#i just feel so lost after realizing i ripped apart of my soul out by leaving you

[fleastinger]

#if i told you i could not fall asleep on your birthday could you believe me? #that i slept in the jamaica shirt? #i have no idea if that was your gift to me or if it was for my uncle or someone else #i have your shot glass that you so haphazardly gave to me #but tbh i was such a coward i couldnt bear to touch and give out all of your gifts #it feels wrong. a reminder that I fucked things up with us #i dont even know what i want anymore or if i can get through this #i feel so alone wallowing at the current state of things #im constantly short of money and overspending like crazy #i keep thinking about the guilt of it all and the knowledge that you wouldn't be so happy hearing from me if you knew what happened #and what i continue to do #i just feel so lost after realizing i ripped apart of my soul out by leaving you #and knowing that i did something that had broken it beyond repair if i didnt go #just. hoping your year is better #and now i cant stop thinking of the ways i freely gave my love to you without thinking #how we shouldve been serious sooner and that i couldve been with you if i was better #better at controlling myself or better at admitting that i was struggling #oh my sweet...it doesnt even matter the little things like my sex drive being higher than yours #or the fomo id have about not doing things when you let me socialize and would join/invite me to things #its hard to confront giving my niece a gift from you and face the fact that the trip wouldve made me open up #i was just. too cowardly to let go of my ex.

[myfavoritesstuff]

So there was this dialogue about Z's choice of dress, pointing towards the "weird body modifications to his teeth" and y/n said she wonders, "if they hurt?" I knooow she might've meant it must have been painful for him to get his teeth like that but, what if we took it the other way? What if she unconsciously voiced this thought in another situation? Would they really hurt? A neck bite? Smut please.

Embrace of Shadows

Pairing: Z (from Favor) x Reader

Prompt: How did it lead to this? Being curious leads to something more.

Note: This is a smut! I hope I understood this request correctly. Sorry if I didn’t, but either way, I had a lot of fun writing this. Please read all the way through, it gets better, I promise! NOT PROOFREAD

I wonder if they hurt…

"Curious, aren't you?" Z's voice was a whisper, “why do you stare at my teeth?"

You blushed, realizing you had been caught. "I apologize," you stammered. "It's just...they're so different. I've never seen teeth like yours."

Z tilted their head, studying you with eyes that seemed to pierce their very soul. "Sharp teeth are a necessity for survival," they said. "For feeding. For protection."

Your heartbeat quickened. "Would it hurt?" they blurted out. "If you were to bite me?"

Z's lips curved into a half-smile. "Ah, the curiosity of mortals," they murmured. "You wonder about pain, about pleasure. About surrender."

Your mind raced. They hadn't meant to reveal such thoughts, but now the question hung in the air like a forbidden fruit. "Would it?" You pressed, their heart now pounding in their chest.

Z got up from the opposite side of the table and stepped closer, their breath cool against your skin. "Pain and pleasure," they whispered. "Two sides of the same coin. To be bitten by a demon is to dance on the precipice of both."

Your heart still pounded. You should run, flee from this dangerous allure. But something held you in place—the pull of forbidden desire, the thrill of surrendering to the unknown.

And then Z's lips brushed against your neck, and all rational thought fled. Their teeth sank into your flesh—not cruelly, but with a hunger that ignited every nerve. Pain flared, then melted into something else—an ache that bordered on ecstasy.

You gasped, your fingers tangling in Z's hair.

You could feel Z start to bite a little harder, starting to drink from them, drawing sustenance from their life force, and you surrendered willingly, lost in a dance of pleasure and pain.

When Z finally pulled away, You swayed a bit, dizzy and sated. Their neck bore twin punctures, a mark of Z's possession.

“Z…” You let out a soft whisper.

“Y/n…” his voice was deep. Your breath caught in your throat as Z pressed their body closer to yours. Z’s touch ignited a fire within you that threatened to consume everything.

“Y/n” they whispered, “keep your eyes on me, okay? I only need you to see and think only of me.”

A devilish smirk made its way onto their face. “You think you can do that, darling?”

Swallowing, you nodded. Their smirk turned into a small smile. “Good because after tonight, I won’t ever let you go or see anyone else with those precious eyes of yours.”

Z’s words made you feel warm inside. You never had someone talk to you this way before. Your thoughts were interrupted by Z speaking once more.

“I’m going to be taking what’s mine now. I hope you’re up for a few rounds.”

Your face flushed at their words, yet you did not stop them when they grabbed you by the arm and turned you around so you were facing the table. Their claw-like nails then proceeded to rip your clothing apart, leaving you exposed for them to see.

While the air was cold, your body felt hot. Just imagining the things Z could do to you made you feel excited. Z then began to strip themself of their own clothing. Once fully striped you could feel them start to trace their fingers along your body. You shivered as Z’s fingers started to travel lower.

“I want to taste you so badly”. As they said that, they kneeled down with one hand pushing you down so your ass was spread for them.

Their fingers made their way down to your hole, and started circling it. You gasped as they then stuck their forked tongue into your hole, stimulating the area inside. You grasped onto the table, as your legs started to shake from the pleasure you felt. Their tongue worked wonders as all you could do was grip onto the table.

Z seemed to notice this, for they suddenly pulled themselves away from your hole, stood up and turned you around. They then started to passionately kiss you and their hands made their way under your legs, signaling you to wrap yourself around his waist.

Your mind was in a haze. All you could focus on was him. Suddenly you felt something around your hole once more. As you felt them slip in, your immediately clenched around them. Groaning in response to you, they gripped hard on your legs, making you gasp.

They took this opportunity to slip their tongue into your mouth, making its way around your own tongue and to the back of your throat.

You slightly gagged on it but didn’t mind as you were overcome with an immense amount of pleasure.

Their thrusts hadn’t helped either as their hips angled themselves to hit a certain spot inside. Feeling the way their cock spread you open had you moaning their name. It was almost as if they were shaping your inside to the shape of them.

Your eyes rolled back as you felt an intense sensation wash over you. Moaning out their name again, you felt yourself come down from your high. Z however did stop, in fact; they kept going and increased their pace, trying to reach what you felt moments ago.

Whining from overstimulation you placed your head on their chest, letting them continue with their pace until they eventually reached their end. And it wasn’t long after until Z did. However once they were finished, you could feel a trail of their cum going down your leg.

You heard them make a sound of displeasure as they started thrusting back into you pumping the cum back into your hole. You gasped as you groaned from the pleasure that started to build up again, and you gently grabbed onto his shoulder.

“I hope you weren’t thinking that I was done with you, cause I told you that we were going for a few rounds.”

#favor vn #visual novel #vn #z favor #x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #favor fanfic #favor fanfiction #fanfic smut #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #favor smut

[mushroommanstan]

Why do you distract me so?

Warnings: cumming untouched, lewd noises

Shigaraki x reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shigaraki sighed. You know, dark souls was already hard enough, but it was like you had a subconscious destiny to make hard things even harder (wink wink).

He just couldn’t concentrate over the noises you were making, the soft moans and whimpers as you shifted under the covers, a light blush adorning your already beautiful face. He couldn’t take it! He was physically trembling from the restraint not to go over there and fuck your throat raw. But… it took sooo looong to get this far, he had spent the last 3 hours binging this stupid game, preparing for the boss fight and he couldn’t just turn back now because of his intense libido.

So his fate, unfortunately, was to sit here and listen to you toss and turn in euphoria. And the worst part about it, apart from him sucking ass in his game right now, is the fact that he was about to cum untouched from just your moans. His face burned in shame, but to be fair, he hadn’t had all that much experience with this kind of stuff. He spent his entire adolescence fighting back those urges so he could focus on training, so now any kind of sexual temptation sends his hormones haywire.

You moaned again, this time a little louder and ending with a cute whimper, causing his hips to buckle. Fuck everything about you makes his cock strain. He couldn’t help it, just the sound of your voice was driving him crazy. It was so angelic but in no way innocent, it was the voice of a goddess.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize his character was about to die until a monsterous roar ripped him back to reality. He was so fucked, if he didn’t use every shred of concentration he could manage, he would have to start all over-

“~Aaah, Tomura~”

“Hnng” Tomura seized up, curling in on himself as he came in his pants. A dark spot grew bigger and bigger in wet spurts, and deep pants was all he could manage as he succumbed to the embarrassing pleasure.

The ever despairing death music filled the room, breaking his post orgasm bliss. He groaned, goddamn it. He looked over at your sleeping form. Oh, when you woke up you were going to pay.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ok so, this was originally an ask, but after it was deleted I couldn’t get the request back so, just, know that this was a request… my first one actually…

Also, I don’t know dark souls, I’ve never played it, never seen it, so feel free to point out any and all inaccuracies in this fic

#my hero academia #shigaraki tenko #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki fluff #my hero academia shigaraki #shigaraki smut

[sigritandtheelves]

All Along, Like Fire (Part 2)

Read Part 1

R | 1.8k words | MSR, AU

Summary: What if Mulder had been married to Diana Fowley when Scully joined the X-Files?

A/N: I think one more part after this… again, assuming it doesn’t get out of hand, lol.

—

October, 1994

Fox Mulder did not react the way Diana anticipated. She watched him crumble from the inside, watched him throw himself into fire and rail screaming against the night. This wasn’t just guilt and devotion, she realized. It was love: hot and soul-deep in a way she didn’t think he’d ever felt for her.

The thought burned acidic in her gut.

It was never a lie when she told him she loved him. She did, with all of herself that was able to love. There was just so much she couldn’t tell him, that he wouldn’t understand. Dana Scully might have been “good,” but such a position was relative, and to think her goodness more pure was naïve. On the deeper scale of history, wasn’t saving the human race better? Wouldn’t advances in genetics, and these future children, be the key to survival some day?

Diana looked down over her medical mask at the red-haired woman, petrified but immobilized, on the metal gurney. She dare not speak, lest the other woman recognize her voice, but she placed a hand on Scully’s arm—whether to comfort or reassert her own power, she wasn’t sure. Both, perhaps.

Now you’re a part of this, she thought.

Diana could tell the other woman wanted to scream, but the intravenous paralytic kept her from moving, tied her voice down in her throat, even as her belly distended for the hyperovulation.

We’ll be the same, she thought. They’ll have your future, too.

And when Scully died, whether from this procedure or the cancer that would inevitably follow, Mulder would be broken. Diana would be there waiting for him with open arms and open ears.

—

November, 1994

Scully was soft and fragile and freckled, teetering just this side of life and no memory of where she’d been. Mulder returned her cross to her: a symbol of both her faith and his, though not in the same things. When darkness came and her mother and sister had gone, he wielded his badge to reach her floor and stole back in when the night nurse took a break—even if Scully were sleeping, he needed to see her.

But she wasn’t sleeping. She was deep in thought with a reading lamp on, fingers clasped around the necklace on her chest. She looked up at the sound of the door.

“Hi,” he said.

She smiled at him, and he felt dizzy for a moment at the sober cobalt of her eyes.

“Did you sneak in?”

He frowned. “I don’t sneak, Scully. I deftly maneuver.”

She gave a slow nod of humoring agreement.

“Are you feeling okay? I was just going to sit for a minute and then sne— maneuver my way out.”

Another half smile before she scooted over, patted a space on the bed by her hip. He crossed the room to sit facing her, like she’d done for him in a hospital bed not long ago. He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, pushed her hair from her face with a gentle touch. His eyes carried a weight that looked like it could pull her down and drown her. It scared her a little.

“Mulder—“

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said, voice low and full of gravel. “It ripped me apart. I wasn’t sure I…” He breathed in once, twice, pushing down some dangerous confession. “They reopened the X-Files and I almost didn’t care. I only cared about finding you.”

Scully’s eyebrows went up at this. “They reopened the files?”

Mulder brushed his lips across her fingers one more time and then let them go. “Yes.”

“When?”

He shrugged. “About two weeks ago.” A pause as he considered how to frame his next words. “I don’t want to pressure you to make any kind of decision. I know you need time, and you may not want to come back at all—“

“I do.” Her voice so firm, so sure.

“Scully, there’s a very good chance someone took you because of our work.”

Her chin jutted up to cut the air with determination. “Then we can’t let them get what they want.”

He opened his mouth to speak, to argue, to say something protective and reassuring like that he’d be okay without her—a lie—but he swallowed it back. He wanted her with him, needed, couldn’t imagine his life without her now. “Scully…” a croak, an admonition, a declaration. He leaned forward and turned to lay his head on her pillow, pulling her back with him. He swung his legs up to lay alongside hers and curled his body around her.

Scully stiffened. This was a dangerous game—dangerously close to the mistake they’d already made. “Mulder, I—“

“Please,” he said. “I just need to hold you for a few minutes. I just need to know you’re really here.” She relaxed, softened against him, and after a moment let her head fall onto his chest.

“You’re married,” she said. “It’s not fair to—“ she swallowed around a click in her throat, “to her.” Or me, she thought. But her arm had come around his waist and her palm was on his back, under his jacket and t-shirt, warm on his skin. She wanted all of him around her like a cocoon. It was the safest she’d felt since waking.

“I know,” he said. He kissed the top of her head.

He didn’t let go.

—

It would be almost Christmas by the time they left quarantine, another whole month gone and so soon after losing time already. Alone in all this quiet sent Scully reeling into the blank void of her lost memory, grasping at scraps and finding only terror, meaningless sensations, dead silence but for the whir of horrible machines.

Scully doubled over in the dark, clinging to her own knees in oversized hospital scrubs. She heard a low keening whine. The drill—

the drill the drill the drill the drill the drill

But it wasn’t the drill. It was only herself, her own throat squeezing out that high, desperate note. She choked on it and sobbed.

She needed to work. She needed to be anywhere but alone with her thoughts and the cold, medical smell of antiseptics, waiting to see if she’d sicken and die like the others.

Welcome back, she thought.

—

Less than two weeks left and neither of them showed signs of infection so they were given permission for contact. Mulder was practically banging at the door, ready to tunnel between their rooms to see her. Unlocking the passage between them was like the crack of gunfire at a race: he was off in a heartbeat.

What he found on the other side of her door was a pale, limp creature, wrapped in blankets and staring at the ceiling.

“Scully!” he rushed to her bed and checked her pulse, felt her throat and her cheeks. She felt warm, but not flushed. “What’s wrong?”

Her eyes focused on him and her lips trembled. “I tried not to think about it,” she said, “but I was alone again.” He sank down beside her, watched her wrestle with herself, biting her lips and forcing herself to sit up. She was collecting composure from every last reserve. “I’m sorry. I’m okay.”

He touched her face again—he couldn’t help it. “You’re not okay.”

For a moment, she leaned her cheek into his palm, eyes closed. She breathed deeply while silence hovered. When she finally spoke, nothing could have prepared him for her words.

“Do you love your wife?” she asked.

It was like a record scratch, a slap, a T-bone at an intersection. “What?”

His hand dropped back onto the bed, and she opened her eyes to look at him. “This is dangerous, Mulder. Whatever this is—“ she waved her hand between them, “—it’s very confusing.”

He nodded. “I know.”

“Do you love her?”

Mulder looked away, grappling with his own demons. “Yes. I do. I did? God, I don’t know.” He’d thought what he had with Diana was love, but now he wasn’t sure. Diana was a low thrum of lust and comfort. Whatever this was, it felt monumental, volcanic, planetary, cosmic.

Her voice was low and dry, like wind through leaves. “I won’t do this, Mulder. I won’t be the greener pasture or give her reason to hate me more. That’s not fair.”

“I know it’s not.”

“You’re my friend,” she said.

“Yes.” He thought of her naked under him, soft and unbearably sweet, pink-cheeked and mewling with pleasure. He felt like he’d swallowed fire.

“When you touch me…” She couldn’t finish. “I need to respect your marriage. Or I can’t respect myself.”

There was something in the way she said it that made him realize there was more—something she wasn’t telling him.

“Okay.” Still, he didn’t stand. When she looked up at him, her eyes were hooded, dark, hungry. Being this close to her was dangerous. He didn’t trust himself.

And he was stupidly in love with her, he realized.

He bent to kiss her, and she didn’t resist. She opened and softened and tasted like honey. He’d kill for her. He’d rip the world to shreds for her. He wanted to let her go, but he couldn’t—not after he’d felt this. It was danger love, cataclysmic love.

When he pulled back, her lips were swollen and the freckles stood out on her nose in the dim light. There was no regret her eyes, nor in him: only need.

“I’m not sorry about this,” he said, and he gave in.

—

January, 1995

In the real world of D.C., they put their professional composure back together. They were polite, protective, and professional—if somewhat flirtatious. Scully wouldn’t allow things to move beyond that, not in the city where they lived and worked, but the memory of how he felt over her, under her, inside her was never far away. It seeped in when he was giving slideshows and pinkened her face. She ached to touch him.

But he was married, and that thought would always follow the desire and fill her with a too-familiar shame. By some miracle, Scully had managed to avoid seeing Diana Fowley in the intervening months—was, in fact, terrified of running into her again. When it finally happened, she was shattered, knocked flat by the encounter.

She and Mulder had been working over lunch when Diana walked in, shoving her into panic mode and skyrocketing her blood pressure. Then the woman spoke, and everything came undone.

“Agent Scully,” Diana said, as if surprised to see her. “I was sorry to hear about what happened…”

Diana kept speaking, but Scully had stopped listening. The look in Diana's eyes, their shape and the pitch of her eyebrows rolled a tumbler in her mind.

no no no no no no no

Cold sweat broke out on her upper lip and she felt her face go white as blood left her and she was blanketed with terror. The machines, the drill, the hard metal slab...

Diana had been there in that cold, medical place.

Scully remembered.

—

End Part 2

Go to Part 3

#a thing i wrote #all along like fire #part 2 #msr #txf #au

[kyokasuiigetsu]

They did Orihime so dirty in the anime. They left everything out and turned her into the damsel in distress trope and that is just not what happened at all. Like, yes she had almost no offensive power in the beginning, and she is the defacto healer, but her character development in the manga is so good and so glaringly obvious and in your face. I literally dont know how people dislike her. Orihime is actually one of the best and most multifaceted nuanced characters ever, and she doesnt get enough love or credit for everything she did for Ichigo (and by extension soul society and their friends) without question. Unwavering loyalty, even when they questioned if she had gone to Hueco Mundo of her own volition, after the soul society arc wanting to get stronger so she can protect everyone too, so she doesnt have to look at Ichigo's back while he protects her, so they can fight shoulder to shoulder, even though she cant fathom the enemy that they're going up against, even though Tatsuki gets her soul damn near sucked out, even though Chad's arm gets ripped off right in front of her eyes and all she does is immediately step forward to use her powers to reject and reverse his injury. She watches Chad get his arm ripped clean off and then tries to fight against a monster 8 times her size, because she doesnt want to buy time until Ichigo arrives anymore, she wants to fight too! We dont acknowledge that she is a 15 year old girl being threatened with the lives of all the people she cares about if she doesnt accompany Ulquiorra to Hueco Mundo, and this girl has no family left, her friends are her family. Her absolute unshakable faith that at least Ichigo, if not all of their friends would come for her no matter the risk. (Six hearts will beat as one) WHY DOES NO ONE FUCKING TALK ABOUT THE MOMENT SHE IS HAVING HER OWN POWER SPECULATED ON BY AIZEN, SHE REALIZES IF HER POWER IS THE ABILITY TO REJECT PHENOMENA, THAT SHE IS GOING TO TRY AND DESTROY THE HOGYOKU BY REJECTING ITS VERY EXISTENCE? THAT IS ONE OF THE MOST GIRLBOSS MOVES IN ALL EXISTING MEDIA. We dont talk about how fucking down for Ichigo she is in that moment in his fight with Grimmjow, when she is afraid of him, afraid of the hollow inside him, afraid that he will be lost to it like her big brother was and have his soul consumed, about how the second she decided he was still Ichigo, and he always would be that Ichigo was able to pull out the win. We dont talk about how the boy she loved got murdered right in front of her eyes by her kidnapper and manipulator, and in that moment calling out for him to protect her was more powerful than death. Ichigo was only able to use his hollow powers like that without losing himself (and he almost did) to them BECAUSE it was at Orihime's explicit request. Orihime deserves everything, she is the ultimate ride or die and not just for Ichigo, for everyone she cares about, and even for the people who dont deserve it. She healed those two arrancar women who were beating her to a pulp after Grimmjow busted in and ripped them apart, one even called her a monster as she was healing her because she didnt understand how Orihime could be so selfless in the face of such violence directed at her. She calls Orihime a monster because she herself is a monster and cant understand someone like Orihime that will help anyone with no bias just because it's the right thing to do. Orihime is literally the best fucking character and you cannot change my mind. So much of BLEACH is about the words, the feeling, the symbolism, and Orihime brings something to BLEACH that despite all the amazing dialogue and intense feelings and amazing battles, other characters at their best just don't bring to the series for me. She was the most underpowered, uninformed character just thrown into the middle of a literal supernatural war all because she wanted to do the right thing and help her friends and the boy she loved.

#wow #i am sorry #rant over #but seriously #orihime is such a bad bitch #she is everything to me #her character development in the manga compared to the anime is just #bleach #bleach manga #orihime inoe #ichigo kurosaki #manga vs anime #aizen sousuke #ulquiorra #tite kubo knew what he was doing #studio perriot didnt know shit #inoue orihime

[legendary-defender-of-fandoms]

Because I’m stuck in the Rot, More Thoughts about Wreck it Ralph

I know, I know. It’s just a stupid kids’ movie about a bunch of stupid video game characters going on stupid adventures and making stupid jokes. This REALLY isn’t something worth obsessing over, especially with the myriad of dumpster fires that is The Real World right now. Who gives a shit about cartoons when there’s at least one active genocide, the US is going back to the Bad Old Days, and trillionaires exist?

But the thing is . . . I DO care. I care so much. And I know I shouldn’t.

I was the ABSOLUTE last person who should’ve liked the first Wreck-it Ralph. I knew no one in the cast by name or reputation, I missed the majority of the video game references (like not realizing Tapper was a real-ass game from the real-ass world until much later), and I only went to the opening weekend showing because I was excited for Paperman (the short that played prior to the movie, not the video game character). I told myself I was going to walk out as soon as the movie bored me. I thought I’d be there ten minutes.

And then, the movie started.

By the time the camera pushed in on the Fix-it Felix Jr. screen & we entered the world of the video game characters, I was glued to my seat. But it wasn’t until we faded in on Ralph sitting in his first Bad Anon meeting, pouring his heart & soul out to his fellow Bad Guys (and the audience) that I realized he was me.

I mean, not literally. Obviously. But as the movie kept playing, I kept feeling like someone had ripped out my soul & put it on the big screen. There have been other Disney characters I’ve liked or related to for surface-level similarities (She likes books? I like books! That kind of stuff).

But Ralph hit SO MUCH deeper. He was this guy feeling stuck in a role he wasn’t sure he was meant to play, feeling literally AND metaphorically out of place even in a world where he SHOULD have felt at home, tired of ALWAYS being compared to someone else and found lacking because HIS talents didn’t match the OTHER’S talents, desperate for someone, ANYONE, to see what he had to offer and say “You have value. You matter.” And there were other similarities - the short temper, the clumsiness/tendency towards accidentally breaking stuff, the gap in the top front teeth, etc. But it was the core of his character - feeling lost, being secure in his identity but looking for someone to see him & accept him - that truly resonated with me.

And the rest of the movie. I could talk about what was IN the movie, but I want to talk about what WASN’T in the movie. Like the Bad Anon scenes. It was silly because of who was there, but they played it DEAD serious in the movie. This was not a “D’oh hoh hoh, silly support group for silly people because mental health is for losers” scene - they paid support groups & mental health the respect they deserve! And it was inspiring that Ralph STAYED IN Bad Anon even after getting his “Happily Ever After.” Sure, it was probably just meant to be a framing device, but I saw it as mental health positivity. And there were spin-off short stories that carried the idea of Ralph staying in Bad Anon, further reinforcing the idea that support groups are helpful & there’s nothing wrong with reaching out for help.

And for a plus-size character, Ralph has a surprising lack of fat jokes aimed at him in the first movie. I think Vanellope has one line about him having a go-kart “hidden in the fat folds of his neck,” but I think that’s because she wasn’t allowed to say “Well, unless you have a go-kart hidden in your ass crack.” And there are scenes in the first act when Ralph is clearly too big to comfortably walk through the Niceland Apartment or when his tummy bulges out when he straightens his stolen Hero’s Duty armor, but I saw those more as “Ohh, this is a visual representation of how Ralph feels out of place because this world wasn’t made to accommodate someone like him and/or he’s not prepared for what he’s about to get into” as opposed to “D’oh Ho Ho, he’s FAT.”

It was just so refreshing to see a movie that didn’t go for as many cheap shots as it probably could’ve. Ralph was treated with so much respect in the first movie, and it felt so nice to see someone who I resonated with so thoroughly not being treated like the butt of the joke. The movie became an instant favorite, and Wreck-it Ralph took over a special place in my heart & my brain. On bus rides home from college I’d be on my laptop making music videos about Ralph & Vanellope (NOT SHIPPING THEM AT ALL!!!!!!! I used songs clearly meant to convey familial love like “BBBFF” and “You’ll Be In My Heart”) I eagerly waited for Disney to give us console games based on Sugar Rush & Hero’s Duty (and yes, I DID buy the micro Fix-it Felix Jr. cabinet when it was offered at Walmart, and if there is ever a full cabinet game offered I WILL be the first to buy it, build it, and set every record possible for a cabinet game). When Motorchickensmile published their Love Bug fanfic on Fanfiction.net & posted their art on DeviantArt, I was HOOKED! If that was the ONLY sequel we ever got to Wreck-it Ralph, I would’ve died happy.

Then Disney announced the official sequel. And like the rest of the world, I was PUMPED! A little confused because Ralph didn’t have anything to do with the Internet and it seemed odd to get the arcade characters out of the arcade, but I was hopeful. After all, the first movie was beloved by old school gamers, new gamers, and folks who only knew Pokémon (I.e. me). SURELY they’d know what they were doing with online gaming!

And then I saw the sequel.

There are a lot of scenes from Wreck-it Ralph that live in my head. I saw the movie at least 4 times in theaters, and when the movie went on sale I was there the day it dropped to buy it & put the digital copy on my iPod. But you know that scene when Ralph destroys Vanellope’s go kart while she’s stuck in the tree, and she’s BEGGING him not to, SCREAMING in agony as he obliterates the first thing he ever made that someone saw value in, the promise of her future, a symbol of their shared outcast status but still being worthy? And you can SEE the misery in Ralph’s face, how he HATES doing this, but keeps going because he thinks he has to for the greater good?

Yeah, that’s what Ralph Breaks the Internet did to my perception of Wreck-it Ralph.

Gone were any traces of nuance, maturity, introspection, or even basic intelligence. NOW Ralph is a gross idiot who is SUPER clingy to Vanellope, regularly abandons his game during arcade hours (which, in case folks forgot from the first movie, was a SUPER BIG DEAL THAT COULD’VE ENDED HIS WORLD & KILLED THE NICELANDERS), throws temper tantrums & blubbers like a baby when things don’t go his way. Ralph goes OUT OF HIS WAY to endanger Vanellope just to keep her close, and he NEVER holds himself accountable! The first movie was all about Ralph learning that self worth can’t be measured in medals, but in the sequel he is CONSTANTLY flashing his cookie medal like it’s supposed to mean something. Don’t even get me STARTED on all the fat jokes. And even BEFORE Ralph ruins Sugar Rush, you get the sense that while HE’S obsessed with Vanellope & their friendship, Vanellope is feeling suffocated by this relationship & is desperate to get away from him.

The press releases said the movie was supposed to be about friends growing apart and going away but keeping the bonds of friendship. But to me? The whole thing felt like Disney was saying “Hey, YOU. Yeah, the IDIOT who thought they LIKED this giant man-baby moron? You’re super clingy and stupid. Don’t bother making friends - you’ll smother them with your attempts to bond. They can do so much better than you, and you’re only holding them back. Now, who wants to watch us add insult to injury by stuffing this gorilla in a dress designed for a 14-year-old princess?”

Again, I don’t think that was the INTENDED message of the movie. But it was just SO mean-spirited, especially when compared to the uplifting messages of the first movie. Which I guess was inevitable for a movie trying to be about the Internet, but still.

So, yeah. I had to step away from the franchise. And it HURT! This story - this character - was such a huge part of my life for years, and I had to cut it out. There were periods of time when I’d forget about the franchise for a bit, or have More Important Things to worry about (like that global pandemic, the nut job & his cult trying to overthrow the US government, normal life stuff). But then I’d be hit with a thought about the first movie out of nowhere, and I’d be happy until I remembered how the sequel killed all of its goodwill.

To this day I still have mixed feelings about Ralph. I get excited when he & Vanellope are included in multi-IP projects, then get sad when I remember the sequel, then get mad at myself for getting excited, then get disappointed when I see more Vanellope merch than Ralph merch, then get mad again when I remember how badly the sequel burned me. AND HE’S NOT REAL!!! I’m being driven insane by a guy WHO DOESN’T EVEN EXIST!!!

When Disney announced their version of Animal Crossing, Dreamlight Valley, Ralph & Vanellope were two of the characters featured in the trailer. Two years later we got Vanellope, but the closest we’ve gotten to Ralph is an in-game chess piece. Meanwhile Vanellope’s getting some great interactions with Mike & Sully of Monsters Inc, with Sully taking a paternal shine to Vanellope. And now I’m constantly begging the Dreamlight Valley social medias for updates about Ralph. I’m excited to see him, but also worried because I don’t know if we’ll get the nuanced Bad Guy from Wreck-it Ralph or the clingy buffoon from Ralph Breaks the Internet. I know John C. Reilly won’t be voicing him (because he NEVER voices Ralph outside of the movies & Once Upon a Studio), but I’m also kind of hoping he will? I don’t know if I want my avatar to hug him, or punch him, or leave him stranded in the Vitalys mines, or love-bomb him with cookie medals, or just leave him off mode. I have a space saved right in front of my in-game house for HIS in-game house, but I might just spend the rest of the game on Eternity Isle so I never have to see him.

And again, this is all for some WHO IS NOT REAL!!!!! I know I have problems, I KNOW there’s SO MUCH MORE to worry about than an imaginary guy with ginormous hands! I WISH I could just not care about him, or his movie, or any fictional stories! I WISH I could go on a Disney Cruise and NOT look for his face in the Art of Animation wall art or in the kids’ area wall art! I WISH I could stop looking for him in Disney Lorcana, or mystery mini lines, or multi-IP books! But I also know I can’t. If I let myself give up on him, if I let Disney WIN? He’ll be Forgotten. Locked in that vault with no chance for redemption. There have been too many other characters to suffer that fate. Like Oswald. And I can’t let characters like Oswald or Ralph be forgotten.

#disney #wreck it Ralph #wir #Ralph breaks the Internet #RBTI #word vomit #pardon my mad ravings #this has been living in my head for years #need to get this out of my system #I feel like Jennifer Aniston in Bruce Almighty #crying in bed begging God to make me stop caring about a friggin’ animated dumpster man #why can’t I obsess over some real guy like a normal person?

[bansheescreamsfics]

Queen of the Underworld, King of Justice.

A/N: It’s a working title for this, but I’m trying my best. Moon Knight has inspired me to write so I decided to start this series and see what happens. Plus I love Anubis since I am training to become a funeral home director/embalmer. 

About: Harrow is trying to get Ammit back to earth through his passage through the underworld. It is up to Jake, Marc, and Steven to fight through the underworld with the help of Anubis avatar y/n (you).

Warning: possesion. cursing. speaking of the afterlife.

Pairing: Jack Lockley x reader. Later chapters will have Steven Grant x reader and Marc Spector x reader.

Chapter: 1 | 2

The rush of the wind as you ran down the stairs stung but it was all you could do to keep yourself safe. It was one thing to be the best embalmer in the business but another to be suddenly wanted because of it. The men chasing you approached you during an embalming of what they said was their leader, Arthur Harrow. You were simply just trying to do your job but they were trying to take the body away once you were finished.

It was strange for his will to explain how he wished to be embalmed in the way the pharaohs were. Making it hard to gather the materials needed for such a task, but another to suddenly have his so called “followers” now chasing you, and accusing you of his murder. You told them that you didn’t even know who he was but you damn sure would never do such a thing. The answer was falling on deaf ears and now you were running for your life.

You turned corner after corner until suddenly you were in an alleyway with a dead in. You cursed loudly and touched the wall before you. You wished it would give way so you could escape but hearing the men now walking towards you told you that you were very much stuck. Slowly you turned around and sunk as far against the wall as you could holding out your hands in mercy.

The men simply laughed while you closed your eyes slowly preparing for the gunshot to end your life. However it did not come. You sunk to the floor holding on to your legs and hiding your face between them as you heard the sound of a feral dog. It was so loud that you covered your ears in an attempt to make the noise stop but there was no hiding the sound of skin being ripped apart. You didn’t dare open your eyes while tears streamed down your face.

Suddenly the dog was in your face, his wet nose sniffing you. You whimpered and were simply frozen in place due to fear. You tried to accept your fate until you heard someone in your head.

“I will not hurt you.”

It was almost booming inside your head and as you slowly opened your eyes stood the dog in human form. You shock as you begin to think that maybe you have died or finally lost your mind completely. What stood before you was Anubis in his human form who was now kneeling down in an attempt to be on your level but still looked giant.

“You are a good human. You do your best to assist souls to the other side for me to assist them to where they need to go. You have managed to make my job easier. I have tried my best to stand on the sidelines but I’m afraid I’m unable to. Take my hand young one and I’ll explain it all,” Anubis reached out with his hand a mixture of human and fur of a dog and you shook in fear.

“I will not hurt you. You are my avatar, young one. No harm will come to you. I promise that.”

As much as you wanted to believe this was a dream, the smells, the visuals and the feel of the ground beneath you made you realize this isn’t a dream. Even as you tried to pinch yourself without Anubis seeing he was very much in front of you awaiting your answer.

Before you could reconsider you found yourself holding on to his large hand. Anubis inspired you to do your job each day with respect to the body and their soul in their passage. You trusted that he would not lead you astray now, and even if you were dreaming what did you have to lose. You would simply wake up in the end wondering what it was all about.

Anubis smiled as you took his hand and helped you off the ground, “lets go young one. It’s time to get you ready for what’s to come.”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Jake was tired at this point and just wanted to go to sleep but Khonshu consistently had other plans.

“Arthur is trying to fight his way to ammit in daut. No idea where he got that idea but he managed to not freeze yet. Ammit must be keeping him safe on his journey, and we need to get there before Ammit manages to get back and finish what she started,” The old god sounded annoyed but Jake just rolled his eyes. He stood there in Steven’s living room and sighed.

“So what’s the plan?” He finally asked looking over his shoulder to the god attempting to sit on the small couch compared to his body.

“The thing is other gods are realizing the situation and summoning their avatars as we speak. One in particular needs to be on our side or we’re doomed.”

Jake chucked before raising his eyebrow, “And who’s that.”

“The one who runs the underworld. Anubis is now on the playing field. If we don’t convince him to be on our side then he’s too vulnerable to be persuaded by Ammit to be on her side. If she has him on her side the underworld could leak out onto your planet and destroy everything.”

The god's voice sounded almost scared and desperate to Jake, but he understood why he was worried. The dead walking the earth was everyone's nightmare and he sure as hell wasn’t about to let that happen, and he sure as hell didn’t want to see his mother once more.

“So who’s the avatar?”

“Y/n Y/L/N. She’s an embalmer. She’s in Egypt now trying to complete Arthur Harrow's wishes right now. She’s thorough, and is damn good at what she does.”

“We stop her from completing it. That means his soul can’t continue its journey,” Jake was catching on which made the old pigeon nod its head.

“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Just get me there and I’ll do what I need too.” Jake said, already holding his backpack and before he could say another word they were both zapped in Cairo once more. He looked up to see he was staring at what looked to be a funeral home.

He pulled his cap further down before pushing his way inside. He just hoped he could get to her in time before disaster struck.

You looked out as you sailed on the boat through daut. To you it was strangely beautiful but now was not the time to sight see.

You look over your shoulder to see taweret steering the boat while Anubis stood at the bow of the boat looking ahead. Slowly you approached him but you knew he could sense your presence standing beside him. 

“We are almost where we need to be,” He said softly.

“Shouldn’t I be with the body? I can do more with messing up his embalming than being here,” You said softly.

“It sadly isn’t enough but don’t worry you will be making those adjustments soon. But I must ask you a question first,” The god turned towards you slowly before you looked up at him and sighed. This night was going crazy just like your dreams and you were still not sure if it wasn’t. The small bruises on your arm you keep making between your fingers is evident enough that you’ve been trying your hardest to just wake up.

“Sorry young one, but this is not a dream,” He said, holding out your arm in his hand to see the bruises forming on your arm. He could see the marks from long ago that you made on your body in an attempt to end your life which made you turn your head away from him. “I’m happy it did not work out,” He said gently, running his thumb against it before kneeling once more. 

“Will you protect the souls of the dead in their journey to the underworld? Will you be willing to do what it takes to protect the right of those journeys but also make sure no one tries to abuse it either?”

The speech was simple and to the point but you knew what he was asking. You didn’t understand why but knew what he was asking meant going forward you would be doing his job on earth. At first you hesitated but realized you were already doing his duty on earth. Your hand slowly reached up to the coffin-like necklace that had his image sealed inside. It was slowly becoming clear that your life was being pushed towards this very moment since birth.

You moved your hand in his grip so it could take him fully and looked up. This decision was going to change your life and even if it was a dream you knew your answer would still be the same.

“Yes.”

Jake woke up with sweat dripping down his body and the wind blowing through the window was of no help to him. He pushed himself from the bed to look out into the city to see the merchants begin to open up shop below. He had no idea where Harrow was being sealed and protected but he knew that if he wanted an egyptian burial that he had several days with salt sealing his body before they finished. 

Even within a few days he was unsure if he could even find this so-called avatar of Anubis but he suddenly saw a woman with her hair wrapped in a scarf scurrying towards the funeral home. 

“There you are, la cosita,” He murmured to himself. “Maybe this mission isn’t as hard as I thought.

You rushed past every merchant attempting to say good morning to you as you made your way to the building. You prayed no one had touched the body, and if it wasn’t for the strength of being Anubis' avatar you were sure you wouldn’t be able to walk as fast. The moment you were suddenly alone in the street you heard his voice inside your head.

“Rush on all fours. You will find you have better speed that way.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his suggestion but he made no sound. This fucker is serious. You thought to yourself.

“I’m not what you call a fucker. Though I’m not exactly celebite either.”

The statement actually made you stop in your tracks and look over to see him in his dog form looking at you. He tilted his head towards the building that was less than a mile away down the street before taking off on all fours. You watched him and shook your head, “well I guess I shouldn't be surprised that even the god of embalming and the underworld gets around.” 

You began to run on just your two feet before you stumbled and landed on your hands. Instead of stopping you managed to get a few steps just fine. You stopped and looked around to see if anyone could see you, “I can’t believe I'm actually going to do this.”

Before you could think too much about it you began to run on all fours before you began to feel a shift in your body. At first it was painful and made you land on the ground, on your stomach in pain before finally pushing yourself up. It was then you realized you were no longer human. Looking down you saw what looked like Jackal’s legs and fur growing. The pain was still there but it was manageable for you to finally stand.

“Fuck,” you whispered but what you heard was simple a bark.

You looked ahead to see Anubis in his jack form waiting in front of the building. Even in his jackal form he looks very pleased with himself. You wanted to smack that smirk off his face so you quickly began to move your legs. It was awkward at first to maneuver four legs like this but the moment you got the hang of it you realized how quickly you got to your destination. 

You hand slam your back legs down to stop yourself from running right into Anubis who didn’t even flinch once you were in front of him.

How do I change back? Was your first question you thought of.

It isn’t hard. Just simply think of your human self. I wouldn’t dare make it more complicated for you. 

You heard yourself whimper at the response before looking down at the ground. You closed your eyes and thought of what you looked like just moments before. Then the pain began to hit at your dog form collapsed on the ground and began to morph on the ground into who you looked like before. 

By the time the transformation was complete you were still crying and looking up at Anubis who managed to change into his regular form. 

“It’ll get easier little one i promise,” He said softly before looking at the door. “We have work to do and if I hear correctly you have more problems coming your way right this minute. Get up. Time to get to work.”

Next Chapter ---->

#moon knight #jake lockley #khonschu #anubis #moon knight x reader #jake lockely x reader #marvel fan fiction #moon knight fan fiction #moon knight imagines #moon knight series

[phoenixofthestars]

Lost Ones

There are stories I know.

A Russian superspy and an American archer, both carrying a lot of weight on their shoulders.

Two twins with perfectly pointy enough ears, both needing the other in their own way.

An Air Ashari and a human lord, both hopelessly in love with a twin.

They're all stories. I love them. I can't not love their characters, their details, their parallels and intricacies. But I also hate them. They make me want to rip out my heart so as to not feel this sadness, this grief, this rage.

And yet, if I ripped out my heart, I wouldn't feel the love that made me feel this in the first place. I wouldn't be able to enjoy watching Nat playing a prank on Clint, or seeing Vex make Vax laugh, or smile at Vax helping Keyleth find her own, or laugh at Percy verbally kicking some racist elven noble's ass for Vex. I think that's a lot sadder.

These characters have touched my heart. They've carved a home inside with laughter and smiles and love. My heart hurt to watch Nat still half-trapped inside Wanda's mind tricks in the QuinJet and at the farmhouse, and it hurt to watch Vex still needing her father even though he was never going to give her love. (Saundor was right about that, at least, but he was too fucking miserable to realize there's other ways to fill the hole Syldor left.)

And even with the hurt I smiled at Vex clearly worrying for Percy on the way to Whitestone, in that sad little carriage, and using her new arrowhead to fuck Saundor over, and I smiled at drunk Keyleth finding Vax cute in Westruun, and I smile every time Nat does 'cause she fucking deserves happiness, and I smiled at Keyleth and Vex following Vax to the Matron's temple, because they're the ones closest to him.

I don't know who knows this already, but I'm autistic. I'm feeling absolutely everything for these characters and I barely understand why. I'm falling apart at Chase Noseworthy's Far From Me (it isn't Do Not Go Far From Me because Vex did go far from Vax, even if only for a little while) and I'm falling apart at the final pause in Lilli Furfaro's Lessons, after the verse about Vax, and also Lilli's Nothing from Nothing and Tethering. I'm falling apart at Nat crying after learning about Clint in Endgame, and I'm falling apart at the theory that Clint truly did love Nat, because otherwise he wouldn't have been able to get the Soul Stone.

There's a burning sorrow inside me, and sometimes I want to scream.

I'd see the world burn just to bring the lost ones back.

#vox machina #avengers endgame #clintasha #black widow #natasha romanoff #clint barton #vax and vex #critical role #vax and keyleth #vex and percy #sad thoughts #the lost ones #my posts

[ask-dcf]

Malice

**TW// Obsessive Attraction, Attempted R*pe, Transphobia, Violence**

She laughed and laughed and laughed. She even threw up in the middle of laughing. But she didn’t feel joy…. She didn’t feel happiness…. Or even sadness… she felt HATE. ANGER. PURE AND UTTER MALICE… She felt her soul burn her mind broke. Her soul felt like a burning hole in her chest… she felt liquid come from her eyes and mouth… it wasn’t tears or vomit…. What she didn’t realize was that this corrupted her soul. And it corrupted her. She was FILLED with MALICE. She slowly stood up… nothing mattered to her anymore… if she was trapped… then she was trapped… as she slowly tied her brothers scarf around her neck… and stared down at the man who ruined her life… she spoke…

How long did she fight? She doesn’t even remember anymore. He had insane murderous magic. Spinning buzz saw blades that tore at her plant magic. She was quick. But never quick enough. Her once cool outfit that represented her as a bird was torn. Like wings and tail feathers clipped by a mad owner… of course… they were evenly matched… in mind and magic… she was broken… he would die to her magic and knife play. But so would she to his disgusting flesh tearing blade. It was a dance of blood and sweat… tears for her… at one point, after he died and came back to this “Save” power… he just laughed… and laughed… and threw his weapon to the side. Throwing himself at her…. To force himself onto her… luckily for her… her knife ran through his damn neck. Of course… didn’t stop for the time to reset in the hall… again… again and again… didn’t matter who died…. They were stuck in a death loop. She lost all bits of sanity she had… this was normal to her now….. who cares…. At least she has the satisfaction of killing her stalker as many times as she wants…. But it still sickened her that he made her this way…. In a way she was already trapped in his grasp….. shame she couldn’t stay dead no matter how many times she was cut up…. Until… he froze…. She stopped to. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! LET GO OF MY BODY YOU FUCKING GHOST! HEY! DO YOU HEAR ME?! HAPSTABLOOK!?” She looked to see a pink ghost floating above Fisher with its arms out. “FUCKING PINK ASS ECTOPLASM WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?” “Sorry darling but nobody likes watching the same show over and over again~ It’s time to cancel this program~” “NO! I HAVE EVERYTHING I WANT NOW! I HAVE HER! SHE IS MINE! MINE! I WON’T LET SOME DEAD FUCKING TWINK TAKE WHAT I FOUGHT SO HARD FOR ALL THOSE DAMN YEARS!” He struggled as his body glowed pink. The girl was confused was this another trick? Suddenly she saw a red button appear in front of him… that said ERASE. His hand was forced to move on it… before he could stop it the ghost made him slam it.

As the girl watched. The ghost made the human twitch more and turn his head. He resisted and screamed… The last thing she heard both of them say was this… “Sorry darling…. Maybe in the next world we will have better ratings~ Of course… that is if any of us survive~” The human screamed out and gets angrier as he glares at the girl. “NO! YOU ARE MINE! THIS IS MY GAME! YOU ARE MINE! CHARA! YOU BELONG TO ME! CHARAAAAAAA-“SNAP His neck broke…. And the body raised the chainsaw blade… it glowed pink and purple creating a pillar of light…. As it stabbed the ground… blowing her away… and her world….

*Image of a glowing paper in a white void with a green US on it.... rips apart*

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Next

audio by @askchammy

#undertale #datatale #datatale au #chara #ask blog #ask dcf #undershift #undershift lore #shift arc #Youtube

[wiggles113]

The Beginning of The End.

Here we are. Where we knew we would always end up. Everyone who has come to know me over my lifetime has known that the end would be sooner for me than most. As everyone always said, I matured so quickly. My old soul has me convinced my time on this earth has expired.

I realized about a week ago, as I woke up alone in a cold room, that I have been preparing for the end for at least a year now.

I have distanced myself from most of my closest friends. I left the job that held my heart because that’s where most of those friends were. I leaned on these friends through so many depressive episodes, manic ones too. Hours watching the office and getting high. Pool days eating Cottage Inn cinnamon sticks. Drinking on the floor of my very first apartment, but only the shittiest of Vodka’s because we weren’t 21 yet and that’s all we could get our hands on. Trips to Bryan, OH to just talk about life late at night. Last minute Cedar Point Halloweekends trips. Nights out with the girls getting so drunk that things almost feel okay again. Trips to Cleveland to see my better half even when there’s a fucking tornado warning (if you actually know me, this is even funnier because we took a walk in this storm and I am terrified of storms). Hot tub days with the woman who ignited a fire in me and made me laugh harder than I have in years. Cheering on you from afar while I watch you be the badass mom you always wanted to be, even though I miss getting fucked in the ass by the massage chairs with you. All of these relationships and memories are ones that I hold so dearly. But separating myself from you all will make it easier for you once I’m gone. 

 I have spent years distancing myself from my family, but spent this year pushing it even further. Preparing them for family dinner’s without my presence. I had to do it very cautiously, because unfortunately mental illness is hereditary as fuck. So my mom and sister can sniff out suicidal thoughts before I even have them. I pull away slowly, leaving behind happy memories. I want you all to remember the me that you all loved so dearly, not this one.

I spent many nights writing you all goodbye letters this year, only to continue my fight the next day and rip these letters up because how could I ever be so selfish? I have so much to live for. 

I slowly have gotten rid of every single reason that has ever made me stay. I miss Abe the most. How could I ever leave that goofy face behind? But he is happy in his new home, I made sure he was with someone who would love him until the end of time because I knew that my end of time would come sooner than his. 

I detached from all of the things I’ve loved. I used to find such joy in things like helping others, advocating for people who couldn’t do it for themselves, helping babies come into the world and encouraging their badass moms to get them here. I felt so empowered, but I lost it.

I wish things were different. I wish I could find the motivation to do all of the things I’ve never done. I wish I could say “I wish I had one more day to sky dive” or one more opportunity to see the things I have never seen. But the truth is, when you detach from everything and everyone, the excitement for life and living disappears with your old life. When the house goes up for sale, when you break everyone’s heart by telling them you’re moving states away, when you decide you aren’t excited for the career you’ve dreamt about, when you fall in love so quickly only to be hurt by every single soul you’ve tried to save.

My soul was never worth saving. 

I know, I know. “She had no idea how much she was loved!”. But where? On my facebook page after the news of me being gone has spread like wildfire? When someone dies, we celebrate their life. We also have anger, especially if it was a choice that person made. I hope everyone chooses to forgive me, but if not I understand. Russ said it best “I hate me too”. 

“Leave it behind, you can’t carry it with you if you want to survive”

Well. I chose to leave it behind and not to survive.

The book I am reading is about being notified the day that you will die, and making the most of the last day. Being a “decker”, you have endless opportunities to make the most of life on your end day. Everyday that I wake up feels like my end day. 

I feel like overall I fought the good fight. I put more positivity in this world than I took out (I hope). I loved with my whole heart. I tried to help everyone that I could help, actually literally devoted my life to helping others. But the truth is, a bleeding heart is a dangerous thing to have in today’s world. That shit gets stomped out. My flame has been blown out over and over, suffocated, and without oxygen, we cease to exist. 

I hope I changed lives. I hope I made even half the impact on you all that you have made on me. I hope you know how much it hurts me to know that I am hurting you. I’ll make sure I write the letters once last time before the year is up. 2023 wasn’t meant for me. 

“ Studies suggest that the great majority of suicide cases occur among subjects with major mental illness, mainly mood disorders, with the risk of suicide death being 10-30 times higher in patients with bipolar disorder than in the general population”

Oof. Big oof. 

Hope a manic episode is shortly to come and then I’ll delete this and go back to life as normal. 

[electrivolt]

@gaburona​ asked : they will say that she is a hurricane, a force of nature to be reckoned with in battle. they say that she is cool and aloof, eclipsing even the horizon at dawn when they see her in the streets. but now, more than any other time, she has never been more gentle, more careful. 'tis not because he is weak ( no, you know more than most that he is strong ), but because he deserves the rest, deserves a period where nobody but bless't two know he is here, so that he can relax ... get re-accustomed to things . her hand so very slowly runs through his hair, wild, longer than it was when she last saw him-- a year ago now ... " nobody else knows. roark, myself and you ... he's holding off to give you just a little bit more time ... anything that you need, if it's in my power to get you, you will have it . if it's not, by the gods, i'll make it happen all the same . you need only say the word . "

Safety is not something he’s ever been truly familiar with. He’s known survival, fight after fight and the loneliness that comes with knowing there is no one else in the world really looking out for you— but safety? Safety was always rare. Ripped from him so many times he’s gotten used to never holding onto it, never trying, never hoping, just keeping quiet, to himself, you can’t be betrayed and let down and stomped on if you’re by yourself, right? But. He would be lying if he said this wasn’t welcomed, something he needed so desperately in the wake of spilled blood, the struggle to keep himself alive through injuries and a tired soul, and the way he still feels so lost being just— returned to his own home as forcefully as he was taken from it, as if the last year didn’t exist, or wasn’t all that important even with all the pain it brought. Just how much did he anger Arceus to earn all of this?

And yet right now, back to what he could consider home, Lux resting his head on his lap, his fingers curled in his ‘mon’s fur, letting himself breathe and heal for once, soreness, wounds and bruises pushed to the back of his mind this one time... somehow, this is some of the safest he’s felt in his life, no matter how close he was to seeing it end mere weeks ago. 

“... I’m fine.” A lie that slips out far too easily, such a trained response it is. And yet the irony of how desperately he needed to leave Twinleaf just for a little while, to breathe in some fresh air and not be stuffed inside a room and forced into bedrest, it’s not lost on him. It’s a little hard to even realize what he wants, what he needs if anything at all, when he’s still coming to terms with so much in so little time. “... Sorry—  all of you have been doing more than enough already, I just... I think I just need time.” Something he would’ve never dared to admit before, let alone ask for. He’s just so... tired, worn out and falling apart at the seams, it’s getting harder to keep everything hidden away like he used to. Maybe he doesn’t want to go back to that. 

“Thank you, really. You’re already doing more than I could’ve ever asked for.” Just a little more time. A little more after all the physical hurt fades away, and he maybe will be able to say he’s okay and mean it, for once. Maybe he’s bringing himself to believe in something ( someone, all of them, really— ) again, now.

#〔 ask . 〕 ϟ i will not fall ; i will not fade ; i will take your breath away . #〔 ic . 〕 ϟ i will shut the world away . #gaburona #// hey jack remember when you sent this. yeah me neither

[speakintonothing]

Everything and nothing at all - 07/19/2023

I’ve been spending a lot of time pondering over the pain of being able to understand and feel people’s pain. 

I spend time running from the fact that I am concerned about everyone’s emotions, probably more than my own.

 It is a ruthless feeling to be the comforter,

 the protector, 

the understander, 

The everything. 

When will the day come where I can find someone who sees me the way I see everyone? 

I’ve kind of lost hope of that ever coming at this point. 

I spend so much of my day, trying to make sure everyone in my life has their needs met.

I spend so much emotionally to remain the person that understands them. 

It feels like a curse to be an empathetic person. 

It feels like a curse. 

It’s not as simple as just understanding people’s pain, no I feel it. 

I live it. 

Every room I am in I can feel every emotional disturbance. 

It is suffocating. 

It’s as if they are radiating off of others and onto me. 

Into my very bones. 

I’ve learned to like the feeling of people’s emotions. 

So much so that I no longer know where their pain ends and mine stops. 

The only emotion that remains after I’ve picked through them all, tossing them to the side like garbage, is emptiness.

 Is it that I feel their emotions?

Or am I so sociopathic that I can read people so well, that I just pick up the feeling along the way. 

To hide my own lack of them?

 I don’t know. 

I never learned. 

I cannot decide if I have a real personality, or if I fill a void that I can feel through people’s emotions. 

The group’s emotions. 

Is that all I will ever be? 

An emotional filler piece. 

The episode thrown into the season because it is moving too fast and they need a thirteenth. 

The person to fill a spot that will inevitably be filled better because I never belonged there in the first place. 

My soul feels too old for this body.

  As if I have lived 

and felt, 

and been all these people once before. 

As if I understand and feel their pain because one time,

one life, 

I was them. 

As if for centuries my soul has traveled through body and body and has never found one that stuck.

Now, that soul is empty, too tired to continue trying to fight to find a place that feels right. 

I feel as though people don’t understand me because I cannot understand me. 

All that I see when I close my eyes is blackness. 

The dreams there are all things I have placed there to fill a void I am scared to cross. 

They are all about as fake as the personality I have created to cater to those around me.

The blackness of my mind is all encompassing. 

It is a terrifying void,

I am not sure that crossing it would lead to my true thoughts.

I am not sure there is anything to cross.

There is possibly nothing there at all. 

I have given them all away.

 All my thoughts are spent on the others that I am trying to heal. 

I have to heal them, because I cannot heal myself until they are healed. 

Until I wake up one day and no longer feel other’s pains I will not be able to heal myself. 

I have tried to shut it off

I have tried breathwork,

meditating, 

walking, 

working out, 

anger, 

starvation, 

I have tried everything.

What is life if it is full of suffering? 

The Buddhists would tell me that that is life. 

Life is suffering.

But why should it be? 

If I die, 

and my atheism turns out to be false, 

and I am confronted with the gods I wished did not exist, 

I will not be scared. 

I will be furious. 

Why do I carry the burden of others, 

a burden that they do not realize, 

a burden that they will never understand? 

I have talked to others who say they feel the same as me, as if they carry the emotions of others, but why does it feel so lonely? 

Like those people don’t feel it the same way as me? 

I have spent years trying to turn off their emotions. 

Building walls around my mind and my heart in order to protect it,

but it has never worked. 

All my walls are torn apart by one lousy sigh.

The big wolf that ate the pigs easily ripped apart my walls in one breath. 

One sob. 

One look. 

It’s as if others can see it. 

Can see the fact I can feel their pain. 

They single me out so quickly, laying their burdens on my shoulders. 

They have no clue what burden they lay upon me. 

I am just a kind face with open ears. 

I fill their void and take their darkness into mine. 

The night consumes me, the dark no longer comforts my dreams. 

It just reminds me of what I attempt to hide from myself. 

Hide from my own brain. 

I have no trauma. 

My parents loved me, I had friends as a child, I was outgoing, and made people happy as I went along with my life. 

I always wonder if holding myself to the standard of the sun was what made me this. 

I am no longer the sun. 

I am just the moon reflecting a light that I do not own onto others. 

One day that light will be stolen back and I will be shown to be a fraud. 

I am not the sun. 

I steal light from a place that I do not own, and give it to others. 

I take their darkness from them.

Like the tree, I am a giver. 

Though I did not realize it would be impossible to stop giving. 

I did not realize that being the giver would cost so much. 

That I would give 

and give 

and get nothing. 

Givers don’t get recognition until they die. 

Until they stop giving and people realize that they no longer get. 

That’s when they are recognized.

I don’t want to be accredited as something once I am dead. 

I want to be recognized now.

I just want someone, 

one person,

to say they see me. 

They see what I do. 

No one does though. 

No one understands what I do, what I feel, what I give. 

No one will. 

They probably won’t once I’m dead either. 

I don’t have money, 

I’m not the smartest person in the room, 

all I have to offer is emotion. 

To be the hug you need, 

to be the protector you desire, 

to be the lover on lonely nights, 

I am it all. 

I am everything and nothing at all. 

To be nothing is to be a disappointment, but I no longer live in a time where mythical discussions of the transfer of one emotion onto another person is acceptable.

I suppose it never was. 

I am crazy to most, 

empathetic to others, 

and nothing to all. 

What I feel cannot be real. 

It cannot be because then people would have to accept the fact that they lay their emotions onto others every day. 

That every day they surround themselves with people like me, people to take their voids. 

There is a void around you, who disguises themselves as the sun. 

A void who eats all darkness in order for you to shine your light. 

That void consumes all, 

It is never ending, 

And always allows others to shine before it. 

Many would say that without darkness there is no light, but I don’t see it that way. 

Without the voids around us everyday, there is no light. 

That much is correct. 

However, what they got wrong was, without that void, the light would never shine. 

The void eats the darkness clouding others to allow their light through. To allow it to live and prosper in order for the light to survive. 

At the end of the day, a void of a person will always be your everything while consistently being your nothing. Remember your nothing.

#journal #feelings #doubt #empathy #self awareness #rambles #ranting #rant into the void

[stuckinw0nderland22]

This is the only place I can post & feel safe. So sorry if my posts annoy anyone.. but I have nowhere else to let my feelings out & nobody to go too at this point.. I feel like I’ve lost everything & at this point it’s just constant pain. I’m a girl everyone “lusts” after for a while but nobody’s wants to love or care about me.. I’ve been a filler in peoples lives for so long until they find a girl that they actually want to spend the rest of their lives with or until they get sick of me or they cheat on me. It’s a disgusting feeling.. I’ve come to the realization I’m nobody’s dream girl. I’m not the love of anyones life. There is no happy ending for someone like me, only the harsh reality I wasn’t enough to keep a man loyal or even keep a man around. I’m just a fucked up girl who has nothing left to offer anybody anymore. I feel like my very own soul has been ripped apart & the only thing my heart does anymore is just hurt & hurt.. I’m constantly so exhausted & it’s getting harder to even show up to my job anymore feeling this way.

[seven--secrets]

fragile || wakaru || trial results reaction

.

"...Himeyuri-chan, it’s alright. You don’t have’ta apologize for anything. Ryou-kun an’ I... We both wanted it to turn out this way, we really did, so please don’t be sad. ‘m just sorry...that we couldn’t do anythin’ for you.” That they’d put you in this position at all. Unwittingly making you play a role in their death; they hadn’t realized it would be so hard for you, to condemn them for taking the life of someone that so many others depended on, and it doesn’t feel fair. It doesn’t feel fair that the ones who are hurting the most from this decision are the ones who have already lost. 

People kept using words like selfless and kind, but they can’t--Wakaru just can’t see it that way when Himeyuri is ripping out her own heart like this. When the professor is safe, while Himeyuri may carry this guilt with her for the rest of her life. When they’ve forced her to watch them die...they’d never thought about that. And their heart aches and groans and dulls, and they want to reach out and hug her but she is so so far away.

Maybe there would still be time later...they have 17 minutes.

So their eyes drift to the other side of her instead, to Yuuto--and they offer up a smile that feels somehow more empty, somehow more hollow than the one that had haunted Wakaru in the In Between. They seem to look past him, straight through him—to the boy that once burned too brightly, freshly smothered in cinder and ash, and it all comes so easy. They open their mouth to speak to him, to the ghost that they once saw. To try and reassure him in the only way they know how. It’s okay, Yuuto-kun. It doesn’t matter anymore—but Kanna grips their hand so tightly, like a prayer, and they can’t bring themself to say it.

And as much as they didn’t want to see her drown with them...they can’t help but feel a little relief in it. A cruel, selfish little piece of happiness. If it’s like this, if it’s for you, if you want to stay by their side even through the unforgivable...then they can keep their head above water for a little longer.

They can listen to Chioko’s earnest advice without hurting. They can accept it all for what it is. They can’t do much with it now, with only 17 minutes to spare, but maybe in time they can settle in on it. Even if she couldn’t accept what they’d done, she was still willing to offer some form of kindness, huh. Holly, too...

“Thanks… I’ll do my best, Naganuma-kun. Mikkun…”

They don’t want a new beginning. They don’t want to be apart. They don’t want to be separated from you. From the professor, from the garden and the warmth of your hand, and they don’t want to become a fish trapped in the water while the world they love is passing by. They don’t...want to fight... But maybe soon a day would come when their soul could take those words to heart. They’ll try to remember until then, to tuck it away somewhere in their heart for safe-keeping, so... 

At Holly’s offering, Wakaru fidgets a bit.

“Uhm...the professor’s contact information, I left it with Dante-kun just a little bit ago, if you could...” Their eyes flicker to Riley when the words leave their mouth, wondering if she saw. Wondering if that would just end up being another knife in her heart—wondering how they managed to keep making the people they care for bleed, well after the blade left their hands. 

“I can’t think of any mementos he might want, so... Just bring ‘im whatever you can, if that’s alright. I didn’t...write any letters or nothin’ like that.” There weren’t enough words in the world. They could unfold every paper crane they’d crafted here, every wish they’d ever made, fill each and every page to the brim and it still would fall just short. Beyond that simple fact, Wakaru just wasn’t well-versed in making tragedy seem beautiful. In making a goodbye feel like a love letter. They didn’t know how to apply beauty to pain, or hope to the darkness. That was Ryou. 

Perhaps they should have asked for his advice then, as he prepared to rest among the flowers. Waiting patiently for them to steady their hands, steady their breath, to administer an eternal slumber. Something from a fairy tale. 

Hey, Ryou-kun... What can you say, what do you do—what can you give to someone who gives you the world? The person who makes flowers bloom in heart and head and hand. For the flower you never wanted to wilt, is it enough to just give your life? Should they have done something more?

I would have preferred that you try to get away with it if you had to, done anything else. I-

Something different…?

Hey, Ryou-kun... How do you say goodbye to someone when you don’t want to leave them? How are you meant to say you’re sorry to the hand that clutches yours so desperately, the voice that wails out your name--to the tears flooding the room from all corners, when there aren’t enough words in the world? When there’s only 17…16…15…14…13…12 minutes left.

They wonder if they should have asked him one—two, three more times, if he was absolutely sure. If his answer would ever change, if only they’d kept asking. If only they had the words. If maybe they should have tried a little harder to save him, instead of the people he wanted so desperately to save.

But, in that moment...it just didn’t seem possible. They were both so deeply afraid. Just wanted it to stop, just wanted the suffering to end. That fear and pain that had always been buried somewhere so deep down, that neither of them had ever been able to properly express—echoing off one another only to grow in volume and merge together in some horrific amalgamation, so much larger than the sum of its parts. For Ryou, because his family relied on him so deeply. If he’d failed him, even once, he wouldn’t ever be able to forgive himself. Not for something of this magnitude. Not when he wanted so badly to promise them all the world.

For Wakaru...because they’d depended on the professor so deeply for all this time, please let them be the one to take the burden from you, who is so much like him. Just this once, they can do it. For him, and for you. You can lay back and close your eyes, and they’ll take care of the rest. You can rest now. If it’s them, they can make sure it doesn’t hurt. They know how—they’ll inflict as little damage to your body as possible, because it’s the only comfort either of them can think to offer to the rest of the class. Because your family will never have to wonder if you suffered. Nothing gruesome...nothing brutal, nothing cruel.

Hey, Ryou-kun... Was it really alright? Was it not just an act of cruelty after all? Have you not begun to regret it, now that the tide has receded and the shore is visible once more? As long as you don’t have any regrets, it’s fine, so please...

Their eyes wander the room once more, drifting aimlessly, before eventually returning to Holly.

“…If you could use that to find him once y’all leave here, and tell ’im that I had a lot of fun, and made friends with everyone…” Wakaru pauses, eyes wandering to the floor and only a little relieved to find it hadn’t become flooded with tears. Ah...the more time passes by, the more they don’t want to go. 17 minutes really is a cruel thing. They squeeze Kanna’s hand as tightly as they can.

They did have fun... They really liked being your friend. It’s all past tense now, huh. 

“Just tell ‘im…that I didn’t suffer or nothin’ like that. That I wasn’t in any pain. Just...that it’s thanks to Dr. Hatori that I could live every day smilin’, so... I was happy, right to the end. ‘cause the things he taught me, the things he gave me…they made me strong.”

Hey, Ryou-kun... That’s fine, isn’t it? But Riley rises from her seat, and they freeze in place.

Wakaru had always tried to follow the professor’s advice, when he said that saying thank you is almost always better than saying sorry. That if you can try to find a way to say thank you instead, you should. That your appreciation holds more weight than your guilt, that you should always try your best lift others up instead of pulling yourself down. They aren’t sure what to do though, not sure what to say when they can see Riley cracking beneath the weight of it. The guilt of things outside of her control, the feeling of failure.

They remember being in a room of the onryo’s design, when water flooded in from all sides and they were too consumed with fear to move or think or even breathe, and Riley lifted them up onto her shoulders to try and keep their head above water even when it meant she’d be trapped underneath. They remember when silent tears rolled down their face after reading Sayuri’s letters without understanding why, and Riley hugged them so tightly that their feet left the ground, and they felt like a child again and they laughed, and they—and they remember when, just moments before, they’d weakly pulled their arms around her and told her that everything would be okay.

They told her that everything would be okay, and...this is what they meant by that, huh. The best possible ending. This is what it looked like. Hesitantly, achingly slow, the 17 seconds it takes for them to gather the courage to pull their free arm around her again.

Hey, Ryou-kun... Could you tell them where the beauty in that story was supposed to lie? When the little mermaid gave it all up, and returned to the sea...

“...’m sorry, Riley-chan...” They aren’t the words she wants to hear, they know, but it’s all they can say. They’re sorry, they’re so sorry for hurting you like this. For making all of your efforts to be kind to them, to understand them, to make them feel safe, to go out of your way for them all amount to nothing but dirt and blood and tears and a garden full of wilted flowers. 

And the girl who loved the flowers is somewhere out of their sight, and her hand now feels so familiar in theirs that they can’t tell if it’s even there. Has she finally decided to let go, now that they’re in the arms of someone else? They give another cautious squeeze, the relief that their hand isn’t empty just yet offering enough courage to continue.

“I never once felt like...you wouldn’t’ve been there for me if I ever needed somethin’, or that you let me down, or nothin’ like that, y'know...? Ryou-kun too...” They don’t know what to tell Riley to make this okay. Maybe there’s nothing that can, and the thought makes their fingers grip into the back of her shirt. To lean into her hold for a moment and listen to a heart that still beats so strongly, even when breaking apart. Relying on your strength one more, one more time. It’s the only thing left that they can think to give you. Because like them, you have so much to give. 

...I feel safe. They’d told you once, following your lead into the darkness. This time, they’d be walking on their own, but... If they can borrow just a little of your strength, then they should be alright.

“Thank you...” They finally whisper, leaning away enough for you to decide whether or not you’re willing to let go. Enough for them to look around, to take it in one last time. The dust is beginning to settle, it feels like. The reality sinking in, and they aren’t sure how many minutes they have left and it’s the uncertainty that’s the worst of all. Sometime soon, without warning, they’ll surely be ripped away whether you’re holding them or not. 

I’m so so-rry, I’m so…

Which inevitably brings them back to Kanna, and they can’t say anything to make her tears stop or save her mother from despair or bring the flowers back in her garden and stay until they bloom. It’d be nice to see them bloom. their eyes drift back down, back down, losing focus and settling back down to the hand that’s clasped to theirs. At some point, they’d decided that they were allowed to hold her hand whenever they wanted. When was that? Hey... How do you say goodbye to someone when you don’t want to leave them? How are you meant to say you’re sorry to the hand that clutches yours...

“...I’m just happy you’re here...”

Hey, Kanna-chan… In a world where on that night, when the realities of your pain felt so heavy, if they had just run straight to you instead—do you think it would have been different?

#wakaru #chapter 3 #trial 3 #submission

[keigosbirdie]

FEMALE READER VERSION

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

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

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

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

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

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

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

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

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

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

He’d been that way a lot lately.

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

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

And a mystery it was, to everyone but you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I should reward you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"These cute little tits of yours- god."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His feather stopped pleasing you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so gorgeous,” you whispered.

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

"What was that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A sharp inhale burned your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds good.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Depends what it is.”

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

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

He laughed, and you glared at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You snorted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's not just you," you confessed. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Out with it then,” you teased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You mean you never meant to get attached?"

His silence was telling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“May I kiss you?” you asked instead. 

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Drop it.”

“How can I?!”

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

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

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

You stopped.

He stopped.

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

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

"I'm sorry."

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

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

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

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

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

You were angry for him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But to die for you; that would be unforgivable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wouldn’t have gotten any sleep, anyway.

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

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

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

"Hawks? You're squishing me." 

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

"What's the matter?" you pondered.

"Shh," he hummed. "I felt something…"

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

"It's my neighbor."

"What if it's not?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s got your feathers ruffled?”

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

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

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

“But if I’m not a hero, what am I?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had no power at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Credits: 

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

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

And a huge thanks to YOU, for reading !

Authors Note:

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

#Hawks #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #hawks x you #keigo takami x y/n #hawks x y/n #hawksbnha #bnha #mha #boku no academia #my hero academia #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo #hawks smut #bnha fanfiction #hawks x listener #nighthawkfic #my fic #nhfemale #xfemale

[angellissy]

Hey :) I’ve never requested anything before so I’m sorry if i do it wrong hahah

But could I request something where instead of ward faking his death it’s rafe who has to do it and none of the pouges know about your relationship until it’s you crying in the dock instead of Sarah. And when you and the piggies go on the “rescue” mission to get Sarah off of the boat you see rafe and eventually end up staying with him and leaving your friends

I’m sorry if this is really long xx thank you for taking the time to read my request

R E A C H I N G  F O R  T H E  S U R F A C E

SEASON TWO SPOILERS!

rafe Cameron x Reader

warnings: angst with a big a, canon rafe (maybe a bit softer), toxic relationship, rafe playing the victim card, death and talks of suicide.

a/n: I feel like it is of importance that I tell you all that I have done everything in my power not to romanticize the rafe cameron character and if I have then please kindly let me know because sometimes it can be hard. However I still need to say that I am writing through the eyes of the “reader” who very much still cares for this boy, which also means that the way the reader deals with things might not have been your way. If any more warnings should be included in the beginning, feel free to let me know. I hope you enjoy this fic which I am actually very proud of. A big thanks to @snkkat​ who is my proof reading buddy. Also thanks for sending in the request, I LOVED writing it! <3

They say that when you die your life flashes before your eyes, but how about when you watch someone else die? For as you watched him die, the life and moments the two of you had shared flashed before your eyes like a string of reminders of a life and love lost. It felt as if there was no air for you to breathe, you weren’t even sure how long it had been since you managed to take a full breath. Your mind was running in circles, trying to grasp what had just occurred, replaying the scene over and over again until you were not even sure what reality you were in. With a hammering heart and a split soul, you were kneeling on the dock, just minutes after watching your first love take his own life. You could not even remember how you had gotten out here in the first place, you just wished that you would have stayed behind as all your friends rushed toward a disaster in waiting. Perhaps that would have spared you some of the heartbreak, spared you from hearing him scream that he loved you one last time, spared you from seeing his boat go up in flames. But no, you were sure that for as long as you lived, you would see that blazing inferno whenever you closed your eyes.

There were arms around you, an attempt to soothe your shaking body, it only made you feel more trapped in a memory you would never escape. Those arms lifted you up and suddenly you were walking, mixed in all the anger and sadness there was a surprise that your body was even able to function. It felt as if you were outside of your body watching everything occur, you watched as Kiara and JJ helped you sit down on a sofa and as they draped a blanket over your shoulders. You watched it unfold, but you couldn’t feel it and there was no way that you would be able to respond to their worried questions. Instead, you were stuck in a mind that replayed everything Rafe had ever said or done to you as if that somehow could manifest him back to life. That stuck-up boy with the golden hair had been your first boyfriend, complicated as the relationship may have been, it had been the first time you ever experienced something close to love. Just days ago you had stood before him, tears in your eyes and heart in your throat as you called the relationship off. For a very long time, he had not been the boy you fell for, but rather a ghost of who he once was. Where he had once been sweet and tender with you, there had only been cold stares and words sharp enough to cut through ice. You were not oblivious to the fact that he struggled with issues you could never comprehend, but you refused to be an accomplice in his undoing. Time after time you had tried to be the person he could cling to when the world sat heavily upon his shoulders, but you soon realized that love and affection could not solve all problems. Oh, and you had loved him so much that you would have done anything for him to smile at you the way he had when he uttered those big three words for the first time. He had watched you with eyes that held so much adoration that you thought that they would never dim, that they would shine brighter for each time his eyes found yours. But eventually, they had dulled, and so you had realized that you would not sacrifice yourself no matter how much you cared for him. It did not matter that you had called things off with him or that you had decided to leave him in order to save yourself, for the knowledge that he was actually gone made it feel like someone was clawing at your heart and trying to rip it apart. It felt like no time in the world would be able to heal the pain in your chest or dry the tears falling from your eyes.

Time was indeed a funny thing, how seconds turned into minutes and how then those minutes became hours. Hours that you spent reminiscing over a life you thought you had given up before it was lost forever. You clung to the memories of him as if they were the lifebuoy keeping an anchor from pulling you down in a sea made up of your own sorrow. You knew that you were staying in your own made-up memories of a relationship with more bad times than good, but a part of you felt that you could not grieve the person he had become. For he had been vile and horrid, and if you acknowledged that, you would feel guilty for the sadness overwhelming you. So yes, you stayed in your made-up reality and wept for the boy that could have been. As hours turned into days, your friends made every effort to comfort you and try to get you out of the room that had become your place of mourning. Their tries aggravated you, for they did not understand the feelings rushing through your body at such speed it made you lightheaded. Each one of them had hated Rafe Cameron with at least one bone in their body and you knew how some of them had looked the day he died as if they were content that he was finally gone. Relieved that he could no longer plague them with taunts and threats that might have become reality was it not for his passing. You might have understood this, had it not been for the grief and guilt plaguing every bone in your body.

As days turned into weeks, you eventually came to appreciate their efforts to help you. It was like your vision was starting to clear and you could finally start trying to live your life again, and the first step to doing that was always to surround yourself with people that made you roar with laughter. Their ventures to try and find the Cross of Santo Domingo, were helpful, to say the least. Those adventures were as distracting as they were terrifying since the outcome was never given. Your mixed friend group of pogues and kooks had actually found that damn cross as well. Who would have thought that a bunch of high school kids would be able to find a historic relic? The answer would have been no one, and that is why you don’t underestimate kids with no limits. The cross had been in your grasp until a greedy and manipulative Ward Cameron came along and grabbed it. Ever since that particular happening, things started going south fast and it all ended up with Sarah being kidnapped by her own guardians. It also ended up with the rest of you stowed away like cargo on the ship she was on. While John B and Pope carried out their plan to find Sarah and the famous cross, you, JJ, and Kie sweated from every pore as you waited to hear from them. You had zoned out, staring mindlessly into one of the walls of the container, in the background you could hear your two friends talk about their dreams for the future. Something about going on several surfing trips at various destinations with each other, and that part made your heart ache. Sure, after everything he had done, a future with Rafe had not been one of your dreams. Still, as you listened to your friends talk, you could only remember a time where he had been everything you wanted in life. You pressed your palms upon your face as if you somehow could force every memory of him to remain in that little part of your brain where you were hoping they would become forgotten. A loud clank dragged you out of your thoughts and you looked up just in time to see Pope and John B climb in through that small window opening, followed by a woman you had never ever seen. Shortly after that, problems started to arise and soon all of you were scrambling out of the container in hopes of not being detected by the workers on the boat. They were in obvious search of all of you, which made you sweat even more than you had done inside the container. All of you received different plans on how to tackle the situation, yours was to act as a lookout for John B as he searched for Sarah.

You followed him down to what you could only assume was the boiler room since steam was thick in the air and you took your place by the door as he ventured further down. His desperate cries for Sarah echoed through the room and you dearly wished for a response to be heard, but there was nothing except the sound of his shoes against the floor. Thump, thump, thump and then utter silence until John B utters a name that made it feel as if the floor was pulled away from under your feet.

“Rafe.”

One of your hands finds the doorframe, a poor attempt to steady yourself as you try to figure out if this is a trick played by your grieving mind. You take a few breaths and as the silence is once again interrupted by two raised voices, you follow John B’s path down into the room. The heart in your chest is beating so hard that it feels like you are going to throw up, and it only gets worse the nearer you come. At first, you only see your friend, but then you look past him

and

your

heart

stops.

Rafe Cameron had died in front of your very eyes, so either the gods were playing a nasty cruel joke or you had lost the battle with your mind. You shut your eyes just to open them again, and no matter how many times you did it, he still remained. What happened next was a bit peculiar to you, for weeks you had drowned in grief where sadness was the constant emotion, but as you looked him in the eye and saw that he was very much alive, rage and anger crushed into you with the force of a thousand waves. You stepped toward him, only for an arm to shoot out to stop you, and John B added to his gesture by saying “Don’t”. Laughter bubbled in your throat, for who was he to tell you what you could or could not say to your “dead” ex-boyfriend who seemed to never stop causing you grief.

“Find Sarah.” John B hesitated for a few moments before following your unspoken order to leave you and Rafe alone. It wasn’t surprising considering that his worry for Sarah would always overpower anything else. Once again you looked into Rafe’s blue eyes, remembering a time when you used to stare in them for so long you would see specks of green and grey. Had you searched for those colors now, you would probably have found them. However, you were trying to decipher whatever feeling that was shining in them, was it anger? No, his other features were too soft for that and the hand holding his weapon had gone slack as he watched you. Maybe it was relief? No that was not it either, for why would he be relieved to see you? You were not the one who had died and left the other behind. You stepped even closer to him, the simmering anger inside of your veins made your hands shake and he looked at them briefly as if he wanted to take them in his. Your hands clenched into fists and you watched as his shoulders dropped the tiniest bit, and suddenly you knew exactly what was shining in his eyes.

Love, and sadness. Your heart started to speed up again, and you knew that once you opened your mouth, the anger and grief that had become part of you, would tumble out in words that you would never be able to take back. But he had done something much worse, so he would listen, you would make sure of it. Your lips parted slightly and he must have seen it for his words came first.

“I- fuck I am sorry okay? But I had to do it, you wouldn’t understand but I had to do it, it was the best for everyone.” As he says this you can’t help the sound that slips through your lips, it was supposed to be a laugh but it sounds more like a sob. His eyes flicker between you and everything else in the room as if there was anything in here that could save him for this conversation. You move your hands toward your chest and his eyes watch as you press them hard against your chest, against the heart that won’t stop breaking.

“Best for everyone?” Your voice is the combination of a whisper and a ragged breath “Did you have my best interest in mind when you let me believe you had blown yourself up?” He winces and makes an attempt to say something but you hold up a hand to stop him. “Did it ever occur to you how your little stunt would affect the one person who still, despite everything, loved you?” This time, your voice has started to rise towards something like a scream, and how could you not scream when there is so much sadness inside of you that it felt like just looking at him would turn your body into a pool of water.

“You broke up with me, so don’t start acting like a victim where you aren’t one.” His features are starting to morph into those he carries when anger overcomes him, but you will not back away from this. Your hands are in your hair, pulling at it as if that would help you make sense of this situation. “You broke my heart long before I broke yours.” You can’t help the way your voice breaks or the tears that start falling from your eyes.“You needed and still need help and until you receive that help, you are prone to hurt anyone in your vicinity.” Now it is his turn to drag his hands through his hair and his breaths come faster and faster until you realize that he is starting to hyperventilate. He sinks to the floor and you follow, not sure how to help when it feels like his state is mirroring your own. With cautious movements, you place your hands on his shoulders, and the shaking of his body sends trembles throughout yours. For a while nothing happens, you just sit there with your hands on his body and watch him fall apart. Perhaps you should have been glad that he was suffering, after everything he had done to you he deserved it. But you couldn’t feel anything other than anguish and as a sob escaped his body every restraint you had kept on yourself broke and you hugged him towards your chest. You could never save him, but he clung to you as if you had the power to undo every wrong he had ever done. After a while, he looks up at your tear-streaked face and one of his hands reaches up to cup it. You want to look away because you can see everything in those eyes of his, every regret and every wish he has ever had. His forehead leans towards you and you feel his hot breath against your skin. As you breathe in the scent of cologne and feel his skin against yours, you feel overwhelmed by the fact that he is actually here. You notice that his lips part and for a second you are scared that he is going to kiss you, but he must know that there is a limit to your patience with him so he just whispers words with the promise of what could have been. “I wanted to be good for you.” A small smile takes place on your lips and you close your eyes as you try to restrain the well of emotions inside of you. “I know Rafe, I know.” He breathes out a little, almost as if he is relieved that you are aware that he tried in a world and with a mind constantly working against him. You knew, but you also knew that there was someone else out there for you. Someone who would love you in a way that Rafe would never be able to, in a way that would not send the two of you to the bottom of the ocean. Whoever was out there would make you swim. For so long you had wanted to believe that Rafe was the one, despite all his flaws you would have given anything for him to be your future. It was a relief to know that you could and deserved to have more. But you also knew that you needed to do something before that could happen.

“I will stay-.” Before you could even finish your sentence he whipped his head up to look at you with such hope you never wanted to continue talking. You swallowed hard and forced yourself to go on. “I will stay with you just to make sure you receive the help you need.” His whole body deflated and you had to bite your lip in order not to cry again. Eventually, he nodded and you closed your eyes in relief. You knew that this had to be the right move, no one else would listen to him or make sure he got help, so you needed to be the one to did. Just enough so that you finally could start swimming towards the surface.

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