze but he’s not taking any chances. She deserves a wish.

Her eyes fall closed, and she sighs contentedly, no doubt formulating her request. Suddenly she opens her eyes and locks her gaze with his over the flickering candle, and Mulder feels a thousand words rumbling in him like an approaching avalanche.

Before he can say anything she purses her lips and extinguishes the lone flame with a breath.

She pulls the candle out of the cupcake and pops the end into her mouth, licking off chocolate frosting, and Mulder thinks he might die right there on a blanket in Rock Creek Park. He’s been so good, keeping his feelings to himself, but in this moment his only thoughts are that he loves her and wants her; no, needs her. He needs to touch her, taste the icing on her lips, map the constellations of freckles hiding beneath her sweater. Shake the winter chill out of his bones, letting the flames of her red hair lick across his skin and light his whole body on fire.

She’s saying something to him, biting into the cupcake, chocolate crumbs falling onto the blanket.

“Hm?” he asks, returning to terra firma.

“I asked if you wanted a bite,” she reiterates.

Yes, his body responds. Please please please-

“It’s yours,” he says as a declination.

“Therefore it’s mine to share,” she declares. She holds it out to him, and his stomach flutters as he leans in and takes a bite. He thinks of his parents’ faded wedding photos, of them feeding each other cake in black and white.

Don’t date the doctor guy, he pleads silently as he chews. Stay with me. Show me galaxies.

She falls asleep on the car ride home with one of his blankets tucked around her, the car’s heater cranked all the way up. When he parks in front of her building she stirs, likely awoken by the sudden cessation of warm air on her feet.

“Scully,” Mulder says softly, “We’re home.”

“Mmm,” she responds. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” he answers, glancing at his watch. “Can you walk or should I carry you up?” The question feels faintly suggestive, and he’s only being so bold because she’s drowsy and likely not registering the subtext.

“I can walk,” she says, sitting up and removing the blanket. Her hair is a fuzzy red halo in the glow of the streetlights.

“I’ll go with you,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Make sure you don’t pass out on your way up.”

“Thanks,” she yawns. “I don’t know why car rides make me so drowsy,” she says. “It’s like I’m five years old again.”

“Or it’s hypothermia,” Mulder suggests jokingly. “It got pretty damn cold out there.”

“Winter night picnics aren’t the most practical, it’s true,” she says. “But the blankets and coffee were a good idea.”

When they reach Scully’s apartment door she turns to face him. “Thank you for this,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

He smiles softly at her. “Happy birthday,” he replies.

He’s mentally debating giving her a hug when she reaches out and pulls him in gently, arms looped around his waist. He wraps his arms around her and drops a light kiss to the crown of her head.

It’s over way too soon.

“Goodnight,” she says. “See you tomorrow.”

If he says anything else to her before she slips into the apartment and closes the door, he doesn’t remember it. His feet are firmly on the ground, carrying him out of her apartment building and back to his car, but his head is far above the atmosphere, adrift in space.

He’s so in love he feels as though he’s running out of air.