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#like ... when he could spare the time he would dig old songs out of the archives and have a copy made for her and sent off
thornsnvultures · 5 months
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heaven can('t) wait
steve harrington x plus size!fem!reader
tweaked a bit from this anon request (sorry it took song long), less angst and more silly because I like writing readers who are secure in their bodies, it's healing for me. I hope you like it!
cw: 18+ nsft, smut, afab!reader, body worship, new relationship insecurities, oral (fem recieving), fingering, p in v sex, spanking, light breath play, Daddy kink, breeding kink, creampie (if there's anything I missed lmk), >2k words
divider by @/saradika
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"Get your butt out here before I come in and get'cha."
You could practically hear Steve's hands on his hips through the bathroom door. But you weren't coming out. Not like this. Steve wanted you to try on his old gym shorts before he got rid of them.
You should've listened to your gut; the damn things didn't fit. Well, you were able to get them up and over your ass, but the waistband dug into your tummy making it spill over the top and the material was digging into your thighs. You felt like a can of biscuits about to pop.
Now, it wasn't your body's fault for being built the way it was. You've always been soft around the edges, had plenty of hips and thighs and tummy to spare since you hit puberty and you were fine with that. It was these damn shorts, they just weren't made for you. Obviously, they were men's shorts. And a size too small.
"You overestimated what these shorts were capable of, Harrington," you called as you twisted and turned in the mirror. You had to admit your ass looked good, like those girls at the gym who scrunched their yoga shorts up their entire butt like their ass was having them for dinner.
But you still weren't comfortable with Steve seeing you like this. As much as you were okay with your body, this relationship was...new. You'd been hurt before. Was now the time you wanted to test your relationship? See if Steve was the kinda guy to really hurt you?
"You've got until the count of three, baby," Steve yelled, a playfulness in his voice that made your heart race. You almost wanted to push him, have him bust in here and let him punish you for not listening when he used his "babysitter voice". More like his Daddy voice. A thrill rushed through you, running straight through to your clit. Steve was at two and a half when you shook yourself out of it.
"Two and three quarters..."
Steve was grinning at you when you threw the door open.
"Three. They don't fit, Steve."
"I don't know about that," Steve said as he took a step back. "They look like they fit just right."
You pluck at the waistband, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "They clearly don't. See, they're digging in."
"Lemme see," Steve said, his voice sounding deeper, his eyes narrowed in on your exposed tummy. You watch him drop to his knees in front of you, your breath catching in your throat. Steve's hands travel up your legs, over your thighs and hips until they reach the waistband of the shorts.
Slowly, Steve peels down the elastic, revealing the indents where it dug into your skin.
"You poor thing," Steve whispers as he kisses your skin, feather-light brushes of chapstick smooth lips that soothe where you ache. Well, not everywhere.
"Steve," you run your fingers through his hair, cradling his head as he moves across the expanse of your tummy. Yeah, if you were testing him, Steve would be passing with flying colors.
Moving to your hips, Steve pulled the shorts down further, exposing the sides of your panties where they hugged your hips. With the shorts now around your thighs, you found it harder to move. If you wanted to pull away from Steve now, you might fall over. Thankfully his hands were cradling your ass now, kneading and squeezing your supple flesh. How thoughtful of him to keep you upright.
You couldn't help but laugh at yourself, at being stuck and the wild sight of your big beautiful man worshiping you on his knees.
"What's so funny, baby," Steve stops his tickling kisses to bite at your hip, not too hard but hard enough to make you yelp and to leave a mark. "Got something you wanna tell the class?" Steve punctuates his sentence with a slap to your ass.
"Get me out of these shorts, Harrington," you wriggle around in his hold, your ass stinging and your pussy throbbing from all this love and affection. "They're cutting off my circulation."
Steve all but growls watching you jiggle in his hold. He yanks his shorts off you, your panties too, throwing them across the room.
"S'that better?"
Steve doesn't wait for you to answer before he's pulling you forward and slamming the bathroom door closed behind you. Suddenly you're being turned around and pushed face first into the door. Steve's spreading your legs apart and nudging your lower back down with one hand on your spine until your back is arched and you're spread wide open.
"This is for making me wait."
You shout when Steve slaps your ass again.
"Steve, please," you whine, your ass smarting from Steve's heavy hand.
"Should've came out when I told you to, pretty girl," Steve nips at your cheeks, trailing kisses behind the pain.
He's very pointedly ignoring your pussy, the bastard. You squirm, trying to entice him closer to your core as your head falls to the door with a groan.
"Next time you decide to hide this hot little body from me, you don't get to come at all."
Steve smacks your ass again, the hardest one yet, and dives face first into your pussy. He spreads your ass open with his big fucking hands, locking eyes with you over your shoulder as he tongues your pussy.
Steve sucks your clit and you can't hold back your screams. Not that you would bother if there was. His tongue feels way too good flicking back and forth over your sensitive nub, alternating between that and sucking your soul out.
"Tell Daddy you're sorry," Steve growls when he comes up for air. "Tell him you won't hide from him again if you want this dick."
Steve slides his fingers into your cunt, two thick fingers that make your eyes roll back and your jaw drop before you can say a word. A long, deep whine falls from your lips. Any smart-ass remark you want to make is lost in the way he curls his fingers inside you, immediately finding the spot that turns you to goo.
"I'm sorry, Daddy. Sorry, I'm sorry," you babble. "Won't hide again. Please please please."
"That's it, baby," Steve purrs, his fingers stretching you open. "Beg for it."
You whine and cry and beg for his dick but all he gives you is his fingers. Fucking you deep until you're gushing, drooling down his arm.
Steve reaches around your side to hold your tummy. His fingers dig into soft flesh and he groans, biting the swell of your ass that jiggle by his face.
"So fucking sexy, baby. Love watching you fall apart for me."
"Daddy, please," you cry out as you come on his fingers again. "Need you inside me."
"What was that? I couldn't hear you," Steve stands, his fingers still filling your cunt like he's stuck. He bends over your arched back to nuzzle into your cheek, his thick cock pressing into your hip. His face is wet with your slick, you can smell yourself all over him and it makes your pussy clench around his fingers.
"Please," you whine. "Need you to fuck me. Daddy."
Steve inhales, his chest expanding against your back. He keeps his fingers in your cunt, stroking you lovingly from the inside, while he pushes his sweatpants down. You hear him step out of them and for a brief moment you're empty, hollow without him.
But the feeling is gone as quickly as it came when Steve taps his dick against your lips.
"Ready, baby?"
You nod, your hands braced against the bathroom door as Steve begins to ease his cock inside. It's a tight fit, Steve's almost too big. Just enough that you're panting and telling yourself to relax so you can take it but not too much that it hurts. He doesn't want to hurt you, he tells you that himself.
"Let me in, sweet girl. God, you're gripping me so tight. Let me all the way in, you feel so good."
Steve noses at your cheek, his chest rubbing against your back. He must've taken off his shirt while he was feeding you his cock because you feel the hair on his chest tickling your skin.
"That's it, baby," Steve says through his teeth once he's all the way in. He only lets you settle for a moment before he's pounding in and out, over and over. The door rattles under your palms with the force of his thrusts and you cry out.
"Fuck, Steve, yes!"
"What's my name?" Steve takes you by the throat, not pressing hard enough to take away your breath but to turn your head so he can capture your lips in a kiss before he asks you again. "What's my name, baby?"
"Daddy!"
Steve's hips hit even harder, drilling into you. He never takes his eyes off you, holding your face to look at him as he gives your neck a squeeze.
"Who's body is this?"
"Yours, it's yours."
"That's right."
Steve pulls out of you with a slick squelch and leads you by the neck to his bed. He pushes you down on it and watches you inch back towards his pillows. He looks so wild. His hair sticking up in places, his chest red and heaving. Steve pumps his wet dick and climbs up after you. He grabs your legs by the backs of your thighs and pushes them up, all the way up to your chest. Your thick thighs frame your belly and squish your tits and Steve is looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. The monster between his legs twitches in his grip.
"It's all yours, Daddy. I'm all yours."
"Yes, you are," Steve grins as he slides his cock home, right where it belongs. "Every inch of you. No matter what clothes you wear or what you look like," Steve groans, easing his cock in and out. His arms bracket your head, leaning his big body into your space until he's a breath away and resting his forehead on yours. "You're mine. All mine."
You can't do anything but breath him in and feel. The way his cock bullies that spot in you over and over. How your nails dig into Steve's back and he doesn't even flinch, too focused on making you cum again. You try to meet his thrusts, arching your back, his twisting because it's too much, it feels too good.
"Fuck, Steve. Daddy, I'm cumming, I'm-"
"Yes, yes, that's it. That's it, baby," Steve watches as your mouth drops in a silent scream, your eyes rolling back, all the air getting stuck in your lungs as you shatter. "So perfect, my perfect girl. Fuck, gonna fill you up. Fill my pussy up with cum," Steve grits through his teeth.
Your hands grab his face, forcing him to look at your blissed out face.
"Give me your baby, Daddy."
Steve's eyes roll back in his head and his whole body shudders. He warms your insides, filling you up just like he said he would until he's leaking out, dripping onto the bed.
"God, why did you say that," Steve groans into your neck.
"Cause I knew it would make you cum," you laugh.
"Should've never told you I wanted kids."
You laugh again as Steve rolls off you, getting up to grab a towel.
"Should've never told me I had nice, wide birthing hips either, Daddy."
Steve throws the towel at you cackling on the bed.
"I was drunk!"
"You wanted me so bad it made you stupid," you smile at him and pull him in for a kiss when he reaches for the towel.
"You're right. Those shorts made me stupid. I saw them and I knew they wouldn't fit but I needed to see you in them anyway."
"Steve!"
"Tell me it wasn't worth it!" Steve smiles and you bite your lip watching him wipe his softening dick clean. You should be doing that, not the towel. Next time.
"It was worth it, you're right," you purr, taking Steve into your arms when he crawls back into bed. "Next time can you buy me some sexy lingerie or something instead of tricking me into feeling like a packed can of sardines?"
Steve laughs and kisses you silly. "Keep calling me 'Daddy' and I'll do whatever you want, beautiful."
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around1302 · 1 year
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XX. THE FINAL SHOW
SPARE PARTS: a series (20/20)
MSG, NEW YORK
(W) strong language
epilogue out 9pm BST ;)
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THIRD PERSON’S POV
ONE WEEK EARLIER
“You know what’s funny about this?”
“Incredible sex is funny?”
Charlie rolls her eyes, tilting her head to meet Harry’s gaze. Sort of. Within their position, it proves to be a little difficult. Their fingers tangle and untangle in an unspoken game, Charlie’s cheek presses into Harry’s chest and they just lay there – basking in uninterrupted peace. It’s so strangley normal at this point.
“If I had never kissed Zayn at Louis’ party, we wouldn’t have happened. You wouldn’t have found me crying in the toilet and I wouldn’t have let you edge me.”
Harry’s chest winced at the mention of her kissing Zayn, her kissing anyone that isn’t him, but he remains cool. Chuckling, even, at the bitter tone she dips into at the recollection of what he did to her that night.
“As much as I’d love to give you some line about how we were destined, I have to agree with you, baby.”
“You can use other nicknames, you know.”
Charlie twists completely onto her stomach now, letting her chin fall on her arms. Harry plays with her hair, fingers grazing her back, smiling at the goosebumps that develop beneath his touch.
“I can?” Harry lilts.
“Mm. You haven’t used princess in a while.”
“You hated princess.”
Charlie shrugs. “Try it now. Unless you still think I’m a stuck-up brat.”
“Hey,” Harry tilts his head, thumbing at her bottom lip, “I never said that.”
“You implied it.” Charlie grins, pushing her face up with her palm as her elbow digs into his chest. Harry looks up at her now, still tracing her morning-kissed features.
“Fine,” Harry clears his throat, “princess.”
“Like slipping on an old sweater.” Charlie grins, Harry scoffs.
“You don’t call me anything,” Harry palms at her nape, scratching at the hair there. Charlie’s eyes nearly roll into the back of her head while she resists the urge to beg him for a full body massage.
“You don’t seem like the pet name type.”
“I’m actually a huge fan of honey-bunch if you’d ever bothered asking me.”
Charlie snorts. Harry wants to write a song about it.
“Okay, honey-bunch,” Charlie leans forward, nudging his nose with hers, “whatever you want.”
PRESENT DAY
When the five of them stepped onto that stage those years ago as nothing but spare parts, they never could have imagined they would ever even play further than that Battle of the Bands arena – let alone Madison Square Garden.
Niall saw himself playing guitar in his bedroom around his usual 9-5. Liam envisioned packing away the drumsticks and moving to university and living the life his parents had always planned for him. Charlie saw singing in the shower and Louis saw bass behind closed doors and Harry saw songwriting in rare minutes.
This? This was unfathomable.
Even more so as Charlie stands before them all, hands as firm on her hips as her mind was set on the simple fact that she is,
“Not doing it.”
“What the fuck do you mean you’re not doing it?” Louis spits, furrowing his brows behind his overgrown fringe, calloused fingers pausing their play with his worn pick.
Typically, the guys would put this up to pre-show nerves. It’s not unusual for Charlie to question every aspect of her career moments before it’s time to mic up, but calling a band meeting only minutes before – the sound of screams echoing the dressing room Amelia and Zayn were forced to vacate – that’s call for suspicion.
“The show?” Niall questions, scratching the back of his neck.
“Charlie, if you’re nervous–” Liam starts.
“I’m not nervous,” Charlie finishes, “I’m just not doing it.”
She avoided Harry’s eye the whole way over here, scared she’d crumble if she’d meet it. It took kicking him out of the room and a turmoil over a trillion different possibilities to come to this conclusion, it took risking being late to solidify that this is the right thing – the only thing – to do.
She wasn’t going to throw all that away because of some stupid eyes.
And yet, as she repeats her bold statement, Harry’s face seems to be the only one she can find. He’s standing away from the guys, practically cornered, anxiously playing with his bottom lip as his eyes start to well with something. Fear? Sadness? Frustration? It’s untangeable, but Charlie fixates on it and finds it only fuels her resentment.
“I still don’t understand what the fuck you’re talking about.” Louis scoffs, shoving his pick in his pocket to fold his arms.
Charlie’s eyes zero in on Harry. She has no idea what he’s thinking, and vice versa, all they know is this is the most normal they’ve been in months. Charlie mad at Harry. If anything, her belittling stare should be a home comfort.
“Do you want to tell them or should I?”
Harry drops his hand, scowling. Anger starts to bubble in the spaces guilt boiled only a few seconds ago. The boys all look at Harry, and Niall’s quick to roll his eyes.
“Oh, Jesus, what did you do this time?”
“Knew it was only a matter of time before you fucked it up.” Liam joins in.
“Leave it out,” Harry snaps, despite knowing he has no real reason to.
“Well?” Charlie sniffs, straightening her back.
“Guys!” Paula’s voice booms from outside the locked door, “two minutes, I won’t tell you again!”
“Okay!” Charlie retorts.
Paula mumbles something about them skating on thin ice, but leaves. At the end of the day, the show can’t start without them – their own rules apply right now.
“Harry?” Louis asks again, his tone beyond annoyed.
“Charlie, you’re a real prick.” Harry sighs. Charlie shrugs. “This isn’t how I wanted to do this, I had a plan.”
Charlie guffaws at that. “Tough shit, they have a right to know–”
“Oh my God, know what?”
“He’s leaving.”
Silence thrums throughout the dressing room, making the space suddenly huge.
“You what?” Niall’s the first to break it, sounding amused. Unconvinced.
“You heard me.” If looks could kill, Harry’d be a goner. “Harry decided to sign a solo contract last year with Columbia,” her voice begins to wobble, but she can’t mess this up, “to leave after this tour.”
“Yeah, right.” Liam scoffs.
“Bullshit.” Louis laughs a little too loudly.
“Harry?” Charlie prompts.
Harry collapses onto the arm of the sofa, mumbling. “It’s true.”
“Speak up.” Charlie spits. Harry glares at her.
“It’s true,” he repeats, harsher. “Look, I was going to tell you after we were finished–”
“You what?” Niall scoffs, repeating himself.
“I can explain at a better time, but right now we need to get on stage and perform to fucking thousands of people.”
“No way,” Liam jibes, “I don’t believe you.”
“What would fucking possess you?” Louis bites.
Harry glares at Charlie, again. He knows full well he’s in the wrong here, but fuck her for dropping this bomb moments before what was supposed to be the best show of the whole God damn tour. There’s no way he has the time or space to explain now–
“Right, enough is enough!” Paula’s voice travels around the four walls, the persistent sound of her fist thrumming through their chests, “out, now!”
Harry quickly scrambles to rectify some of it – if any. If that’s even remotely possible at this point. Everyone’s looking at him like he just killed a cat, but his main priority is Charlie and her initial statement.
“We have to do this together, Charlie.”
“That’s ironic.” She snorts – the sound less sweet, now.
“As much as I could kick his head in right now,” Liam seethes, “he’s right. We’re not performing without you.”
“Tough shit. I’m not giving them a lie.”
“Ten seconds before I kick this door in!”
“Okay!” They all shout in unison this time.
“Charlie,” Harry steps forward, reaching out for her shoulders but she steps back, out of his touch. He tries not to wince at that. “Please.” Harry rarely pleads, but it seems that when it comes to this girl he’d get on his knees and beg with his life if she so wished.
Charlie feels those same, annoying tendons being yanked at in her chest. Harry’s eyes and his tremble and his mouth all seem so bitterly sincere, it kills her. So she glances at the band behind him, all clearly as angry as her, and searches their faces for some kind of answer.
Nothing. Nothing helpful, at least.
“Just one more show.” Harry pulls her back. “One more, then you can hate me forever.”
“That sounds like a tempting offer.” Charlie retorts quickly.
How much quipping at Harry feels like slipping on an old jumper. Sure, maybe complete refusal was a bit hasty. Perhaps even a little irresponsible – but it felt like good payback for Harry’s carelessness. But in looking at her bandmates’ faces, she realises maybe it was just selfish anger.
“Fine,” she ignores Harry’s deep sigh of relief, “but fuck you.”
Harry’s heard those words from Charlie’s lips a million times over the last six years, but God if that time didn’t sting. Salted by the guys’ glares and shoulder barges as they follow Charlie out the dressing room, hearing earfuls from Paula as they ascend to the stage.
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As much as they tried, that show was clearly a blip. Fans were already buzzing on Twitter about how something feels up; Charlie’s distance, Harry’s wobbles, Niall’s fumbles. Not a part of them let the excitement of MSG seap into the cracks formed by that contract, and instead of an adrenaline filled debrief at their tour-wrap party the five of them sat in Louis’ hotel room.
Arguing.
“We were never going to do this forever.”
“We only put out two fucking albums,” Liam’s usual level-headedness seems to be long gone, “and you already want to call it quits.”
“I’m not quitting, I’m moving on,” Harry knows he has no right to be frustrated, but trying to explain where he’s coming from fifty times gets exhausting. “I don’t feel like this is the place I want to be at anymore. We were sixteen when we started and I used to be okay with every decision being made for me, but I can’t do it now.”
“You have freedom–”
“No, I don’t,” Harry snaps, interrupting Louis, “half the songs I wrote for this album got either cut or changed. Every fucking adult life experience I’ve ever had has been because other people set that up for me, or because it was a band decision. I can’t live like that anymore.”
“Wow,” Niall laughs bitterly, “didn’t realise we were such a chore.”
Harry sighs, refusing to explain himself for a fifty-first time.
“I understand I should have said something earlier, but that’s the only thing I can apologise for.”
“You’re not gonna say sorry for fucking us all over?” Niall sniffles.
“God, I have not fucked–”
“You’re not listening,” Charlie finally cuts through her silence. Everyone’s heads snap in her direction after nearly forgetting she’s been sat here, just absorbing the conversation. “You didn’t listen to me, and you’re not listening to them. We can’t do this without you.”
“Of course you can,” Harry’s voice leaves him hoarsly. “You’re all more than capable.”
“Do you really think that low of us?” Liam quips.
“Yeah,” Louis joins in, “we wouldn’t want to do it without you.”
Harry swallows, a thick tension fogging up the suite.
“Then I don’t know what to say.”
“Jesus,” Niall murmurs, rubbing his face before groaning, “you’re such an idiot, H.”
Harry presses his tongue into his cheek; he can’t dispute that one.
“So is this it?” Louis murmurs.
They all look at each other, waiting for someone to have an answer, a solution, but no one does. They can’t do it without Harry, and Harry isn’t doing it.
“I’m not ready for this to end.” Louis continues.
“It doesn’t have to.” Harry tries to resolve the issue, again. Obviously, it doesn’t work.
“We’ve fuckin’ established at this point we’re not doing this without you,” Niall’s tone starts to soften. “Maybe this is a good idea.”
“What?” Liam splutters.
“Look, Harry’s leaving, I’m getting married. We’ve just finished tour, if there’s any time to split…”
“Oh yeah, that’s all well and good for you guys. But what the fuck do we do, huh?”
“Whatever we want...” Liam mumbles to himself.
“What?” Louis stands, “You can’t seriously be okay with this?”
“Maybe they’re right,” Liam shrugs, still sounding defeated, “what if we are out-growing this thing?”
“This thing?”
“I mentally checked out the moment I found out.” Charlie cuts in, coldly. “I’m not saying I’m happy about it, I’m fucking terrified, but…” keeping her eyes on Harry, Charlie speaks to the room when she asks, “can we have a minute?”
The guys give each other looks, but obey, leaving Harry and Charlie. Harry can’t even look at Charlie. He doesn’t know what he feels, what he can even say. He’s sorry, and he’s angry, and he’s so God damn in love with her that he’s afraid to speak.
“I need a fuckin’ drink,” Louis grumbles before the door slams.
A second of silence before Charlie’s feet padding on the floor matches the thrumming of Harry’s heart, and then she’s suddenly before him, standing between his legs as he stays perched on the edge of the bed.
Hesitant, she reaches out, forcing him to look up at her. A sharp inhale takes her off guard at the sight of him – he looks so wrecked, so on the verge of tears, she nearly decides to forget the whole thing and crumble into forgiveness. Into his arms.
“Charlie,” he mutters, “I need you to be okay with me.”
She swallows the forming lump in her throat, but it’s not working against the pads of his fingers against her hips, kneading apologetic circles into her skin.
“Please,” he asks again. Begs.
Charlie carresses his cheeks, heart breaking at the way he absentmindely falls into her warmth. His eyes even flutter closed for a second as he wonders if this is the last time she’ll ever let him lean into her like this.
“I don’t expect forgiveness I just…” he kisses her palm, his lips moving desperately up her arm as his voice cracks, “I can’t lose you, you know that, right?”
Despite Charle’s heart melting into a trillion painful specs, she remains firm.
“Harry, you lied.” She whispers.
He stands, holding her face as he continues his apology path to her neck, her jaw, her cheek, her lips. Mutual tears salt the kiss as she caves in for a second; her hands fist at his shirt as her muscles fall into memory and all she can think about is his lips on hers. Harry sighs into her mouth, fingers clawing at her nape as he begs with his tongue.
“No,” Charlie suddenly pulls back, ugly logic clouding her vision, “no, Harry I can’t.”
Their foreheads press together, jagged breaths mixing to become one as he keeps her close, as close as he possibly can for as long as he possibly can. He’s almost scared to ask the question,
“So what are we supposed to do now?”
Charlie looks up at him with those eyes, a look of disappointment- no, is it anger? Sadness. Harry really can’t tell. All he knows is she’s never looked at him like that before, and he never wants her to look at him like that again.
What are they supposed to do now?
“I know space is the last thing I’ll ever want from you.” Harry answers for them.
When Charlie doesn’t respond, Harry tries to clear his throat; rid himself of that painful lump as he prepares himself to finish his sentence.
It doesn’t work. It’s painful. So, so painful.
“Space is probably what you want, right?”
If you had asked Charlie twenty four hours ago what she wanted from Harry, space wouldn’t have even made it on the list. But now, after everything, after what should have been the best show of the whole tour but turned out to be the worse – yeah. Space sounds nice.
So she nods, shortly yet enough for Harry to register it against his skin.
“Okay.” He whispers, his voice cracking.
Leaving her isn’t close to what Harry wants to do, but he forces himself to step away from her. He knows looking at her will only make things worst, so keeping his head down he starts for the door.
But Charlie’s palm around his wrist stops his feet and his heart.
“Harry,” his name leaves her rushed, pained.
She steps in front of him. “I love you.”
He feels his whole world collapse beneath him.
“I just need a minute, okay?”
Harry’s never felt relief like that in his entire life.
“Okay.”
After six years, eight months, and several days, Harry can do a minute.
@lilfreakjez @be-with-me-so-happily @sirtommyholland @tpwksm @b-reads-things @tiaamberxx @daphnesutton @mleestiles
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neverinadream · 2 years
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They Don't Love Me, They Just Want To See Me Naked - Part II
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Summary: Billy broke her heart, corrupted her reputation with lies and left her unable to trust anyone else. Eddie just wants to love her for who she was. And Y/N doesn't know what to do.
Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
Song Inspo: Tattoos - Reneé Rapp
Warnings: post season three/pre season four, slow burn, aspects of angst, strangers to friends and then eventually lovers in later parts, soft!eddie, talk of money problems
Notes: feedback is always welcome and greatly appreciated
With each pay cheque she collected, Y/N stashed some of the money in an old shoebox, kept hidden in the back of hers and Delilah's shared closet. Originally, the words COLLEGE FUND had been written in big, black block letters, but she had no hope of going to college; especially not after her mother 'helped herself' to half of what had already been saved. She argued that she had every right to help herself to a few dollars because Y/N lived under her roof free of charge and happily eat the food that she bought. Y/N could've argued that the food in the fridge had actually been bought with half of her week's wages, but she knew Delilah would've had her ear pressed to their bedroom door, listening in on their argument.
Now the words had been crossed out with a single line through the middle, the words NEW LIFE replacing them. If college was no longer an option, then maybe she could provide Delilah with a new life. A better life. A life where they didn't have to check down sofa cushions for spare change or worry about the electricity being cut off because someone had forgotten to pay the bill.
"Are we poor?" Delilah had asked one day, holding onto Y/N's hand as they walked back from summer camp. It wasn't a real summer camp, just a club held in the library, mainly attended by kids whose parents couldn't afford to take time off work to watch them over the summer. "Daniel Bishop says I have to go to this camp because we can't afford for me to go to a real one."
"Well, that is not why you don't get to go to a real summer camp," she answered, telling her a white lie. She could've told her the truth but she didn't want Delilah to grow up worrying about money the same way she did.
"He says that's why I only have one pair of sneakers and why we live in a trailer." She looks up at Y/N, with big eyes that matched her own. "He said we were trailer trash."
Y/N could handle people calling her trailer trash, she had heard the two words her whole life, but it broke her heart knowing her seven-year-old sister was being called the same thing. "First off, you love those sneakers," she pulls Delilah to a stop, kneeling down in front of her, pieces of gravel and dirt digging into her knee, "and this Daniel Bishop guy, he sounds like trash." She frames her face with her hand, brushing away some gold glitter that was on her cheek. "Look, money doesn't make you who you are. Okay?" Delilah nodded her head. "You're either a kind person or you're not, and Daniel Bishop sounds like he is the smelliest piece of trash."
That was the day that Y/N had promised that she would always provide Delilah with a better life, a life lived like any other regular kid in Hawkins.
"Come on, De!" Y/N shouted for her sister, forging their mother's signature on Delilah's permission slip. It was for some field trip to a museum in the next town over. She stuffed the letter and the money into an envelope, counting that the correct amount was there, before sealing it and scribbling her sister's name on the front. "Eddie's going to leave without us!" She shouts when there was still no sign of her sister.
Fast footsteps approached from behind, a soft thudding against the dull brown-ish coloured carpet. "He wouldn't do that," Delilah says, appearing behind her. She turns her back to Y/N, allowing her to unzip her backpack and slide the envelope inside.
"He might."
"He wouldn't," Delilah shakes her head, "he likes you too much to do that."
She places her hands on Delilah's shoulders, spinning her around to face her. "What have I said about telling lies?"
Delilah frowns, a giant pout appearing for her sister to see. "I'm not lying."
"Come on," she grabs her bag and her keys off the kitchen counter, "time to go."
Eddie stood outside his uncle's trailer, his fingers playing with the bracelet on his right wrist, as he waited patiently for Y/N and Delilah. A smile breaks out when he sees the two of them approaching, the younger of the two breaking away from her older sister, running in front of her to get to Eddie first. In the few weeks since Eddie had stumbled upon Delilah's older sister, the two of them had formed an unlikely friendship, with Y/N often feeling like she was third-wheeling their friendship.
"Hey, little monster," he greets Delilah, opening his hand out in the air for her to high five. She has to jump to reach his hand, gravel and dirt kicking up as she lands. Eddie waves his hand in the air, faking his reaction just to make her giggle. "What are you feeding her?" He asks, looking at Y/N as she finally met up with them. "I swear she hits my hand harder every day."
"Oh, you know, just a concoction of things: the eye of a newt, the toe of a frog," she lists off for him, giving Delilah's shoulder's a gentle shake, "you know, just all the good things to keep her fit and healthy." Delilah tilts her head back at her, scrunching her face up in disgust. "She loves the stuff," she tells him, making him laugh, "drinks it by the gallon."
"Let me guess, there's wool of bat and tongue of dog in there too?" He slips his hand into his back pocket, fishing out the keys to his van. "Yeah, I think I've heard of that recipe before," he mumbles, joining in on her joke, "in Mrs P's class."
Y/N smiled, her lips parting to show her teeth. This was a real smile and not something many people were a witness to. "I see your memory is getting better then," she compliments him, glancing down at Delilah as her sister pulls at her sleeve, "what's the matter, De?"
"I forgot my books."
"What books?"
"The ones Miss Gomez leant to me," Delilah replies, the sadness showing in her eyes, "if I don't take them back today, I won't be able to get some new ones." Miss Gomez was her teacher, who kindly lent books to Delilah for her to read. She did the same with Y/N when she was her teacher too. She didn't do it just to be nice, she did it because she saw a bright academic spark in both of them, a spark she didn't want to be extinguished just because the two of them weren't as privileged as some of the other kids in their classes. "Please, can you go get them?" Delilah pleads, pulling at her sleeve again. "Please!"
Y/N sighs, rolling her head back. "Okay, fine," she glances over at Eddie, "do you mind just watching her? I'll only be gone two minutes."
"Go," Eddie insists, a fuzzy warm feeling unlike no other spreading in the pit of his stomach when she shows her thanks in the form of a smile.
Delilah doesn't watch her sister run back to their trailer, she keeps her attention on Eddie. Her little eyes look up at him, squinting them as she tilts her head to the side. "You're not scary," Delilah states, having already heard tales of the scary Hellfire Club's leader. He didn't look like a monster. He didn't have grotesque skin, with spikes or scales. His eyes were a normal colour and there were no fangs to be seen when he talked. He was normal.
"Excuse me?"
"People say you're scary," she explains, with her arms still swinging stops her sides, "but you look normal to me."
"Normal?" Delilah giggles as he gasps, one hand hand clutching his chest and collapsing to his knees in front of her. "You think I look normal?" Delilah nods her head, her giggles growing louder as he throws his head back. "Well, that definitely has to change," Eddie decides, shaking his head in a disapproving manner, "I can't be looking normal." He covers his mouth, acting like he was going to be sick; Delilah squeals, shaking her head. "What will make me look less normal and more scary?"
"Maybe..." She drags it out as she reaches out to touch the sides of Eddie's forehead. "...some horns."
Eddie looks up at her hands. "Just some horns?"
"And fangs like a vampire." She adds, pointing to his mouth. "And green skin."
"Okay," he counts them off on his fingers, "I just need some horns, some vampire teeth and green skin-"
"-red eyes!" Delilah eagerly cuts him off. "All scary villains have red eyes."
"What about red eyes?" Y/N asks, returning with Delilah's books tucked under her arm. She spots Eddie on the ground, unable to stop herself from laughing. "What are you doing on the ground?"
Eddie gazes up at her, hearing the zipper of Delilah's backpack as she tucks the books in with her permission slip and homework. "Your sister thinks that I look normal," he explains to her, Delilah giggling again as he pokes her arm. "This little monster called me normal."
"Ouch," she pulls on the zip, "I hope she gave you some tips on how to improve that."
He pushes off the ground, groaning as he stands back up. "She did," he nods, "I just need some horns, some vampire teeth, green skin and red eyes. You know, just all the things one has lying around." He spins his keys around his index finger, signalling an end to their conversation. "Right, little monster, time to get you to school."
Between dropping Delilah off and driving to the high school, Y/N had stayed quiet, which wasn't out of the ordinary for her to do. Most of the time, she'd just sit back and let Eddie and Delilah do all the talking; this mostly consisted of Eddie educating her sister on the rules of Dungeons and Dragons, or him listening to Delilah describing the dream she had the night before.
Billy had been kind to Delilah for his own selfish gain, offering to take her for ice cream if he knew it would get him a step closer to sleeping with Y/N, but Eddie's kindness was genuine. He wanted to listen to everything she had to say, always apologising if he spoke over her and promising that she could finish telling about her dream at a later point if they arrived at school before she had a chance to finish.
Kindness like that was refreshing and almost a rare occurrence for people like Y/N and Delilah in a town like Hawkins.
"They're staring again," Y/N mumbles, catching Gareth quickly turning his attention to one of the other Hellfire Club members, the small group, excluding the two freshmen that had joined that year, standing in front of the parked van.
"You know, I think you'd actually like them," Eddie tells her, taking off his seat belt, "all you'd have to do is come and sit with us to find out." He attempts to persuade her with his big, brown eyes, a little pout forming on his lips as she shakes her head again. Each day he'd ask for her to sit with him and the rest of the Hellfire Club and each day she would reject him. "Is your chemistry textbook really that more entertaining than me?"
"Hey," she playfully slaps his shoulder, "leave my chemistry textbook out of this; she's a sensitive soul."
"She?" He raises his eyebrows. "You refer to your textbook as a she?"
"Says the guy who refers to his guitar as his sweetheart," she bites back, half-smiling as Eddie holds his hands up in the air, backing down from the subject.
Y/N would be lying if she said she didn't admire Eddie for his determination. For nearly a year, she had been excluded from her friends, the two friends that she did have believed Billy's lies over her truth. Very quickly, she took to sitting at the lonely table, a place where people sat because they just didn't fit in with the rest of society. Eddie would've argued that the Hellfire Club was just that, a place for the misfits and the lonely, and he had after she had told him she preferred to be alone. But there was a form of comfort in knowing how hard he was trying.
"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not asking you to sell your soul to me," Eddie begins again, "I'm just asking for one day."
"One day?"
"One day," Eddie repeats.
She rolls her head back, exhaling a sigh. "Okay."
His head whips back to look at her. "Okay?" He wasn't sure if his ears were deceiving him or not.
"Don't make me regret it."
Taglist: @alcottsangel @addisonnie @calpurniatypes @ilovedilfs32 @jay-u-so-gay @kneelforloki @marrigold-2002 @pillowjj @teenwolflover28 @thisisntmyrightera
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itsfookingloosah · 2 years
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uhhhh rambheem’s first hug anyone?
tagging:- @eremin0109 @manwalaage @darlingletshurttonight @contemporarykafka @rambheem-is-real @lil-stark @sinistergooseberries
The very first time they hug, the night is dark and the stars are bright and Ram hates it.
He is lying on his bed by the window, a clear view of the cloudless sky taunting him with memories. Memories of his 6 year old self lying beside his father on the khaat. Memories of his father pointing to the different constellations and telling him its names and the stories his father had told him. 
If Ram thought about it strongly enough, he could almost breathe in the slight smell of gunpowder Baba always gave off and could almost feel the rough calluses of Baba’s hands when they held his own small ones. He could almost hear the affection in Baba’s voice whenever he talked to Amma and the complete poison in the same voice whenever it was raised against the unjust. 
Load. Aim. Shoot.
Three words. Three words that he has based his entire life around. Three words that he has wrapped around his heart and never let its beat escape the confinements of his mission.
But in hours like these, he wishes. He wishes that things could be different and every recollection he had of Baba was not tainted with blood and sacrifice. He wishes that the first image his mind conjured up whenever he thought about Chotu wasn’t him lying dead beside Amma. He wishes that he could believe that the fire lit inside him wouldn’t eventually end up burning him too.
The sound of his door being thrown open snaps him out of his thoughts.
He doesn't get up, just angles his head to the side to get a look at the only person he knows who enters his room without knocking. 
As usual, Akhtar removes his chappals right in the center rather than the side. As usual, Akhtar doesn't even spare him a glance and goes directly to the kitchen. 
“You know,” Ram says, removing his hands from the back of his and shifting to sit upright, “sometimes I think you come to my house only to raid my kitchen.”
After a few clinks and clanks of utensils, his friend finally pokes his head out, his recently washed curls and beautiful face visible through the doorway. “Bhai, you say that as if my motorcycle is not the only mode of transport you have.”
He huffs out a small laugh at that and watches as the man grabs his plate and comes to sit in front of him on the bed, crossing his legs and digging into his food.
Ram can't help the smile that manages to find its way to his lips. Isn't this exactly what he is fighting for? To preserve moments like these? Isn't this what every single fight that ever happens is about? The hope that when it finally gets over, one can go home and remove his shoes by the door and sit on his bed and eat with his hands?
Yes. This is exactly what he is fighting for. 
Akhtar looks up from his food and furrows his brows at the look he is on the receiving end of. “Is there something on my face?” 
Freedom. “No,” Ram answers.
“What’s with the look then?”
“There’s no look.”
“There is definitely a look.”
“Focus on your food.”
“Not until you tell me.”
“It's nothing.” Ram shakes his head. “Just something to do with my father.”
Akhtar tilts his head to the side, in the way he always does whenever he is listening to something intently. It is a look Ram has grown used to but not all immune. 
“My father had a lot of expectations from me,” he says, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “Sometimes I wonder whether I would be able to live up to them.” He looks out of the window, closes his eyes and pretends that the slight caress of wind is his mother’s song lulling him to sleep. “Sometimes I wish he was there to see it if I do.”
Warm fingers press against his open palm and not for the first time, Ram admires the way their hands perfectly entwine with each other. He expects the slight squeeze on his wrist that has turned into a form of reassurance in their friendship. He expects the other hand to come up and cover their linked ones. 
What he doesn’t expect is the hug that comes after.
Akthar’s arms wrap themselves around Ram’s shoulders and every single thought flies out of his head. Ram doesn't remember the last time he had been hugged like this.  Ram doesn’t remember the last time he had been hugged at all.
“He is proud of you,” Akthar says and there is no room for contradictions in his voice. “Wherever he is, he is seeing you and he knows that no matter what you do, you will never fail him.”
Ram just wraps his arms tighter and pulls him closer, letting himself get lost in the surety of his friend’s words and the warmth of his embrace.
Months later, when he is standing on a wooden platform and a thorned whip is ripping the flesh from the same friend’s body, and he is one step closer to completing his father’s expectations, he lets himself complete one last thought. Sometimes I wish I didn't have to. 
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h0neyjaehyun · 2 years
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☁︎ 𝐔𝐒𝐁 ☁︎
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Summary // Old friends come together.....maybe
Characters // Talia Flores + Han Jisung
Era / Year // November 2017
Word Count //
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Han was nervous, no thats was a big understatement. He was just staring at his phone looking at her profile. He jumped up and down rubbing his hands up and down his thighs hyping himself up. He grabbed his phone again taking a deep breath and clicking the green button. The ringing starts and his anxiety is off the roof as he leaves his phone on his desk running away from it like its a bug. He just staring at the the device as it lights up most of the room. Then it stops ringing and his eyes widen. Then he hears a female voice.
"Hello?" A female voice asked again confused why there was no response. Han took a deep breath a replied.
"Hi Talia."
There was a deafening silence as Han can only assume it was her surpised. Hoping she just doesn't end the call right then and there.
"Ah Han, is...is there something wrong." He could hear the hesitation in her voice knowing she probably did think about ending the call.
"Can we talk...like in person?" He curled up in a fetal position feeling nervous as hell, chuckling a little at himself feeling really dumb. There was another silence but shorter.
"Yeah....um..I'm at my studio you know where it is right?" She asked in an almost hopeful tone which he dismissed thinking it was in his head.
"Yeah yeah I'll be there in 20." He stated digging his nails in his hand waiting for an answer back.
"Okay see ya." Han hummed back to nervous to relpy back with words as it feels like his anxiety made him unable to use his voice. The call ended with Han now messing up his hair in frustration. He blew air out closing his eyes in relief. He was able to call her....finally.
Talia was still for what seems like a long time not knowing what to do. Han just called her to talk...to talk. Her brain ran for milies of what he wanted to talk about it could literally be ANYTHING. She looked around and noticed how dirty is was from the guys hanging out with her earlier while she was working. She huffed feeling stuffy. She started cleaning to relieve the stress once she was done she looked up at the clock.
5 minutes to spare.
Talia bit her lip her immersed about thinking on what something say, something to start the conversation before he gets here. Her leg was bouncing up and down in anticipation. Wondering if accepting this was even a good idea, feeling she might regret, this turning feeling in her stomach making her feel nauseous. Trying to come to a decision if she should even open the door and pretend shes not even there.
She heard the knock which her body wasnt prepared for as she jumped from the sudden noise. She took a deep breathe and opened it not being able to turn away. Her gaze landing on his brown eyes at the entrance, reminding herself he just wants to talk.
She strained a smile and stepped aside to let him in. He thanked her quietly as he sat down his bag where he used to aways which made Talia's composure falter a little but regained it quickly. She closed the door and sat down bringing a seat next to her indicating to him he should sit.
"So...what do you want to talk about?" She looked at with a little concern. He nodded and got something from his pocket it was an old USB where they put their songs in when they were younger her eyes went a little wide as she was surprised that he still had it, she figured he would have thrown it away. She looked up back at him with a bewildered look. He licked his lips and took a breathe.
"Um...I went through my old stuff and I found this USB." He mumbled a bit find it hard to talk infront of her. He took another breath and continued.
"I wanna continue working on a song....if you dont mind." He asked sheepishly. Talia was in a daze his words keeped ringing in her ear, working.... working... nothing more just business. She wasn't gonna lie it stung a bit it was just work. Han looked at her a little concered at her dazed state as he kept calling out for her. She finally came back to her senses.
"Ah yeah yeah sure...what song." She asked feeling alittle flustered her hands now feeling a bit sweaty turning to her computer getting it set up. He sighed and finally got the courage to say the title.
"Him and I." Tali froze it felt like time stopped for her. That song meant so much to them she remembered back then when she replayed it over and over again crying her eyes out. Talia bit her lip and took a deep breathe trying to say something back.
"Okay." She agreed quietly, Han looked at her surprised that she accepted that. Han knew how much that song meant to them, thats one of the reasons he wants to finish it in the first place it meant too much not to be finished.
"Thanks." He smiled at her gratefully. While she nodded avoiding eye contact with him. A ring sounded through the whole room surprising them.
"Ah that's me." Han fumbled a little grabbing his phone. Take his bag indicating he had to go.
"I gotta go thanks for accepting."
She smiled at him as he left, she bit her lip as it quivered her eyes slowing watering. She got up covering her mouth from making any sound locking the door. Sliding down as her legs felt weak.
"Ha I'm so stupid."
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enochoxide · 1 year
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||FOXNOCH FLUFF <3||
This is a bit of an old work but whatever im posting it anyways to revive this account, Foxnoch is a ship (?) of ocs between me and my friend @minbomoment (GO CHECK OUT HER WORK ITS SO GOOD) which Enoch belonging to me and Fox belonging to her, they are the light of our lives frfr, anyways enjoy ig ???
🏷tags: Fluff, oc
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Feelings, they were always such a strange and confusing concept to Enoch, something he never really considered as important or necessary for him to experience, he did spend most of his time either digging graves or experimenting with the corpses that he found within, so in his mind, who out there could ever feel something for someone like him? and could he ever feel the same way?
And so he sat on that hill, the wind whirling wistfully around him as it swirled in his hair, his dark eyes watching the streets below, the few people he could see were retreating to their homes for the evening, the sun was quickly setting, birds happily singing their songs to signal the end of another day, as Enoch briefly looked around in the dim light, he soon saw a figure approaching from the distance, squinting his eyes for a better look it was soon clear who was there,
Her vibrant blue hair and gleeful walking brought relief to his mind, even with the low light of the moon he could see her bright smiling eyes looking to him, he wouldn't admit it but he did love her smile, along with the way she laughed, the way she closely watched him whilst he studied, he found it all so endearing, so cute-
“There you are! I hope I didn't keep you waiting!”
Her cheery voice rang out to him, halting his train of thought and breaking him out of his dissociation, Enochs scarred lips vaguely curled into a smile as he looked up to her,
“Not at all, don't worry, Im just glad you're here”
His hand reached to softly pat the grass besides him, beckoning her to sit with him, taking a seat besides him and setting down her bag, Foxtail joined him in watching the quiet streets below, although it seemed strange to sit in silence with one another at first, they soon found it comforting to simply be besides each other, they found that their company was enough to fill the need for conversation,
Enoch’s thoughts had soon begun to spiral again upon watching her with tired eyes, to him she was just a friend, wasn't she? It was something he had been questioning for a while, it occasionally got in the way of his experiments as it drew him to wonder what it was he had been feeling, he could gather that it wasn't a bad feeling at all, nothing like a sickness or anything of the sort, rather it made him feel warm? Well perhaps not physically since he was incapable of it instead it felt like a warmth deep inside of his chest, it seemed to ring out whenever she got close, whether it be when he was carelessly reading over his alchemy notes with her or if she was peering over his shoulders as he was testing potions,
What was this feeling? He could never tell for sure nor was he sure he ever would be able to, asking her might not be the right choice either, taking the risk of scaring her away was not something he intended on doing, does she feel this strange warmth too? He could only ponder the thought for a moment before daring to test his theory, raising his hand besides her and placing it softly onto her hand, he was maintaining limited eye contact with her to spare himself some embarrassment, but to his surprise, instead of retracting her hand or protesting, she took it in hers quietly and giggled softly, content with holding his hand as they both turned their attentions to the stars shining above,
The night sky glistening in the reflections of her eyes as Enoch looked to her, the stars effortlessly highlighting their depth and loveliness, he couldn't help but simply stare in awe at how enchanting she looked, that warmth from within his chest burning brighter as she turned to face him, unaware of his wavering smile Foxtail brightly exclaimed about her lovely the stars looked, he tried to pull himself together as he nodded in agreement, though all he could think about was that he liked her more than them,
“So, you still planning on pickling me some day?”
He humorously asked, watching her eyes squint as she burst into laughter, taking a moment to gather herself Fox playfully punched his arm,
“Who knows, we'll have to wait and see”
She teased as Enoch scoffed jokingly and squeezed her hand, neither of them had seem to notice how long they'd been holding hands for but nor did they seem to mind, that was until Fox slyly smiled in Enoch’s direction, swiftly taking both of his cold hands in hers, fox pulled him up and began to spin, cheerfully giggling watching him stumble around as he was helplessly made to dance with her, he soon found his footing and raised her arm to twirl her in a circle, she resembled a ballerina from a music box in his eyes, her beauty surely reminded him of such,
There it was again, he thought, that feeling, it was stronger now than it had been before, seeing her gleefully dancing was enchanting in its own way, he soon found himself watching her as she moved with such energy, of course looping her arms with his, with the exchange of a warm smile Enoch then threw his arms around her with a brief chuckle, spinning the pair of them around in loops, their dizziness soon caught up with them as they then collapsed to the ground with one another, Enoch hastily throwing out his arms to catch Fox as she fell besides him, the both of them now laying underneath the starlight sky as their laughter filled the night,
Enoch was no longer unsure of this feeling that he felt when he was around her, and now he knew for certain that he wouldn't want to trade it for the world, in his rotted heart nothing would ever replace seeing her smile, hearing her laugh or dancing with her beneath the moon and stars, nothing.
He thought to himself, before placing a brisk kiss on her forehead, and continuing to watch the stars for the blissful hours that followed.
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ebaeschnbliah · 2 years
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'There are trolls!' 
Pippin panted. 'Down in a clearing in the woods not far below. We got a sight of them through the tree-trunks. They are very large!'
'We will come and look at them,' said Strider, picking up a stick. Frodo said nothing, but Sam looked scared.
The sun was now high, and it shone down through the half-stripped branches of the trees, and lit the clearing with bright patches of light. They halted suddenly on the edge, and peered through the tree-trunks, holding their breath. There stood the trolls: three large trolls. One was stooping, and the other two stood staring at him.
Strider walked forward unconcernedly. 'Get up, old stone!' he said, and broke his stick upon the stooping troll.
Nothing happened. There was a gasp of astonishment from the hobbits, and then even Frodo laughed. 'Well!' he said. 'We are forgetting our family history! These must be the very three that were caught by Gandalf, quarrelling over the right way to cook thirteen dwarves and one hobbit.'
'I had no idea we were anywhere near the place!' said Pippin. He knew the story well. Bilbo and Frodo had told it often; but as a matter of fact he had never more than half believed it. Even now he looked at the stone trolls with suspicion, wondering if some magic might not suddenly bring them to life again.
'You are forgetting not only your family history, but all you ever knew about trolls,' said Strider. 'It is broad daylight with a bright sun, and yet you come back trying to scare me with a tale of live trolls waiting for us in this glade! In any case you might have noticed that one of them has an old bird's nest behind his ear. That would be a most unusual ornament for a live troll!'
They all laughed. Frodo felt his spirits reviving: the reminder of Bilbo's first successful adventure was heartening. The sun, too, was warm and comforting, and the mist before his eyes seemed to be lifting a little. They rested for some time in the glade, and took their mid-day meal right under the shadow of the trolls' large legs.
'Won't somebody give us a bit of a song, while the sun is high?' said Merry, when they had finished. 'We haven't had a song or a tale for days.'
'Not since Weathertop,' said Frodo. The others looked at him. 'Don't worry about me!' he added. 'I feel much better, but I don't think I could sing. Perhaps Sam could dig something out of his memory.'
'Come on, Sam!' said Merry. 'There's more stored in your head than you let on about.'
'I don't know about that,' said Sam. 'But how would this suit? It ain't what I call proper poetry, if you understand me: just a bit of nonsense. But these old images here brought it to my mind.' Standing up, with his hands behind his back, as if he was at school, he began to sing to an old tune.
Troll sat alone on his seat of stone, And munched and mumbled a bare old bone; For many a year he had gnawed it near, For meat was hard to come by. Done by! Gum by! In a cave in the hills he dwelt alone, And meat was hard to come by. Up came Tom with his big boots on. Said he to Troll: "Pray, what is yon? For it looks like the shin o' my nuncle Tim, As should be a-lyin' in graveyard. Caveyard! Paveyard! This many a year has Tim been gone, And I thought he were lyin' in graveyard." "My lad," said Troll, "this bone I stole. But what be bones that lie in a hole? Thy nuncle was dead as a lump o' lead, Afore I found his shinbone. Tinbone! Thinbone! He can spare a share for a poor old troll, For he don't need his shinbone." Said Tom: "I don't see why the likes o' thee Without axin' leave should go makin' free With the shank or the shin o' my father's kin; So hand the old bone over! Rover! Trover! Though dead he be, it belongs to he; So hand the old bone over!" "For a couple o' pins," says Troll, and grins, "I'll eat thee too, and gnaw thy shins. A bit o' fresh meat will go down sweet! I'll try my teeth on thee now.* Hee now! See now! I'm tired o' gnawing old bones and skins; I've a mind to dine on thee now." *[as read by Tolkien on the tape:] Thee'll be a nice change from thine nuncle. Sunkle! Drunkle! I'm tired of gnawing old bones and skins; Thee'll be a nice change from thine nuncle." But just as he thought his dinner was caught, He found his hands had hold of naught. Before he could mind, Tom slipped behind And gave him the boot to larn him. Warn him! Darn him! A bump o' the boot on the seat, Tom thought, Would be the way to larn him. But harder than stone is the flesh and bone Of a troll that sits in the hills alone. As well set your boot to the mountain's root, For the seat of a troll don't feel it. Peel it! Heal it! Old Troll laughed, when he heard Tom groan, And he knew his toes could feel it. Tom's leg is game, since home he came, And his bootless foot is lasting lame; But Troll don't care, and he's still there With the bone he boned from it's owner. Doner! Boner! Troll's old seat is still the same, And the bone he boned from it's owner!
'Well, that's a warning to us all!' laughed Merry. 'It is as well you used a stick, and not your hand, Strider!'
‘Where did you come by that, Sam?' asked Pippin. 'I've never heard those words before.'
Sam muttered something inaudible. 'It's out of his own head, of course,' said Frodo. 'I am learning a lot about Sam Gamgee on this journey. First he was a conspirator, now he's a jester. He'll end up by becoming a wizard - or a warrior!'
'I hope not,' said Sam. 'I don't want to be neither!'
JRR Tolkien sings Sam’s Troll-Song
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JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings, The Fellowship of the Ring, Flight to the Ford
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abam-records · 8 months
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DINNER'S READY LLYAM
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BEFORE WE MEET FOURP We must give a little context for those who are outside of the world of hip hop and may not be familiar with the vernacular.
"Sampling" is the art of taking snippets from existing music recordings, cutting them from the original record, and reusing them in a different musical context, often breathing new life into the original piece of music.
This is a simplified explanation of a tried-and-true art form that has been foundational in the creation and development of Hip-hop music, however it will shed some light on the full context of FourP’s endeavours.
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WHO IS FOURP?
Born in the sunshine state, Llyam "FourP" Thorpe, is a sample-based record producer with an knack for flipping records. A skill that has been refined over the last 2-3 years of dedication to his craft, honing in on the once forgotten musical inclinations of his early childhood.
That same dedication will lead you to find FourP locked in his share house studio, browsing an eclectic range of records from different times and places and blasting them out of his mono-output Roland guitar amp, that he's cleverly repurposed as a studio monitor.
Watching him work, there is no surprise as to why he does what he does. It's obvious in his affect that he intrinsically invested in the music he spends most of his time spare time creating. Digging through massive YouTube libraries, FourP gives live feedback to the music he peruses, vocalising his surprise and turning to others when he stumbles onto a gem ripe for repurposing.
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INTERVIEW
FourP's musical discography, although digitally curated and produced, is crafted in the spirits of hip hops analogue ancestry.
This classic style of sampling records comes across somewhat avant-garde in an era where we find the Aussie Hip-hop scene populated by artists surfing the drill-rap tidal wave ushered in by the likes of ONEFOUR, HP Boys and Hooligan Heffs.
FourP, in contrast to the Aus-rap Zeitgeist, hasn't boxed himself into producing the somewhat redundant drill sound we've come to expect. This has allowed him to create with freedoms most producers feeding off trends can no longer afford to do. His own difficulty in concisely describing his production style reflects this perfectly.
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WHY SAMPLING?
FourP's love for the sound he developed had its origins early in his music discovery journey.
"Well I think it goes back a fair way. Just something about the old school sound. It's much more relaxed. It's not as robotic. It's highly saturated, warm. I think that's what really drives it. The warm feeling, I've been listening to Hip-hop music for a long time. A lot of it [hip-hop music] uses samples, so it makes sense."
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WHAT INSPIRES YOU?
Sitting down and talking to FourP it's obvious that he has a very uncomplicated relationship with his music. He doesn't try to chase fads; he's not reaping it for financial turnover. Instead, he focuses on creating music that he personally enjoys and finds fulfilling. When asked why he chooses to create, it's no surprise to hear his answer is "Joy".
"Joy. I enjoy it a lot. And I think it's kind of come full circle for me". "When I was young, I used to play drums a lot…same with piano… would mess around with that for hours a day, mum would have to sit through and listen." "…It's a really fun thing for me to do. Like make a whole song in one session"
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Through his passion for music, his life is propelled. It's how he experiences new things, meets new people and forms great memories. The warmth and colour of the records he samples may of helped to inspire and drive FourP's creativity in the beginning, but building on that more the music has assisted in exposing him to art that was unlikely to organically find him due to its antique nature.
"…It's made me discover so much more music that I didn't know was out there. Like a European lady with like 500 listeners her whole life, she's probably dead now. I really think it's cool."
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For FourP, music is a source of joy, and that's what drives him to keep creating. This has allowed him to carve out a unique space in the Australian underground scene, where he stands out as an artist who stays true to the genre's roots and traditions while still pushing boundaries and experimenting with his sound.
With his diverse musical palette and love for classic records, FourP is a true crate digger and a musical explorer who continues to discover new sounds and ideas with every beat he makes.
Watch the video below to get a more intimate insight to FourP and his creative process.
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svintsandghosts · 1 year
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tag game: get to know me!
i was tagged by my sweet and kind friend @abiaswreck, thank you bean for the tag ❤️
1. Birthday?
3/13
2. Favorite color?
black, pink, and red.
3. How tall are you?
5’6
4. How many pair of shoes to you own?
i'm not sure, its not more than ten i know that much, but i stick to my uggs or vans.
5. Favorite song?
right now? Granite by Sleep Token (it always changes though as music is a huge thing in my house)
6. Favorite movie?
always changes. horror though: Trick R Treat. as for any other movie it changes constantly. i can say i will always watch mean girls if given the chance.
7. Who would be your ideal partner?
i'm not really looking for anyone in that way, to be honest. i mean i can say just be honest. that's all. i don't have many tolerances for a lot anymore. i'll spare details, but i'm happy with where i am now.
8. Do you want children?
i didn't no, but i have one. i'm a mother of a nine year old.
9. Have you gotten in trouble with the law?
absolutely. not my finest moment and that's on perks of growing up in a toxic household.
10. What color socks are you wearing?
i'm not wearing them right now.
11. Favorite type of music?
metal core/death core.
12. How many pillows do you sleep with?
three
13. What position do you sleep in?
on my back or side sleeper.
14. What don’t you like when you’re sleeping?
not having the fan on, i don't care what temperature it is. my fan stays on.
15. Have you tried archery?
nope and too scared too.
16. Favorite fruit?
strawberries!!
17. Are you a good liar?
yes? i wanna say cause again toxic household as a child. i learned how to that way but i also learned my lesson with that fairly early in my life so.
18. What’s your personality type?
INFP-T
19. Innie or outie?
Innie.
20. Left or right handed?
Right handed.
21. Favorite food?
Sushi!!! i can throw down on some sushi.
22. Favorite foreign food?
i don't have one yet. hopefully will soon as i have a friend who is down to explore some different restaurants with me around my area soon.
23. Are you clean or messy?
mixture, but it depends on my mental health at the time then.
24. Most used phrase?
what the fuck my guy.
25. How long does it take you to get ready?
depends, some days i want to do my makeup and some days i don't. just depends on the days.
26. Do you talk to yourself?
yes. comfort thing i guess.
27. Do you sing to yourself?
yes. look, i don't like singing in public unless forced too and i cave under pressure. i used too when i was younger and at church before i stopped going, but i am very nervous and don't like attention.
28. Are you a good singer?
decent. not awful but not the best either.
29. Biggest fear?
hehe no, i'm not saying it.
30. Are you a gossip?
nah, i could careless what others do. not my business nor place.
31. Long or short hair?
my hair is long; it's annoying, will i cut it? no. absolutely not.
32. Favorite school subject?
reading.
33. Extrovert or introvert?
introvert.
34. What make you nervous?
people.
35. Who was your first crush?
okay so i could do a whole paragraph on this fucking idiot, but i had a crush on him since middle school. he was dating this girl who was WAY TOO good for him. she was so kind and sweet and nice. i was so into him for whatever reason that's not relevant now, but i'd always say hi to him in class and he was my lab partner in science class. eventually, by like ninth grade i grew out of it after hearing how him and said girl broke up. i also watched him mack on with her best friend too. it was a mess.
36. How many piercings do you have?
both nostrils, my septum, and my gauges.
37. How many tattoos do you have?
over twenty, i lost count.
38. How fast can you run?
no ❤️
39. What color is your hair?
black.
it was red before.
40. What color are your eyes?
hazel.
41. What makes you angry?
dishonesty and overall shady shit. petty shit(despite me being so when it calls it for it) little digs at people when it takes nothing to address the issue.
42. Do you like your name?
absolutely not. i'd be rich for all the time i have heard the very song sang at me that i'm named after. i hate it. truly.
43. Do you want a boy to girl as a child?
i have a daughter who is very much my twin in all ways.
44. What are your strengths?
big heart? i guess. i don't know.
45. What are your weaknesses?
i often give people chances they have ran out of time with.
46. What’s the color of your bedspread?
black!
47. What’s the color of your room?
white, not by choice but it's also decorated in like all things horror, music, friends and family, and over all alt aesthetics that i like to where i'm content with it.
no pressure tags of course! @chxrry-chris @nymeriaaa @comet-falls @spicymooseeyes @hyunjinspark @dearsugarrush @jl-micasea-fics & anyone else who wants to do this.
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baxterjosefsen94 · 1 day
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Learn The Piano And Alter Your Every Day!
I cannot be surprised if this album lowers in history as a hip-hop memorable. One can particularly see that in Anshan in the spare, utilitarian architecture. Daring for you to the elephant is unpleasant, it is scary. Once gear was gathered we started hoeing the trench. It had in order to become two foot deep and four kilometres long and had only man ability to dig it all. But the Karen are experts at digging all of us were finished in full week. It was mostly the women digging (many with children tied onto their backs), the men went ahead to cut a path or remarked the rear cutting roots and laying the tube. View More: topdaknongaz.com - Top Dak Nong AZ Reviewed by Team Leader in Top Dak Nong AZ: Nguyễn Văn Thành Tâm - Nguyen Van Thanh Tam The night my mama rocked me in her arms and sang to me, I hated the female. Her song said to me what I've always suspected. Her song said to forgive him make certain she could live. Her song informed me that she loved him but not me. Many Chinese have a figure within heads which tells them how much money one must be making with just one particular date of birth. If that particular figure doesn't correspond with how much one is making, all testimonials are is not considered won in their eyes. Anyway, I was asked how old irrrve become almost normally as Applied to be asked by a lot of parents the other time they met me quickly would tutor their child privately. They wanted their child, because was told, to experience a better university than those who work in Anshan.
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View More: topdaknongaz.com - Top Dak Nong AZ Reviewed by Team Leader in Top Dak Nong AZ: Nguyễn Văn Thành Tâm - Nguyen Van Thanh Tam We've all heard that love is the world go round and it's love song lyrics that try to capture that sentiment. To pick them memorable? What's going to stick in mental performance along with the tune and help you singing through working day and night? Involved with the quality for this feeling that is described that catches your mind and heart. Daniel: After i left most recent company, together large downline organization (after building it for over 3 years), has been created a very painful and scary operation. It felt like stepping out into the dark or into the unknown. After taking lots of time to research, and study my second company, that a slow but confident transition in the new venture. Sure enough, I don't regret my decision, which as a business move, it a complete success. Like relationships, after each breakup, you become that great deal more wise and experienced. You learn which liked about your significant other, and anyone disliked. Complete picture of the will Help you WELL have for brand new girlfriend. King claims that like many of his compositions, "Stand By Me" took bit of time to pen. While listening to "Lord, Stand By Me" by Sam Cooke and the Soul Stirrers, he was inspired to title his nascent song "Stand By Me." Later that evening while strumming a guitar, the line "When the evening has come and the land is dark" came to him. King said that from this period the song wrote itself. Cyndi Lauper, whose "She's So Unusual" had been released all seasons before, continues her chart run with Top 10 singles "All Through The Night" (#5), "She Bop" (#3), and "Time After Time" (#1). During the show, melt off the co-emcees asked me if Got heard of Wang Luobin and it doesn't matter if I knew a song that he wrote. I retorted, of course, and continued by singing get started building links verse of "That Faraway Place". The family completed our dialogue, produced by time for me Dak Nong Province Viet Nam to invite Mr. Wang up on stage carry out a songs. Because of the seating arrangement in the judges' panel, he was unable to get out from behind the table. To everyone's surprise, he jumped right your table. The viewers gasped. While ran up on stage. Tin Top Dak Nong AZ 24h He grabbed a gift basket of apples, plopped a skullcap on his head and began singing an animated version of a Uygur folksong. All eyes were on him, some in disbelief, but mostly because of the great respect how the Chinese people held for him as the compatriot. Daniel: Well no. with this being said, I also always had one eye back for that industry that helped make EVERYTHING easy for me. I am talking about this could be the industry that actually opened up doors numerous more opportunities for for me. From this third track, Key Lime Pie swoops dramatically from high to another; each of its tracks help equal to a thrilling and unified whole. Like the last album the band would release until wedding ceremony millennium, the album is an excellent testament towards creativity within this California rock band. If great, engaging music is your thing, check out all 14 tracks on Key Lime Pie.
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They point out that if you remember the 60's a person simply weren't really there. This motto, of course, argues that anybody who actually was there spent the most of the decade high on drugs. But the adage forgets a faction of because they came from were there and didn't take drugs; and that will be the adolescents. Maybe we never forgoing of our past. Aging is a strange attribute - I've stated before generate profits still feel 21, until I pass a echo! I really do "feel" that innocent surge (stupidity?) of your respective young teen when WPLR plays acquire or Van Halen, or even Iron Maiden or The Wall. Definitely Zeppelin. Within a way, for a photo, you imprint a new of your soul onto a song, and when you're hear it your soul reverts in order to give you a taste! No tea bags?. Use cucumber pieces. This is not simply TV and movies, cucumbers slices placed over up your eyes do provide benefit. Beauty specialists say cucumbers help alleviate puffy eyes. Well, not the Dak Nong Province Viet Nam eyes, nevertheless the skin (bags) beneath and round the eyes. Since cucumbers will than 90 percent water, have got a hydrating effect and are still cooler than human as well as. The shape and slice of a cucumber it then makes it a manageable, easier decision to mitigate eye issues. Exactly like the tea bag, leave the cucumber slices in destination for about fifteen minutes. A big change inside the two songs was in the vocal begin. The simple thing that Marilyn Manson did in their version was he sang the song the way he normally sings an audio lesson. He wasn't doing an impression of Annie Lennox. He wasn't shopping cater about what the old version within the song ended up. Top Dak Nong AZ News He sang the way he performs. That morning I saw that "good" and "bad" and "right" and "wrong" are only perceptions. Since it's often the situations we perceive as "bad" offering us when using the greatest growth and imminent. And as we careen down the highway of lives, perhaps the best turn out to be hope for is to recognize that imaginary sign that warns us to go back; that tells us we are planning the wrong way. In fact, you might never even note that sign if you take mistaken road. And also the sole method to find the appropriate way because going associated with wrong direction first. Unless you are blessed with being proven to live naturally almost completely, you wouldn't even comprehend that some within the birds you hear are singing for that very occasion in their lives. But every bird has to experience first song. I will want to avoid no love like my mama. I'd rather not love no man more than my possess. God, strike me barren if Kind of person I in order to that. I don't my children to hate me cause of no man. Try start out a writing session after having had "a massive array of emotions. It is advisable to liven up a place to write. This can greatly help out with these moments of lucidity. Don't be worried to "turn on" the dark as well as other emotional atmosphere, depending upon your style or online marketing tune you may be working concerning. Tin tuc Top Dak Nong AZ "It means a lot to me that similar to get along," said the girl, "and it almost all right so you can say what said, can please not talk bad about me to your friends, Positive I'll watch you around?" asked the ex-girlfriend.
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riszellira · 2 years
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Reflection: ‘Tanging Yaman’
A friend of mine had been so obsessed with treasure-hunting. He was one of those who believed that there are still buried Yamashita treasures in scattered locations around the country. At one point, he shared with me what he believed as a map of buried “Wells Fargo” money crates and gold bars. He had stories about some airplanes that crashed somewhere with these crates, which he said were recovered by some native tribes that hid them before World War II started. He spent much time going places to do exploratory diggings and much of his own money for such explorations. The last time this friend of mine came and we did some catching-up, I realize he still is very much into this obsession. It is, I believe,his life. He has placed his whole resources into this pursuit.
We sing to the Lord during our Masses: “Ikaw ang aking Tanging Yaman . . .” But I wonder whether this song truly means anything for us. How has this song radicalized our view of everything around us? Do we really see God as our true treasure? The Gospel proclamation today states: God Himself considers His reign with us like some search for a true, valuable treasure.
Through the years of my involvement with various renewal groups, they have complained about the decreasing number of persons and couples that they were able to recruit. Many of those whom they approached would tell them they have no time to spare as they are so absorbed about making a living and raising up a family. Anyway, these persons and couples would comment that they never miss out on their Sunday Mass obligations. They would even offer that perhaps they could join when they would be retired from work. But by then, many of them would probably make another alibi—that they are old and tired.
The Word of God through a prophet is indeed true: “These people pay me lip service!” ~Fr. Domie Guzman, SSP
List down your treasures in life. How do you show that these are your true treasures in life? How do you treasure your personal faith and relationship with God? What do you do to show Him that you treasure Him?
You are my greatest treasure in life, Lord. Nothing can compare with You. Amen.
Prayer … for a deep and profound respect for life, especially for the unborn. … for the strength and healing of the sick. … for the healing and peace of all families.
Finally, we pray for one another, for those who have asked our prayers and for those who need our prayers the most.
GOD BLESS!
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anghraine · 3 years
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I don’t necessarily imagine Faramir playing the harp (though it would be cool), but there is this vague association in my head between Faramir’s  musical proclivities and Dol Amroth’s unsurpassed harpers.
This is by no means canon, just the link my brain made, probably because a) Faramir’s extensive knowledge of music is one of the reasons that people consider him an inferior captain to Boromir in Minas Tirith, and b) Faramir is the nephew and grandson of Princes of Dol Amroth.
My headcanon is that it’s one way in which Faramir actually does take after the Dol Amroth side, and by extension, that the House of Dol Amroth is traditionally into music and/or musical patronage (hence the famous harpers!). So, the end result is that I have this idea in my head that Fourth Age reunions between the members/near kin of the House of Dol Amroth are just these Major Occasions with a) hugs and b) musical numbers.
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piecksz · 3 years
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prove it | (m)
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pairings: modern!jean kirstein x fem!reader
warnings: nsfw, mirror sex, penetrative sex, saliva, fingering, finger sucking, handjob, slight mentions of breeding, explicit language
words: 3k+
summary: your jealousy sparks a bitter argument between you and jean, but he shows in more ways than one, that you’re the only person he’s infatuated with. 
a/n: as always, if you wanna fully immerse yourself in the smut hehe you can listen to the songs i looped incessantly while writing: girls need love too by summer walker and excitement by trippie redd and PARTYNEXTDOOR (you cannot tell me that jean wouldn’t listen to either he’s so sexy omg pls free me from my brainrot)
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You gripped the fabric of your dress, hiking it up above your ankles to make sure the material didn’t get caught under the sharp heels of your shoes while you stormed into the house. Seething with outrage, you swung the front door shut behind you, savoring the few seconds of solitude you had before Jean trailed behind you clamorously.
“I already told you, and I’m telling you—again—I didn’t know she was going to be there!” Jean was insistent, his footfall demanding on your tail as he followed you into the kitchen. His fingers were carelessly twined in his hair, an overt demonstration of his stress.
You hastily tossed your purse onto the counter, paying no mind to the way it slid across the granite and almost toppled over its edge onto the floor. “Bullshit Jean. It was your fucking event, how did you not know she was gonna be there?” You spared him an irate glance, it was the first time you’d looked at him since the two of you left the venue.
The entire ride home, Jean had attempted to make conversation, asking you if you’d enjoyed yourself and trying to solicit your opinion on how he’d done coordinating his company’s milestone event. Following the successful closing of a large venture deal and the expansion of the corporation, his boss had entrusted him to organize a company soirée to celebrate, and if Jean’s event had managed to go off without a hitch, a possible promotion was in the cards for him. However, much to Jean’s confusion you were quiet in your responses, mainly giving one word answers and little praise.
After relentless prodding, you snapped, admitting you were irritated after seeing Jean talking to Mikasa, an old coworker and friend of his. You’d disappeared for only a moment to use the bathroom, but when you returned, the two were engrossed in what seemed like interesting chatter. Seeing the way Jean laughed after everything she said prompted the agitation in your lower stomach to boil up into your throat. Nothing was that funny.
“Maybe I overlooked her name on the guest list.” Jean’s fingers left his hair and wrapped around his tie, tugging to loosen it.
“Oh, you sure looked over her while you two were talking and laughing.” You stood on your toes to grab a mug from the cabinet before slamming its wooden door shut. “What was so funny? The fact that you used to fawn over her like an idiot?”
You shuffled back over to the sink, flipping the faucet and watching as the mug filled with water before bringing the cup to your lips to take a long drink. You sighed as the liquid quenched your dry throat, raw from yelling. You peered over the top of the mug at Jean, eyes following him as he made his way over to the selection of hard liquor against the kitchen wall.
“There you go. Name calling like a fucking child.” He poured himself a generous glass of booze, chuckling wryly and taking a sip.
You pulled the mug away from your mouth. “You—are so—,” you started, but your words disbanded into a loud and frustrated groan.
“I’m so what?” Jean swirled the auburn liquid around in his glass, pretending to look more interested in the way it moved than in the conversation you two were having.
“You don’t want me to finish that sentence, Jean. You really don’t.” You set your cup down loudly, so forcefully it might have shattered with just another ounce of force. “Stop acting like I’m overreacting. You know I’m not the jealous type, you fucking know that. I wouldn’t care, but you know you guys have history together.”
“Yeah, history means that it was in the past,” Jean retorted. “It was in the fucking past.”
You leaned forward on the counter, dipping your head low as if to question the validity of your boyfriend’s reply. “You’re telling me you’d be okay seeing me with an old flame?” You laughed humourlessly.  “You complained for ten minutes after a waiter called me sweetheart.”
Jean took another long sip, then exhaled. “Because he clearly couldn’t tell the difference between horny and hospitality. Now you’re blaming me because you couldn’t see that?”
You nodded sardonically, a disbelieving smile shadowing on your lips while you reached behind your neck to unclasp your necklace. “And how’s that any different from this?”
“Mikasa never liked me back, what’s the problem? Did you just pick a topic out of a hat to bitch about?” Jean downed the rest of his alcohol, and then returned the short glass to the display. He wiped at his lips with his thumb and started back toward the kitchen.
“Fuck you, Jean.”
He let out a low chuckle while he rounded the length of the counter, sauntering in long strides until he was behind you with his large hands planted on the curve of your hips. He dipped his head, letting his mouth ghost by your ear. “You know, you’re kind of hot when you’re mad.” His palms began roaming, first gliding across your stomach before moving to your backside and cupping your ass in the curve of his hand. “Especially in that dress. You look really fucking good, baby.”
You barely cracked a smile. “Yeah?”
Jean’s low voice rumbled against your back. “Hell yeah.”
You turned around to face him, gazing up at him from behind sultry lids. “Then how about…,” you started, teasing him by fiddling around with the loose buttons on his shirt. “You sleep dreaming about all the things you wish you could do to me tonight. Because you’re not getting any.” Your seductive expression fell, and you pushed him backwards so you could slide out of the space between his body and the counter.
As you retired into your bedroom, you heard Jean’s weary voice echo from outside. “You’re cold.”
“Good,” you responded back resoundingly. “Maybe Mikasa’s free.”
“Maybe she is!” he retaliated, and although he wasn’t in front of you, you could nearly see the way he rolled his eyes at your spiteful jab.
You rolled your eyes back. “Shitforbrains.”
You removed your earrings, throwing them onto the dresser with your necklace before slipping out of your heels and stepping out of your dress. You struggled to make haste, trying to get ready for bed as quickly as you could before Jean entered the bedroom and had a chance to say anything that would incite another feud. Lazy and clad in your undergarments, you hauled yourself into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror lethargically while you brushed your teeth and removed your makeup with halfhearted effort.
“Do I need to prove it to you?��
You removed the cold wipe from your lids, opening your eyes and watching as Jean wandered into the bathroom. He continued walking until he met you at the sink, and he wrapped his long arms around your frame again.
“Come here,” he said, pulling you into him until the space between your bodies waned. You gave him an unamused glare through your reflection in the mirror, and resumed rubbing away at your persistent eyeliner.
“Should I mark up that pretty neck of yours?” Jean nestled his face into the curve of your neck, pressing messy, carnal kisses along the side of your throat until his lips met the dip underneath your jawline. He lightly brushed over it, knowing it was your sweet spot. Every time he wanted to turn you into a frenzy of moans, that spot was the easiest way he knew how.
“Or maybe I should have you carry our child.” His hands were hot against your stomach, the soft pad of his finger drawing a delicate circle around your navel. You were glad it didn’t tickle enough to make you laugh.
“You’re pissing me off,” you said, simply.
Jean released a husky groan that vibrated against the hollow of your throat. “You’re turning me on.” He hummed. “You feel that?”
You did. Against your ass, you could feel the prominence of Jean’s hardened cock through his pants, digging eagerly into your backside, and he did nothing but continue to fuel his lust by rubbing his erection against you.
“You’re the only one that can get me hard like this,” he strained, grunting at the discomfort in his briefs.
“Look how pretty you are.” Jean took your chin in his hand and prompted you to look at yourself in the mirror. He hovered over your shoulder and looked on, like he was only spectating. “Do you think anyone compares to you?”
His eyebrows creased while amber eyes fixated on your skeptical face. After a lack of response, he jerked your chin, forcing your attention back to yourself. “Answer me.”
“No,” you said quickly.
“Exactly. Good answer.” Jean’s thumb swept gently across your chin while he withdrew his hand.
Your timid eyes drifted over to him, observing as he slid two digits into his mouth, glazing them generously with saliva before lolling his tongue and pulling his fingers out. A thick string of spit lingered until his hand dipped and slid itself into your underwear.
You choked back a desperate cry once you felt Jean part your folds, using his wet fingers to pet the sensitive swell of your clit. Instinctively, you wrapped a sweaty, tremulous hand around his wrist, but it did nothing to quell his painfully tender ministrations.
“Jean,” you murmured. Your voice was breathy, just barely above a whisper while you gave in and rolled your hips against his hand. “Fuck, wait—Jean—”
“I love the way you say my name.” He placed his free hand on your breast. His fingers hooked onto the delicate fabric of your bra and tugged the material down, freeing your nipple. “Say it louder.”
“Jean,” you mewled loudly as he began flicking the hardening peak of your chest with a ginger touch. His movements were delicate and sensual, as though he wanted to kindle an impatient desire within you.
Jean’s fingers continued to rub slow, tortured circles into your clit and he eased into you every few seconds to make sure he was keeping his fingers slick. Once he heard your whimpers begin to ebb, he would stop and switch the direction of his motion, sending you into another flurry of moans and taking pleasure in the filthy-wet mess he was creating in your panties. “Louder.”
You bit your lip and closed your eyes until the darkness of your eyelids melted into white heat. The familiar torrent of quivers shook your body, and the surface of your skin tingled with the onset of your orgasm. You dug your nails into Jean’s forearm, and in the haze of your high you forgot about all of your concerns.  
“Jean!” You cried his name again, your wail echoing off of the bathroom walls while you writhed against his hold. You moved restlessly, looking for absolutely anything to cling to in an attempt to steady yourself until your climax subsided.
After you came to and regained your soundness, you scrutinized yourself in the mirror through misty tears, chagrined at how easily you’d submitted to him. You were situated limply in Jean’s arms, bottom lip swollen from persistent biting in your best efforts to veil how good he was truly making you feel, but from the sickeningly-smug simper on his face it was obvious that now Jean knew his fingers were more fruitful than an apology. Which meant this episode surely wouldn’t be the last of its kind.
He slotted his fingers into his mouth for the last time, sucking the silken coat of your arousal off of them before releasing them with a quiet pop, then Jean’s other hand crept up your neck until his thumb drove itself to part your closed lips, just wide enough so he could stick his lubricous fingers inside.
“Mhm,” he encouraged, nodding at the way you meekly looked to him for direction.
Jean’s fingers were warm and sloppy in your mouth as you sucked and he watched you intently, undoubtedly wishing that his cock could receive the same treatment. He sighed heavily as you wreathed your hot tongue around his knuckles.
“Good girl,” he breathed, pulling his digits from your jaws before his urge to stick them down your throat and watched as you gagged through tears became insatiable.
Jean worked one hand against his belt, unbuckling it skillfully before impatiently forgoing his buttons and tugging on his zipper instead. His breathing grew labored while you watched from the mirror as he shuffled behind you, and you canted yourself to the side to provide yourself with a clear view of Jean’s cock in the surface’s reflection.
His thick length pulsated, convulsing even without contact, and every time it did so, a fresh stream of precum dribbled from the swollen, red crown of his tip. With a light hand, Jean tapped his cock against the side of your thigh, prompting you to take him in your palm, and when you obeyed, it elicited a lengthy groan from him.
“Fuck, Y/N.”
You weighed his hot and heavy cock in your hand before beginning to move slowly, flicking your wrist and evoking the jerking of Jean’s hips when you did. His head hung forward and loose strands of his neatly tucked hair billowed around his face while he watched as your hand worked against his throbbing heat.
Jean delivered another set of kisses to your neck, kissing along your jawline until he stopped at the corner of your mouth to take a brief second to acknowledge his own pleasure. “Shit,” he grunted, his fleshly pants now becoming uncontrollable. “Okay, that’s enough.”
You loosened your grip around Jean’s cock while he curled his fingers around the cloth of your thin underwear, pulling it down until he stopped midway past your thighs, then his large hand settled between your shoulder blades to bend you over.
His palm collided with the pert curve of your ass, delivering a mild spank, and then he ghosted his touch over the stinging pain, blithely enjoying the way you whimpered his name ever so quietly. Jean positioned himself at your dripping entrance, prodding the tight hole with his tip over and over again just to taunt you until you glowered uncomfortably at him through the mirror.
“Stop it,” you heaved, your longing now turning into an unbearable itch.
Normally, you knew Jean would have loved to tease you, disregarding your begging and instead working even harder to rouse you, but you could tell by the sweat that beaded around his hairline that he needed relief too. So Jean spared you, grip tightening on your hips, and he pushed himself into you with a husky and guttural moan that overwhelmed your delicate whines.
He wasted no time and began moving, gradually picking up his pace until he decided on a moderate speed, not too rough, but just forceful enough that your breasts jounced and your body lurched against the sink whenever he thrusted into you.
“I always tell you how good you feel, do you need to hear it again?” Jean murmured, watching as his cock disappeared inside you and whenever he pulled back to rock his hips forward again, it glistened with a new layer of your arousal. “Your pretty pussy always takes me so well.”
He leaned into you, wrapping an arm around your waist and placing his hand on your shoulder, holding you in place while he fucked himself into you, over and over again. You tugged at Jean from deep inside your well, tightening your walls around his cock and causing his jaw to go slack with bliss.
“The way you fucking milk me, I could cum right now.” His balls slapped ceaselessly against your skin, and the sound of two sweaty bodies married together saturated the thick sex-tainted air. You struggled to watch yourself in the mirror, mouth wide open and eyes bloodshot from your tiredness and tears. Jean’s lips brushed against the shell of your ear and sent a ripple of goosebumps down the expanse of your back.
“I wish I could take a picture of you right now and keep it for later.” He panted into your ear. “You’re the only thing I can think of when I jerk off, it would be nice to have a visual.” When you said nothing he smiled, tugging at the softness of your lobe with his teeth. “Maybe next time, yeah?”
You could only give a weak and disoriented nod, and when you felt Jean’s cock twitch inside you, coupled with the way his muscles tensed underneath his skin, you knew he was close. You wrapped your hands around the arm curved about your waist and nodded at him again, cueing that you wanted to feel his release inside you.
Jean arched an eyebrow, his thrusts becoming sloppier, but he made no efforts to slow his cadence. “Yeah, you’re gonna let me cum inside you?”
You nodded silently for a third time.
Jean delivered a few more generous jerks before the small of his back tightened and he came inside you, amply flooding your chafed walls with his hot seed until you overflowed, and the creamy, white liquid seeped past the girth of his cock and began dribbling down the inside of your thigh.
Jean pulled his now limp cock out, wiping his essence gently on your folds before pulling you into another doting embrace. His clinch was tight, warm cheeks pressed against each other while he looked at you in the mirror with complete and unadulterated adoration.
“I love you,” he affirmed before flipping you over in his arms to face him. He bent down to press a salty and clammy kiss to your mouth, his lips stalling for a few moments longer before he pulled away and then delivered another kiss to your forehead. “Alright, stupid?”
You bobbed your head briefly, now embarrassed at your earlier outburst. You sunk into Jean’s torso, head against his chest, and mumbled sheepishly. “I love you too.”
The two of you stood together, arms encircling each other until Jean carefully broke his caress and began tugging you in the direction of the shower.
“Come on baby.” He grinned. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
5K notes · View notes
keigosbirdie · 3 years
Text
FEMALE READER VERSION
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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.
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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. 
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.”
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“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?"
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“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.
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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?”
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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. 
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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. 
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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.”
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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!
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An Angel and A Demon ~ Pyramid Head x Reader
Update 2: My laptop restarted when I was in the middle of writing this, and trust me when I say it, I am positively pissed off, and I want to end my days, that's how bad of a day this was.
And I didn't leave the house.
That says a lot about today...
Update 1: But, without further ado, I was half-way writing this story, and I received this ask, and let me tell you...
helloooo, i absolutely adored the fanfics you wrote about kazan and danny🥺 could i request one where pyramid head is just really whipped for and in love with the survivor! reader but he doesnt know how to announce it to them so he brings her random ,,gifts" in and outside the trials and protecting her bc well, im pretty sure he cant speak so he doesnt really have any other options on how to express his feelings??
I live for it.
Bless you for sending me this, it's the reason I'm still sane right now.
I love you, baby-cakes.
Update 3: I want to kill myself so bad. Just smash my head on a wall until it explodes or sth. I was so happy with how this imagine turned out, only fuck fucking tumblr to just fucking delete EVERYTHING just as I was about to put the last gif and hit POST NOW.
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For the 5th time writing this :
FUCKMEDADDY - but this time - FUCKMYBRAINSOUTPLEASEIWANNADIE
Thanks.
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Hell - What was that place, anyway?
Some would describe it as an infinite ocean of flames and lava, where it's eternally melting-hot, and a bunch of hooved, horned, tailed red demons torture you with acid, with their red pitch forks, or boil you alive in their cauldron for soup. Or maybe you just get tortured by Stalin, who knows?
But never would have anyone thought that 'Hell' could look so...Normal. Well, normal in a very demolished, desolate, ravished way, but still...Normal, by human standards. Albeit, the never-ending loop of madness, anguish, agony and desperation of getting killed in different gruesome ways or fleeing for their lives and feeling a myriad of emotions pumping adrenaline through their veins so badly that their anxiety-meter skyrocketed to abnormal levels.
All this darkness, this hatred, this...Everything...It changed all the survivors. They became selfish, stubborn, rude, some even went as far as to sacrifice their fellow survivors in trials, just so they could survive. It was a complete mayhem that defied all kinds of reason, normality, morality or even ethics. Everyone became devoid of any laws that used to bind them to their humane sides, and now, you weren't sure if the killers were saner than the survivors or not.
But even in this abyss where you couldn't even see your hand in front of your very eyes, there was a little star - A beautiful angel radiating brightness and warmth, someone who was somehow able to guide everyone's straying souls with her benevolence.
In reality, she was merely a survivor, not the little lantern from an angler fish's head, but she treated everyone with such an untainted kindness...It was beautiful, and yet, unrequited for most parts. Everyone was still putting their own lives above all - And who could condemn them? - Perhaps their cowardice, for the girl preferred to save her fellow survivors as much as possible, even if that oftentimes assured her place on the hook, to be a sacrificial lamb for the Entity.
On the other hand, she rarely ended up on the hook - Most killers prefer to kill her themselves, instead of letting her become pray for the horrible Entity who tortured so many of them for refusing to cooperate - The Trapper, Evan MacMillan - He knew the best, with those hooks digging into his flesh, impossible to extract. He was the first to protect this girl. It wasn't much, but if he had to, he'd rather give her a swift, painless death, than seeing her without that serene, angelic smile on her face, as the Entity feeds on the last bits of her soul's beauty, the last parts of her humanity.
The other Killers were confused at the Trapper's actions, but little by little, they began to understand why this girl was so precious and special - And this domino effect hit Rin Yamaoka next, with Y/N stopping in the middle of a chase and taking off her jacket, just as Rin was about to butcher her with her katana, and she smiled, extending it to her. 'You must be cold' she said, realising that the Spirit was merely wearing a few bandages, not even her school uniform, or her kimono.
The ghost girl was shaken up by this, and told the others at the killer camp, but they just shrugged it off - Rin was a little girl who faced close to no kindness, they weren't surprised she was so taken aback by such a feat. That is, until Adiris, in a particularly terrible day, when everyone at the camp was staying away from her, as her profane censer wasn't able to cover the stench of rotting flesh - Y/N came over, taking out a small yet elegant glass bottle with pink liquid on it, spraying some on her - And now, The Plague smelled of roses and vanilla - 'You can come to me for perfume whenever you want, I always carry some with me!' she grinned at the Babylonian High Priestess, before leaving back to the survivor's camp site, leaving the ancient God symbol to stare with her mouth agape at the girl.
These words began to spread, and it was no surprise when the killers saw Susie clinging and begging her Legion friends to spare Y/N, for she was there to hug away her worries more than once, to tell her sweet words, to play with her hair and play the guitar whatever songs she wanted to hear, to get reminded of her home - She was so home sick that she freaked out, but now she was better, thanks to Y/N - 'I know you miss home, but sometimes, home is where your best friends are, and all three of them are here!' she tried to encourage the cute pink-haired girl who could only squeal and hug her new friend.
Even Ghostface wasn't exempt from falling to her charms, and they would often take silly selfies and mess around, making fun of the old horror movie tropes and doing lots of puns and pranks - So much that she even got his trust to be told about the Danny/Jed thing, and how he began his killer profession - 'You're a very talented photographer, Danny! You deserved all that recognition you got, both as a journalist, and as a killer!'
And very soon, Y/N found herself in the crushing arms of an overprotective Anna, humming her mother's lullaby together with walking through the forest, Y/N making flower crows for all the female killers at the camp site, and little by little, she somehow managed to worm her way under everyone's skins.
Y/N was the survivor with the highest survivability percentage, and maybe the Entity sometimes got pissed off, but at least she still got killed sometimes, so who cares? Well, that was soon to change as soon as a new Killer was added to this sick game - Pyramid Head, the terror of Silent Hill, as Cheryl, the new Survivor, called him - or The Executioner, as he was known now. He was ruthless, merciless, grotesque - He had his own criteria of killing, his own moral compass, ethics, conscience and understanding of the concept of life and death. Nothing that could compare to the visions of humans, clearly - Everything was gravitating around Divine Retribution and Justice, but the from the outside, he was nothing but a killing machine.
He would kill everyone and anyone that crosses his path, without fail.
Y/N felt like her fortune ended completely the second she found herself in the new, overly cramped map, with Pyramid Head as the killer - She couldn't help but run around like a spazzic meerkat, trying to find and fix as many generators as possible, without having to get face to face with the walking hazard...
Only to run past a stuck Pyramid Head.
Slowly backtracing her steps, she saw the mountain of a man with his metal pyramid stuck in the frames a low window which he tried to walk over. He was trashing like a raged bull trying to attack a matador, but it was clear he was getting nowhere with this.
"H-Hey, u-uhm...Need some help?" she asked in a soft, careful voice, almost like a meek cat trying to test the waters, but in return, he started groaning even louder from the wrath he wanted to unleash upon the whole world. "Okay, uhm...I think I saw a can of vaseline in one of the chests around. I'll go fetch it and I'll come back for you. Don't move." she said, only to then realise how horrible that sounded, considering the situation, and it only seemed to anger the killer. "...I'm sorry, ignore me, I'm an idiot." she slapped herself pretty harshly before bolting out of there trying to find the chest.
However, Y/N cursed herself for not having perfectly memorised the whole map by heart already, since she found the vaseline can after the 3rd chest, and then, it took quite a while to find the bloody window that got the killer stuck - And by the time she got there, she was dead tired. "Okay, I'm here, I found the vaseline! Let's try to get you out of here." Y/N muttered as she put her feet on the low window pane to get to his level. "If it's not too much trouble, could you please hold onto me? I can't balance myself with both hands occupied, and I'd rather not fall." she explained as she opened the vaseline can, only to shiver as she felt two big, strong hands getting a firm grip on her hips. It was almost...Endearing, were she not too busy trying to get the killer unstuck. She kept massaging the metal edge, trying to push and pull, also praying to whatever deity that existed in her human world that she had her tetanus shot done on time - Until finally, she was able to get hear a loud screech, like a pop, and the killer got unstuck, and in the process, he stumbled backwards, while Y/N fell down on her butt.
"Ouchie..." she muttered, rubbing her back and sides to take away the pain surging through her body. "Are you okay?" she asked, almost intuitively, without realising it at first, until she heart a low grunt that brought her back to reality. "O-Oh...! You have glass shards stuck in your side! And you're bleeding too! Hold up, let me help." she hurried to his side, while the killer merely stiffened, feeling her delicate, slender fingers tracing his body, while he heaved and slouched his shoulders from the repressed wrath. "It may sting a bit, and I'm really sorry, but I promise it will be better soon." her voice was so motherly and warm, which also resonated in her actions, as she gingerly took a water bottle and imbued some tissues with it, to wipe away the blood smearing down his skin as she extracted the glass shards, and then..."This is grandma's marigold ointment. It's really good, and it smells nice." she explained as she carefully smeared a thick layer of the yellow ointment on the biggest wounds, while the little ones were covered by smiley-flower patterned plasters. They were cute, and colourful, and they never failed to make her smile. "Okay, there we go, all better! I hope you'll feel better very soon!" her voice got a tiny bit more cheerful and upbeat.
It made the Killer think about a trillion things, as he stepped in front of her, towering over her like the Empire states building next to a smiling pomeranian. What was with this girl? Why did she help a killer? And why did he feel so...Warm inside? He could sense a foreign kind of luminosity, a naivite and innocence that he only witnessed in children and animals. This woman in front of him was untainted by the darkness and evil of the world.
It didn't matter how many hardships she's been through, or how much sadness she had to endure - Her soul remained as pure as any snowdrop, as the first snow of winter, as the fleece of a baby lamb who let out its first 'meeeeh' to its mamma sheep.
He couldn't allow this human to be maimed in any way - Not by the world, not by the Entity, and certainly not by him. - Screw the Entity, Pyramind Head kills by his own rules, and now, he was blessed to be faced with a human who bore no real hatred for her peers, or for the world, despite the horrible situation she was thrown into.
He didn't understand, obviously, especially as he remembered the myriad of abominations that lurked through Silent Hill, all of them created by the torment of humans - The very torment that distorted their own reality, which resulted in him needing to solve the purpose as The Executioner - Eradicating the world of all evil.
"Th-This sword is so heavy...H-How can you carry this around like that...?! Your muscles must be so strained and sore...Y-You really need a massage, I'm sure." she stuttered as she tried to lift the much taller and heavier sword from the ground, only for the brute to simply bend and pick it up with extreme ease, putting the girl to shame with her complete lack of strength. "Hehe...You're really strong. I'm embarrassed now." she chuckled softly, scratching the back of her neck.
Before she could leave or do anything else, Pyramid Head picked her up by the throat, careful not to hurt her or restrict her air intake - I mean, how else was he supposed to carry her so he wouldn't hurt her with his metal head or sword? - and it was pretty clear she didn't feel any malevolence from him, as she clinged on his forearm, trying to keep herself up, only to be dumped on top of the hatch, as the killer pointed towards it, so she would leave.
"O-Oh...! Thank you so much! You're really kind! I really appreciate this...I-I know it probably doesn't matter much to you, since you'll be doing this over and over again with all the survivors...But I really appreciate you for your kind gesture, and I appreciate you for being so nice with me. Thank you. Take care!" her dazzling smile lit the whole place up, but he couldn't talk, nor could he tell her how he should be the one thanking her for showing him that, despite the hundreds and thousands of years he had to roam the 'Earth' and execute the injust, miracles still existed.
As soon as she reached the survivor's camp, everyone cheered for her, asking how in the world could she have escaped the wrath of the butcher. "Oh, but he wasn't that bad. In fact, he's much more humane than I anticipated! I think he has a beautiful, blooming heart!" okay, she's lost it - the other survivors thought - but even so, she's always been a bit...Out of it, so who cares?
It took quite a while for the other three survivors to reach the camp, all bloody, in fact, like the new killer, who dragged himself with the same menace to the Killers' camp. "How the hell did you manage to survive?!" they yelled at her in utter shock, seeing that she got out of there unscratched. "Oh, you see...I found the hatch." she shrugged simply, not wanting to give away that the person who massacred those three was a soft one and he basically threw her down the hatch to her safety.
As she took a twig to roast a marshmallows, she noticed how Pyramid Head was standing much farther away from the rest of the killers - She knew that silent killers were bound to stay away from the more obnoxious one, remembering how Michael Myers almost killed Ghostface and The Legion at least a dozen times - But this time...He seemed kinda...Lonely? So Y/N took the matters into her own hands, roasted another marshmallow in another twig, and when it was done, she went to the killer's camp, calling out the lonely one's name - She has no idea why, but he actually followed her, pushing her further deep into the forest, until he was sure nobody was going to hear, see or interrupt them...
"Hey. You seemed pretty lonely out there...I thought you could use a friend. Thank you again for what you did at the trial...Here, this is a marshmallow. I don't think you've had many before...Cheryl told me of that horrible place you had to live in...So I hope this will make your day a bit better!" Y/N extended one of her hands towards him, so he could take the marshmallow - And a long, black tongue erupted from underneath the pyramid, snatching away the fluffy marshmallow and gulping it in one go.
What the hell was he turning into?
A towering man built of pure muscle, wrath and divine justice, with a pyramid representing the evil of humanity burdening his body, and a sword taller and heavier than the average human being constantly dragged in one of his hand...He now was a slave to a cute, innocent girl who was putting flower plasters on his minuscule wounds that would heal in a heartbeat regardless - He saved this girl who was now offering his these soft, squishy things that tasted overly sugarly, just like her upbeat and cheerful personality - If he could eat her, he was sure she would taste even sweeter than this - A sickish kind of sweet, that is.
She was indeed a beautiful angel in this tragic hell. But he didn't wait to snatch the second marshmallow either.
"Ah...! You liked it, didn't you? Well...Next time, I promise I'll give you more!" she grinned at him the same way a princess would to her chivalrous knight who saved her. The since he couldn't talk, silence took over them - It wasn't an uncomfortable one, per se, but it made it feel as if the conversation was over. "W-Well...I'll guess I'll see you around! Take care and I hope to see you again soon!" she waved cutely, trying to turn around back to her camp, only to feel a rough hand on her shoulder, turning her around and urging her to stop and wait for him and he went deep into the forest, leaving her alone and undefended by the potential malevolent forces of the forest.
When he returned, however, he stepped right in front of her, creating the perfect shade as he towered over her - Then he kneeled in front of her, so he would reach her eye sight, then he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and put a beautiful pink flower - As pink as the blush that started creeping on her face - He wanted to see her luminous face better, to highlight her dazzling smile and her glimmering eyes as the warm, silver light of the mother moon caressed her face.
Y/N felt her heart picking up the pace - It was beating so much faster than ever before - But this time, it wasn't out of fear or anything negative...It was something good. Something she never felt in her life, especially with her human acquaintances from back home. None was as chivalrous and gentle with her as this butcher of tormented souls - The bringer of justice, the merciless Executioner who was supposed to end the life of every living being that would cross his path.
It was insane how every Yin finds its Yang, even if that comes in the form of a little lamb of a small, frail girl, and a huge abomination of a brute man who knows nothing but death, bloodshed and carnage. It was truly crazy how opposites attract, and here she was, holding the killers large hands and gingerly putting them on her face, leaning into his touch - She felt safer now than ever in her life - Now, in the arms of an ancient killer.
An Angel and A Demon brought together in a perfect union.
As she leaned down, she touched the metal of the pyramid where she anticipated his forehead would be with her own forehead, and closing her eyes, she finally felt herself calming down. There was no need for words, actions spoke louder than anything, and she appreciated it...She appreciated him.
"Thank you." she whispered to him, knowing that yes, even though nobody else would hear it anyway, it was much more intimate than anything she ever experienced.
She was hooked.
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Hope you liked my completely shameless pun, I couldn't stop it, especially after the pain I went through trying to write this...3 freaking times.
Yay.
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bloodycassian · 3 years
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A FEAST - Azriel x readder. Prompt - Reader is injured and knocked out for days. Cassian gets him to finally leave your side for one meal and Nyx brings a guest with him...
"The Dragons Song is the best one, hands down." Nesta argued, hacking through the brush.  "That one is full of the same scenes every time." You judged, pushing a branch out of the way. The jungle was a mess of twists and turns to work through, but thankfully one of the fishermen on the dock had sold you a compass at a descent price. "A little more right for a few more miles and we'll be there." You steered her on course.  "At least it dosent say 'honeydew' every scene." She made a fake gagging noise and you laughed. The sound was muffled in the crowded forest. She hacked her way through the brush, one vine at a time. Until you finally reached the clearing. It was hot in the direct sun, a few degrees different than what the shade of the forest had been. You paced the perimiter, meeting her at the other side. "You mean Cassian dosen't like honeydew?" You wiggled your eyebrows at her.  "Az does?" She challenged, earning a laugh from you. "The ones that you like are predictable beyond measure." You countered, earning a quick smile before your attention snapped across the meadow. To a giant hog serpent with venomous tusks that gleamed with their clear liquid. You swore and you and Nesta both drew swords at the same time.  + Nesta ended the hog, but not before it had the chance for those razor sharp tusks to marr your legs with deep wounds. The venom stung, flowing into your bloodstream and paralyzing you slowly. You gasped at the sheer blinding pain it brought. "Nes-" You choked out between sobs. "Tell Az... Tell Az I love him." You smiled to her, putting a hand on her cheek. "No, no way. You're gonna tell him yourself. Stay awake. We're on the way." She reached deep to that bond to Cassian, and a flare of alertness greeted her. Then, a thrill of fire. "On the way. Rhys will be there in a few. Are you okay?" "Fine, she's delirious. She needs a healer and a detox for the venom." She thought back, sighing when she felt Rhys' presence. "Wheres Az?" You managed out of your chattering teeth. You were losing the fight against the venom quickly. It would have you under in a few minutes if Rhys didn't hurry to a healer. He placed a hand on you and darkness surrounded.  "Cassian will-" He started to Nesta, "I know, get her safe." She rushed, urging him to winnow you already. When Cassian saw the amount of blood spilled, he cursed.  "Most of it was the beast." Nesta cleaned her sword on an overgrown leaf that jutted down into the meadow.  Her hands shook when she sheathed it. "Nes." He stopped her when she turned. "Nes..." He repeated, giving her a long look. She tried to hide her face, the terror there. "Lets go." He pulled her to his side and took off, holding her close to him. He said nothing about the tears that flowed to his shoulder. He just gripped her tighter.   + Azriel had nearly broken the door when he stormed in. And he hadn't left your side since. Nesta stayed when she could, letting Azriel relax enough to sleep now and again. He trusted her to wake him if anything changed in your status.  When he woke, he heard his brother's voice first. Quiet an hurried in tone, him and Nesta argued by the door. "He wont leave. You've already tried, just leave him alone." Nesta was scolding. Cassian gripped her hands, then whipped his head over to his brother when he saw him stretching on the bench.  "Hey Az-" Cassian smiled, bounding over to his brother like a puppy. "You remmeber Madja saying it may take up to a week, right? How about you come to dinner up at the house with us."  "I dont want to miss if she-" "Come on, Nyx will be there. Mor's coming back from the continent tonight too." Cassian tempted, poking at the old flame Azriel carried for the female. She was still incredible, and one of Azriels best friends, but he no longer felt that flame towards her. You had come along and crushed it with a bat of your eyelashes and a few quick witted insults at Cas. Nesta started pulling him away, giving you an apologetic smile. "It would be nice for you to be there is all he means." She began pushing him out the door, despite his protests.  "Think about it! She wouldn't want you to be mourning while she's alive!" Cassian shouted, earning a smack from Nesta. Azriel smiled despite the dark nature of the situation. He pulled a chair up beside your resting body. It had been three days. How would he know if you were awake or not? He tugged on that dark link you shared together, and came up with the same unresponsiveness as before. He sighed, but took your hand anyway, falling asleep again to the sound of your soft breathing. + He decided to stay for just an hour. He would spare his family that much. He kissed you goodbye and tried his best to ignore the guilt he felt for leaving you behind. But Cassian was right. He knew that when you woke up you'd be upset about him not going. So he put on his brave face and flew up to the house of wind, to the joy of everyone. They clapped upon his arrival, making his cheeks burn. Mor gave him a hug and promised to catch up. But she hovered around a fae you hadn't met yet. A female that she watched with wide sparkling eyes. Azriel's chest bloomed with pride at the sight of them being so close, so full of life for each other.  He looked away from the two, and sent his shadows out to Rhys. And found what he was seeking. He darted over to the end of the table where the high lord and lady sat across from each other. The head table was empty, and filthy. "That's a small monster if I've ever seen one." He bent and scooped Nyx up from under the table. He wriggled and laughed.  "No monster Azzy." Nyx babbled, pulling on his uncle's hair.  "No pulling hair!" Rhys scolded, making Nyx laugh even more. Feyre sighed. "You're just having fun. How about we go for a fly down to-" "Don't say it, Az." Rhy's tone went from scolding to pleading. Even though the baby couldn't fly yet, it was one of his favorite things to do. He could see how Rhys' son would be skilled at flying with just the way he angled his head when accompanying. Az poked at Nyx's belly and they fought like that for a few moments, Nyx eventually winnowing away with the joy only a child could have.  Azriel froze, looking to the high lord and lady for comfort. Having a baby disappear in your arms was strange, even for Fae babies. "When'd he start doing that?" "Four days ago." Feyre sighed. She looked utterly exhausted. "We've been having to take turns staying up with him." Rhys held her hand across the table, they shared a sweet look together then they both whipped their heads to Nyx in unison. "Dont-" Feyre warned, giving her son a stern look as he pulled at the tablecloth. Amren gave the boy a look of discouragement as well when he looked around for someone to be laughing with him. He stopped after those silver eyes met his.  Nesta gave Az a smile from across the room where she and Cassian welcomed the toddoling boy. "Let's start training, Nyxie. Come on, show me what you got." Cassian got on his knees to the floor and the two began wrestling together. Azriel took a seat beside Rhys, picking at the crackers and cheese platter before him.  "When were we planning on going back to the Island?" Rhys asked, voice low. Cassian rolled with Nyx on the ground, making Nesta laugh when the boy pulled at Cas' hair. "I'm not going until my mate is healed. Maybe you should send them, see how much trouble they can get in."  Az asked, trying to keep the hinting out of his voice. He wanted to go take care of it on his own. The mission on the Island was not complete and he didn't want to risk anyone again. He'd rather do it and make sure it was a finished job. He couldn't bare to see you be hurt over a fellow Valkyrie getting hurt either. "You know they would kill each other.... or themselves trying to protect the other." Feyre smiled despite herself. She knew it was the truth. Her sister being happy for once was a joy like no other.  "Mom and Dad need to eat, Az you too." Cassian ordered. He bounced the boy on his legs, making him pretend fly. Azriel picked at the plate that appeared before him. The warm meat and stew looked incredible, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. The guilt was the only thing that weighed in his stomach. "I should go check on-" He began to say, folding his napkin back on the table. "How is she?" Cassian interrupted from the floor. Nesta was playing with Nyx now, rattling a toy around for him. Azriel kept his calm mask on, trying to fight the urge to check on you. The black haired boy looked to her with upset eyes. "Auntie?" He said, voice a bit whiny.  "Auntie is napping, she'll be back in a little while." Nes assured. Azriel's heart squeezed at the love Nyx showed. Then, the boy was gone.  The parents were digging into their plates. It was likely the only meal they'd shared together in the four days of taking turns watching Nyx. "Rhys-" Az began, terror sweeping his gut. Nyx was no where in sight. Nesta and Cassian both shot to their feet when they didn't spot him.  Then, the plates in front of Azriel clattered and shot food everywhere. Mor and her date yelped and fled their chairs, mor pushing the other female behind her. Azriel's shadows coiled, siphons glared ready to fight.  And Rhys didnt move as he observed the waking fae before him. The tug on Azriel's bond went taut. "Auntie here!" Nyx celebrated, patting your chest. You groaned and cracked open your eyes to see Azriel's shadows swirling about you. "Are you okay?!" Azriel gripped your shoulders,  his warm hands seeping into your thin shirt. The sweats you wore were now stained with whatever food had been on the table. Rhys put down his fork slowly. "I wasn't expecting to be this kind of snack Az..." You said softly. Rhy's cheeks went red. Mor laughed first, her date looked to her with bewilderment and worry. Cassian rushed over and picked Nyx up from your stomach. "I think there's a fork in my back." You said, voice gruff.  A hysterical laugh bubbled from Azriel, then the rest of them were cracking up. "Nyx... Thanks." Azriel breathed, and the boy began clapping.  + Once you were back on your feet and Madja had given you the go ahead to take it easy, you asked Azriel to go on a walk with you. The stretch of your legs was sore, but the good kind of sore that left you feeling better and better with each step. The cool wind from the Sidra whipped around you. He wrapped a wing around both of you as you reached the apex of a bridge.  "I owe that baby everything." He laughed, squeezing your hand tighter. The city was quiet, only soft music coming from the Rainbow and the calm trickle of the Sidra sounding out. "Nyx the Valkyrie deliverer."  You laughed together, leaning against the railing on the bridge. The streetlights above cast a wonderful color over you, illuminating you both in a silvery shade that matched the moonlight. "I love you." You said, resting your head against his shoulder. It had been a long night, and who knew how long of sleeping... but you were tired.  "Love you." He nudged you away so he could hook his finger under your chin and angle you up to kiss him. You wrapped your arms around him and compiled, letting the bond hum through you like a song.
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