#and yet ive barely gotten any work done

[chiritori]

midterms are scrambling my brain and turning it to mush

[x-hotoke]

How would Gojo react to his weak little brother passing away from his illness while he was away? The little brother getting weaker and weaker before they can't even sit up and are just mostly asleep due to their illness.

Weak As They Said

content warnings: abuse, death.

— GOJO SATORU

The following years were hellish for the young Gojo. Your illness has gotten worse year by year and yet the doctors still haven't found a cure yet.

You were hooked up in an IV. You could barely open your mouth to feed yourself anymore so they decided to insert a feeding tube to deliver your nutritions three times a day.

And of course, Satoru.

The man could barely look at your weak form, the edge of his mouth would quirk downwards as he looks at your sleeping form. That's what you have done all day for the past years, sleep, eat, drink your medicine.

You were getting weaker and weaker and he could tell. His six eyes doesn't fail him—yet he doesn't care, you are a liability anyways. What use could you be for the Clan?

Satoru wasn't always there, of course. He is the Strongest after all, he has duties to fulfil. That includes watching thru the CCTVs he placed inside and outside your confinement to keep an eye out for you.

He doesn't care for your wellbeing, he's just being a nice. Right?

Satoru stares at your sleeping form, hands inside his pockets. He looks at the different tubes you were wired up to. “Y/n” he spoke, fixing the lamp beside your bed to distract himself.

“I’ll be going away for a mission.” Satoru added, licking his lips. He didn't understand what he was feeling—he doesn't want to leave but he knows he need to. He let out a sigh, turning to the shoji doors. “Get well soon.”

A couple of weeks passed by and you weren't waking up. The maids refused to go inside your room because of the smell coming from it.

It reeked of rotting flesh.

After Satoru came back from his long mission, he wasn't fazed by it. He knew you would succumb to your illness soon enough.

But did you really?

During the past weeks following up to your death, you were neglected by your caretakers. Not given enough food nor medicine that helps stabilize your health somehow. It went to the point that your health started deteriorating and stopped functioning as well.

They were horrible.

Stealing stuff from your room—knowing that you can't do anything about it nor speak up. It started from that to physically abusing you.

It took weeks and finally an autopsy to confirm how you died. Satoru was stunned and livid when the doctors filled him in, the bruises on your stomach and arms were hidden away from him by your yukata—he didn't even realize it up until now. The swelling of your stomach irked him. It's not like he doesn't see this everyday in his line of work. But it was how they thought they can take advantage of a Gojo that angered him the most.

He held a funeral for you that day.

Your caretakers didn't attend—they resigned after your death. He wouldn't contact them, no. He won't even file a case against them. Anything that involved the police nor any government was a big no. He'll do it in his own way.

Even if it meant hunting each of them down to avenge you—make things right. It's better for them to know not to mess with the strongest sorcerer in modern era.

Everything is possible nowadays.

That furthermore motivated him to find away to resurrect you. Whether you like it or not.

hi! i hope you enjoy this one szisxisjd. I've been busy with school n' stuff 😓

[mx-pastelwriting]

Little Long

Copia (Papa Emeritus IV) x GN! Reader

Summary: Cutting Copia’s hair after a long tour.

Warnings: Fluff, Established Relationship, Copia being his cute self, Reader cuts hair, Haircut, Mention of Sexual Attraction (At End)

Minors do not interact!

Drawing circles on the red fabric of Copia's tracksuit, having gotten him back from weeks of touring minutes ago. Having said little to you as he made way into the closet to change, seconds later sporting his comfy red tracksuit.

Cuddled against his chest, watching the game on the screen play as Copia controlled the character, whispered curses sound out from his lips as the noise of damaged hits killed the character.

Looking up at your papa, seeing the focus in his eyes that purple bags hang from, outlining the rest of his cleaned face, leading your attention to the length of hair. Softly running fingers through the messed hair, finding small tangles within the grayed brown, turning the papa's attention, allowing the two-toned pair of frustrated eyes meet yours.

Eyes softening at the sight of you still playing with the long length of hair, "What? Do I have something in my hair?" laughing at his rambling questions of worry. "No, it's just long," you respond, making him look and feel for himself.

"I guess it is," Saying before looking back at you. "Do you want me to trim it?" you offer, finally looking at him. Laughing at the confession on his face, "You know how to cut hair?" he asks, but you do not answer, only sitting up moving off the bed.

"Come on," saying as you grab a spare chair before moving into the bathroom, going through the drawers finding a perfect pair of scissors.

Looking at the door frame that Copia stood in cutely, "Going to have to wet your hair, so take off your jacket and shirt," you inform, turning on the shower.

"If you just wanted me naked, you could have just said so," saying as he unzipped the top of his red tracksuit, looking laughing flushed, leaving him to undress.

Turning back, taking in his bare chest only for a moment before helping lean him under the water, quickly soaking his hair, then grabbing a nearby towel. Shutting off the water, moving over to the chair, quickly drying his hair to finally work away at the long length.

Removing the towel reveals the crazy style of hair, making you both laugh. Grabbing the comb and scissors before taming the beast of hair. Working slowly to get the best results, thinking of what sister would do if you fucked up.

Shaking off the pressure as you ruffled the cut hair, seeing as it blended nicely, the cut ends landing on his bare shoulders. Unaware of the eyes that watched you pleased with the work, having yet to meet the watchful eyes while finishing up.

Resting upon his shoulder, looking in the mirror, taking in your work, gladly meeting the watching eyes with a smile. "All done, handsome," you compliment, running fingers through the freshly cut hair.

As Copia played with the new length, you broke away, starting the shower once more, undressing as the water warmed, shocking the papa. Peering over at him, picking up his eyes that were once glued to your body. "I want you naked, papa?" needing no more sinful word, the papa fumbles out of the chair to join you.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

𝙏𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩: @littlebitchsposts @urlocalfanficwriter

[eldritchmochi]

Hi its the anon that keeps poking you about cs again! All of those ideas are great and just so the pain of fanfic often sort of being what would be a novel first draft by being episodic, but I feel like you could so weave in a tonne of this stuff past now anyway. Especially the cane leaning, im a cane user too and I totally get it, how my partner handles my cane is just.... it feels different to anyone else. Like they get to touch my body differently to anyone else and that applies to my cane too since that really sort of a part of my body??

the inherent eroticism of ur partner touching u(r cane) i should make a zine about this lmao

rn i am considering how much if any retouching i wanna do of the existing 260k of coping skills cos yeah, the struggle of fanfic essentially being the first draft of a novel. usually it doesnt get me too bad since a) i generally fully complete a fic before posting so i do have a chance to go back and adjust things here and there & 2) i really havent ever cared to redraft something in the more traditional sense and iii) i basically never write things over 100k let alone anything substantially over 100k

one of the options im considering would involve a fairly big overhaul where i pull out the individual arcs and flesh em out with additional scenes for better pacing, and then repost as a series with shorter individual fics (with the og in tact as is, just with a note). ive had several people tell me theyve balked at the length of this damned fic, especially since its barely half done plot wise for JUST this specific already plotted chunk of the whole shebang. it has quite possibly gotten a smiiiidge out of control lmao but its been a great learning experience and i am Determined to finish it

however, i am ALSO considering filing the serial numbers off this fic once its done. i absolutely plan on redrafting the whole thing with a bunch of developmental editing work so the end result would almost certainly be a very different form of the story from the fic as it is now. im still unsure of how much of the rework i have in my head i want to put on the internet as Coping Skills: The Fic tho. its really important to me that, whatever i end up doing, i keep this monster available on the internet as a fanfic cos i am well aware of how much it means to a lot of folks

at the same time though theres a lot of backend stuff i could build into the cs2.0 idea that would make writing the rest of the story a LOT easier, which would make dev edits and redrafting easier bc ill be starting with something that has more structure, etc

theres balance somewhere i just haven't found it yet, HOWEVER im absolutely gonna be stuck til i figure it out. im a plantser when it comes to plot, im more than happy to figure out the path to a fairly nebulous endgoal, but i struggle to write stuff if i dont have a good idea of the overall structure of how i tell the story, like pattern of pov shifts and theming, which definitely got a bit away from me the last like 80k lmao

[wewontdieunbloomed]

this is part two of unlearning the bad things i unconsciously learnt from last year.

part one was the negative default pessimism i fall in to, which i keep calling it me being emo which means i dwell in my “misery” for far too long, instead of trying to think of something positive to get myself moving out of the bad zone i am in. as we are often told, sadness and negativity gets comforting, it feels like you are protecting yourself. but one cannot see beauty in life and find joy for oneself if one does not make oneself vulnerable.

and so making myself vulnerable is what ive been doing. trying to romanticise this state that im in, a liminal space, at crossroads. its not the most ideal, too many things are unknown and for the first time in my life im dealing with having barely any structure to my days, with nothing to do yet so much i should do.

it took me quite a while to stop lamenting this unknown and start returning to the foundations i built this blog and my entire philosophy off, the whole concept of “lest we die unbloomed” of making sure i dont realise one day ive wasted my time. and in small parts i like to think ive made progress on that

the focus now is the second part. i lost a lot of my attention span and impulse control, and today i reached a horrible point where i am sitting on the kitchen floor at 9 with no dinner, having ruined my microwave dinner out of a lack of common sense. i am not sure if all this recent muddling is because of covid brain fog or the horrifying amount of screen time i have had recently, but i was so sick of it. i have done a lot of things on impulse recently, and though today i had a really fulfilling day spending time with people i havent in a long time, when i got home and im back to reality of the things i havent done and been procrastinating for too long on, i felt horrible. this need to change, i realised.

so this is part two. it calls back to one of the values i set as something important to myself, being honest with myself. i know what im doing now is not working. i know that even though i use my planner im not sticking to it. i know my todo lists are not helping me. then why do i stubbornly stick to methods i know dont work? i told myself a year ago i would not change my system if it doesnt need to be changed. i have forgotten that i need to change it when it does. how silly! so im changing.

so in the last 2 hours in order to get myself up ive written todo lists on paper instead of in my journal. used a timer for every single step from shower to sweeping the floor to brushing my teeth. enough lazing around and letting simple things occupy too much time. its a parkinsons law thing.

enough doomscrolling and opening instagram when i have nothing to do. im setting a limit for a block of time in the day where i am not allowed to use social media, pwrhaps not any internet at all. i need to make drastic change, even if it seems inconsequential. it might not be academic but its personal. and my personal life and what i want to do with my time is worth taking big measures for, because it should be more important than all that revision for exams i used to do.

so the point f this ramble is to clear things out with myself. make some sense of whats goijg on. have a direction. tomorrow i have an interview. ill come home and do the chores i have to. prepare for my afternoon activity. go for lunch and my afternoon appointment. go for a run. buy dinner. write my applications. research on uni stuff. read a book. and all the other tint things i need to give more importance to even though they seem inconsequential. it sa new mantra ive gotten into ever since part one of this. that “this is the way” this is the new way. enough lazing. its time to go hard and be rurhless. take things up a notch because when else can i do it? go big from experiences to measures i have to take to discipline myself. this is the way.

04.04.2023

[vikings-til-valhalla]

I'm sorry I haven't updated this blog on the situation with my mom in almost 2 weeks.

Long story short, it's gotten worse. In every way.

I think I said last time that mom was sent home New Year's Eve, and that was where I'd left off. Well... the next day, New Year's Day, everyone woke up and we gathered together to open presents from Christmas. As we did, mom couldn't lift anything beyond a glass of water. And even then, it was a struggle. She could barely breathe, and kept complaining about her shoulder hurting. She kept using her inhaler. Too much. 3x in a day and you're supposed to go to the hospital. And she'd used it 3x in an hour.

I tried to convince her, and my father, to go to the hospital. But my father doesn't believe in any doctors ever, and argued there was nothing anyone at the hospital could do except tell mom to set up a cardiologist appointment, and that cardiologist will take care of this. I was absolutely livid, seeing as my father always refuses to admit he's wrong or even hear he's wrong. I told him the hospital could inject painkillers, and do X-rays, and give her the IV she clearly needed. And still, father wouldn't listen. I, angry, went to my room and fell asleep for many hours.

At 9pm I was woken up to a knock at my door. Father said he was taking mom back to the hospital. Finally. I said ok, and fell back asleep.

I woke back up again at 2:30am. I checked my phone, and realized a mass text had been sent to everyone, extended family and immediate. It said everything. All of it. The cardiologist who'd done the first surgeries, he drove in immediately. He ordered painkiller injections, and X-rays. Just like I'd said the hospital would do. Minutes later, Mom had stopped breathing, and couldn't talk. She was in a panic. Doctors sedated her, and instantly airlifted her by helicopter to the original hospital where she'd gotten her first surgeries. Examining the X-rays, they learned mom had fluid all around her heart, and multiple blood clots in her lungs. Immediately, the surgeons got her into a room and began yet another surgery.

9 clots were removed from her lungs. Mesh had been placed inside her lungs to prevent any other clots from reaching them again, which would kill her if they did. The fluid was removed from around her heart. But she remained under sedation, and to be honest, from the sound and urgency of the texts, I thought I'd surely lost my mom. I don't remember if I slept anymore after that, I don't remember anything else except for the next text I received at around 9:30pm the next night. Father was on his way home. Mom was still sedated, I think, maybe she wasn't, I don't remember. But after over 24 hours waiting, I'd seen a message saying she was at least stable.

The next days were a blur. Mom woke up at some point, and had lost all recollection of being brought home for 2 days, and had no idea where she was or how she got there. Whereas I'd been doing video calls with Mom every day since her first admittance to when she got home, I hadn't heard her voice or seen her face in days. All I had was the word of my father, who kept me updated on how she was doing.

I worked 1 day that week. And when I got in and checked the schedules for the upcoming weeks, I saw I had been cut back to just Saturday work. Despite the fact that I gave full time availability, and dropped out of college to work more, I'd gotten a kick in the ass. And that exact same day, a giant bill went through, overdrafting my only bank account by $140. I was worse than broke, and with no way to pay off the debt with working one job that utterly betrayed me.

The next day, I saw my mom at the hospital. For the first time in... a while, I'd seen her face. And she was doing alright. She said she was better than she'd been feeling. She had another giant blood clot that formed in her leg, and so she couldn't walk. Additionally, she was on oxygen, and given Albuterol treatments 5-7 times a day every day. We cracked tons of jokes to the point even the nurse was laughing, and we talked a lot. Then, when she was tired, my siblings, father, and I, all drove home. I was starving. I realized I hadn't been eating much. One meal a day. Every day. For... I'm not sure how long.

Father ordered pizza, and I scarfed down two slices like my life depended on it. I was about to go for more, but everything that was ordered was eaten between the 4 of us. And I went to my room, hungry. After father went to bed, I checked the fridge for something. Anything. I found nothing beyond some molded cheeses, and a partially stale roll. No slices of bread. So, hungry and tired, I found shredded cheese in a bag, slapped it on the roll, and threw it in the microwave a few seconds. I scarfed it down. Then, I went to bed.

I woke up shaking and weary the next day. I looked for something, anything to cook, but all I had was breakfast foods, and some vegetables. None of the basics. No proteins. I think I made a grilled cheese with what remained, but that was all I ate that day. Everyone else in the house had money, and plenty of it, and they were buying meals daily, or groceries that only they were allowed to eat and wouldn't share with anyone. They went out with friends all day, or ordered in, and father spent all his time at the hospital with Mom. So, I was alone. Broker than broke. With no food. And no way to get food. If I asked anyone in my house, I'd have to pay them back. And I'll be damn lucky to pay off the $140 I owe the bank with this paycheck that's coming.

I considered going to my friend's parents for the night, and asking if they'd feed me by some miracle. But, ashamed, I didn't go. I cried myself to sleep, hungry, weak, and made an executive decision for myself: I'd, for the first time in my life, go to the food pantry, and see what I could get my hands on. Bring that to my room when nobody was looking so I wouldn't be judged or asked questions, and keep it hidden. I fell back asleep until the pantry opened, and, checking my phone as always, found that some kind stranger sent me money for food. I cried again.

That moment, desperate for anything protein to eat, I ordered chicken and cheese to be delivered to the house. I ate it all in one sitting, starving up until that moment. Then, for dinner, I got a pizza and giant cookie, which I split across two days.

Today, I got a call from my mom for the first time since I saw her in the hospital. She was on and off with health. Her legs are probably going to be bound tomorrow. She's still on oxygen, and there's a chance, when she comes home, she'll remain on it via a tank. Nobody is sure yet... And I'm scared.

She, at the latest, was supposed to come home today. But, like every day, the doctors extended her stay for another 3-4 more days at least. But in my heart, I know it'll be far more than that. 3 weeks overall since the first surgery. And things have just kept going to shit.

Today, I ate 2 bowls of pasta, which was at least 1lb of pasta. I also ate the last of my cookie. The remaining pasta will sustain me another day or two. But after that, seeing as I didn't go to the pantry, I don't know what I'm going to do. All I can do is hope that mom is back by then, and then I can ask for her money to go shopping for groceries with.

My friend returns tomorrow, after weeks away. 3 weeks I believe. I've lost track of time and how much has passed. I just know that I work again on Saturday, and that today, I'm meeting with my friend to talk after weeks apart. And, maybe, if I get the courage, I'll ask if she can buy me a bag of chips or something to help me out. If not, I understand, no big deal. But I'm scared shitless.

Things look bleak for me. When I gave everything to my job, it took everything from me without notice, at the worst possible time. I'm alone, on my own, until further notice. Until mom returns. Until I can land a new job that, maybe, just possibly, gives me more time. I'm not sure, though. I'm not sure about anything... I'm truly at my lowest. But I keep going, anyway, for the simple hope that it'll be better tomorrow than it was today. And someday that'll become reality. Like everything else, I'm not sure when that'll be. But I'll keep going, anyway. Through debt, hunger, and worse.

[cloudbattrolls]

Icarus

This is the sequel to Paved With Good Intentions - 2.

Tw: violence against a child, mention of sexual assault and addiction

Bereft of information from all fronts, I went looking for it myself.

Coloth’s exact goals remained inscrutable - I simply didn’t have high enough access for all the records I needed. It was enough to know he was trying to make horrid troll/AI hybrids, disposable cyborgs with their memories and personalities engineered to be loyal to him or whoever he sold them to. 

I made copies of everything I found, and finally I felt I had gathered enough evidence to bring it to the legislacerators, writing a report that strung it all together. I kept it secret from everyone else - thank god I did.

The night I walked into the legislacerators’ office, I felt so nervous. Yet they acted quite calm about it, thanked me for my evidence, and sent me on my way. 

I couldn’t help but feel disappointed. 

I was risking my apprenticeship for this - though of course I was sure they wouldn’t mention me to him - and they had merely acted like I was handing them any old files. Still, it didn’t do to complain. I would simply have to watch and wait to see what happened.

I wasn’t waiting long.

--

The knock on the door was very polite; it came not long after I’d gotten hive from my apprenticeship the night after I’d turned in the files. Another tense few hours of anticipation with nothing to show for it. My sixth wriggling night had just happened a few nights ago, but I hadn’t really been in a proper state to enjoy the party.

“Come in.” I called from the couch, expecting it was an adult, but I was figuring it was one of the teachers or something like that.

Instead Tetrao Coloth himself stood before me, and my ears went back for a moment before I forced myself to be calm.

“Hello, Jameth.” He said smoothly. Well, he didn’t seem angry, that was a good sign, right?

“Hello.” I made myself say casually. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Oh, Jameth, haven’t you done enough already?” He said with a heavy sigh, and my stomach twisted. 

“I really am disappointed in you.” He said, shaking his head, and regret thudded through me like a second pulse. Maybe I’d misunderstood, maybe there was nothing bad going on at all…

“After I took such a risk bringing you on, too. I had really hoped you would shine despite your background.”

He was lying, I realized dumbly.

He was disappointed, but he had never wanted or expected me to do well. That was why…that was why…

The violet took a step closer, and I shrunk back. He raised his eyebrows.

“Is that any way to treat your superior?” He chided. 

“No.” I mumbled. What was I supposed to do? It was clear now that I didn’t mean a thing to him. I couldn’t fight an adult violet; he had every legal right to cull me just for trying. 

“I’m so glad you understand.” He said, and lunged toward me as my lusus shrieked and I scrambled to try to get off the couch.

Only later would I piece together what happened. Only later would I properly remember how his bladed staff tore open my body so much I saw my guts, my bones, how that couch was stained so blue from me that it could never be clean again.

Only later would I recall the sound of shattering as my vertebrae cracked, the rawness of my throat from my strangled scream, before I knew no more.

—

I woke up.

That in of itself was a surprise. At first I thought I was dead.

No, death didn’t involve nausea and IVs, I decided. 

But how was I alive? Who had called for help?

I blearily opened my eyes further to see a medic standing over me, a quizzical, wary expression on his face. For some reason his face was covered in small gouges that hadn’t quite scarred over, still slightly oozing blue. That didn’t help my nausea. I refrained from throwing up, but only barely.

“Awake! I’m surprised.” He said, nodding. “Not that I doubt my work, but you sustained incredible damage! If you were any lower caste you would certainly be dead. You may yet die! It remains to be seen.”

I didn’t have the energy to speak, so I just looked at him with tired eyes. He clicked his tongue.

“You didn’t experience brain damage, did you? That will make payment more difficult.”

No, I didn’t think I’d gotten brain damaged. Which didn’t make sense. If Coloth had meant to kill me, why hadn’t he just gone for my neck?

Would he come back to try?

My body seized up as that fear set my nerves alight and I whimpered. It was true; I was going to die. If not from what he’d already done, then whatever the violet would do to me next.

Plus, I certainly didn’t have an apprenticeship with him anymore. I was finished. And all the class I’d have to miss while I got better…

I realized then that I couldn’t feel my legs.

Or my back.

I couldn’t feel them at all.

I gave a strangled squawk and my lusus flew over to me, perching on the side of my - my medical bed, I realized. I must be in a hospital.

I saw that his claws and beak were coated in dark blue. 

I slowly looked back at the medic.

“Yes, your caretaker objected when you were originally decided as a mercy cull.” He said with a sigh, as if it was such a great inconvenience to him.

“I suppose he was right to stop us! For the moment, anyway.” He said, and I understood perfectly that if I flagged too much in my recovery, he might well try again.

I couldn’t even move my body and I still had to fight.

My eyes narrowed.

Fine. 

If it was going to be that way, I was more than up to the challenge.

—

Jikiro showed up the next night. 

His eyes were puffy from crying, his face streaked with teal tears as he held my hand and sniffled.

“I’m so sorry, Jamie.” He whispered. “I wish - I should’ve been there.”

“It’s not your fault.” I mumbled. “But why…why did you make me wait so long? I wanted to say sorry.”

“No, I’m saying sorry.” He said firmly. “I mean - I still wish you hadn’t done that, not that way. But…I don’t know how long it would’ve taken me to tell her myself.” He admitted.

“Things aren’t great, but at least she’s starting to listen, and Akahan doesn’t mind at all.” He said with a smile. “She keeps reminding Himari and Izanam that I’m a boy.” His face lit up with relief.

I smiled weakly. At least I had done one thing right.

“Anyway. You’re on a ton of pain meds, they said, and it looks like you’re uh…paralyzed, for the moment, but I heard the doctors talking and they say you might be able to recover.”

“I will.” I growled. “I don’t care how many surgeries it takes or what they cost, I’m getting better.”

“How, uh...how did this happen?” He asked hesitantly.

I looked around. No, it wasn’t safe, even if there was just a nurse around and not the actual doctor.

“I can’t tell you here.” I said, low. “Wait until I get out. Then I will.”

I had realized, all too late, how vital it was to be properly wary.

—

The indignity of healing was torture.

I needed so many helper robots at first, for things as basic as combing my hair.  

At least I got familiar enough with all of them to repair them if I needed to; I hated waiting on the staff to do it.

I could feel them eyeing me, trying to decide if I was worth the resources to keep on or not, even though I could pay. I might be a highblood, but I wasn’t an important highblood. I had no connections except for Jikiro. 

Only three of my other friends besides him had bothered to visit me - Lastha, Ayakko, and Evrett. So loyal the rest of them were, going radio silent even when I texted and called. 

Fine, I didn’t need them. They’d see the error of their ways when I got better and ignored them back.

—

They replaced my vertebrae that had been fractured beyond repair, and they mended some of the nerve damage, but I was never going to be the same. Coloth had struck too deeply, too brutally for that. 

I couldn’t eat like I used to, either. Not that I had ever had the appetite of my teal friend, but with my digestive system patched together like it was, I had to be more careful now.

I now had pain as my almost-constant companion, despite the medication I’d been prescribed. Ignoring my dosages and taking extra only helped a little before the hallucinations set in, the fainting, the dizziness. Sometimes I couldn’t help it, despite knowing what would come. I needed to stop hurting. I needed to be myself again.

Of course, I paid the price in the end.

Only Jikiro was left, my other three friends having abandoned me in one of my fits, never to return.

—

I got my crutches - my first set was terrible, awful half-useless hospital garbage, and upon receiving them I immediately resolved to design something better.

I went hive. I learned to walk again, slowly, fumbling things that had used to be so easy.  

I wondered what I could possibly do now.

I wondered if Coloth would return to finish the job. 

I upgraded my security. I bought a new place to live, deeper in the city.

—

I don’t want to tell the details of those sweeps, of the time I spent trying and failing, failing, failing. Of how Jikiro had to drag me away from flirting with boys who even I knew would laugh at me as soon as my back was turned, but I didn’t want to believe it.

How he yelled at the one who wasn’t joking, who was all too serious, and how he yelled at me too for getting in that situation. I snapped back at him, sullen, unwilling to admit that part of me had wanted it. Wanted something, anything, that I was less and less able to pretend I’d ever be able to actually have in a way I wanted.

He was right, much as I came to resent him for it. 

To make my life worse, I came to desire him too - genuinely, not like my passes at men I barely knew. The buried pale feelings I’d always tried to ignore had turned pitch instead. 

Stupid, stupid Jamie. 

As if his bloodline would ever allow it. As if he would ever be brave enough to defy them, the coward.

We kissed, once. But I backed down. I told him I did it for him.

I knew very well I also did it for myself. 

—

At last, something. 

A response from one of the many places I applied to work. Weary by this point, I knew it would probably be a job beneath my station. Some humdrum position barely worthy of an olive, a dull one at that.

I resolved to take it anyway. I knew my options were otherwise nonexistent.

Then my eyes grew wide as I read the description properly. This wasn’t anything I’d applied for at all; this was a job far above my station.

The CEO of a spaceship company.

It was everything I’d dreamed of, so naturally I didn’t trust it at all.

I did some digging and realized the place was on the brink of failure, the last CEO culled by the empire for his crimes.

Coloth had recommended me, just to get the last fucking word.

I understood then why he’d let me live. Why he’d never come after me since.

I was a living example to humiliate over and over again, a display of what would happen to anyone else who crossed him. 

Well. If that was how he wanted to play, I would play back. I could be patient. I could wait for an opportunity as I took this insult of a job and turned it to my advantage.

He would regret not killing me when he had the chance.

I would show him exactly what I had learned so well at his hands. 

—

There is one thing I still haven’t told.

It’s something I’ve never told anyone, not even Jikiro.

You might remember I never explained why I did not die, that I failed to mention the identity of the person who called for help. I too wondered for a while afterward, until the first night I went hive again.

That was when they appeared and spoke to me.

A free, sapient AI, one as ancient as the city itself. 

They called themself the Process.

[realcowboysdrinkjuice]

hello Alexander i hope this message reaches you in good health. in the tags of a recent post you described being able to find roleplay partners when you wanted to even with social anxiety. pray tell how did you do this. thank you for your assistance. warmly, anon y mouse

Hi!!!! first off disclaimer- i haven’t done any roleplay in agessss so hopefully all of this still applies in this age of the internet!

but when i was a lot younger i first started out by roleplaying a ton on my own minecraft server (my dad works with computers so he set one up for me and my sister in like 2011/2012) and i played with a lot of people from school from me or my sisters classes which was nice because we both had a degree of control over it since it was Our server and it was a small group of people. to be fair i was also a child so even though i wasn’t medicated yet i probably had a lot less learned anxiety at the time even if i still had the shit i was born with lmao cause there’s definitely some things i struggle with now that i didn’t as a young kid since i just didn’t think about them as much then.

after that a ton of people moved to skype and we roleplayed a TON there and that was when i was a bit older so it was fandoms and things i was actually interested in whereas in minecraft it was random stuff or our own storylines or someone’s cousin was really into assassins creed and i didn’t (and still don’t) know a single thing about the game but really wanted to roleplay anyway lmao.

honestly after skype i didn’t really roleplay very much after that even though i did it daily as a kid/early teen BUT i was still finding some ways to make friends which can be transferable to this if they also like roleplay :)!! i don’t have many friends currently idk if covid fucked me up that bad or if i’ve just gotten worse at it over time so this feels a slight bit hypocritical since i’m not following my own advice super well at the moment lol but discord is HUGE. obviously you have to be super careful but ive made a lot of online friends by joining discords servers. even when i had to lurk for a day or two before i got comfortable (and i had people encouraging me when i admitted to that) even though i would still be an anxious wreck for a while if i met online folks irl they are still so so important to me and helped me so much, especially since i have an easier time talking online. smaller discords can be good if large groups of people are intimidating but bigger ones are good if you’re worried about being singled out and want to hide in the crowd. irl i feel like the ideal group of people is three cause if i stop talking it’s not awkward since there’s still two other people, but online i don’t really mind how many people there are since it’s a lot easier of a disconnect since im just looking at words on a screen. discord is also where i played dnd for the first time! i was 15 and i barely knew anyone there but i was obsessed w the adventure zone in early high school and really wanted to try it so i pushed through that anxiety. tbh now i think i might prefer just watching (definitely cause of the social anxiety but oh well i think that’s still a valid as hell way to enjoy the game) but im so glad i found an environment where i felt safe enough to try it even though tbh i barely remember the experience so i must have been so nervous holy shit.

i’ve never used them so i can’t attest to how great they are but tons of people roleplay on online forums! i used to use a website called chicken smoothie where you collect pets and trade and shit but they had a HUUUUGGGEEE forum where tons of people were roleplaying there, and since it’s a forum it feels like it would be slower paced even though i was personally a bit nervous about the formality of the ones i saw.

honestly just tl;dr it’s still so scary but i promise you there’s people out there who are also nervous and i think creating a story with real people is just so much rewarding then anything character ai sites can do. and i think making online friends is an invaluable resource for stuff like that, especially since it’s a lot easier to hit the bricks if you get scared, especially since for me personally im selectively mute and that’s not really an issue over text so that’s one less worry i have to deal with. but i really hope you can find those people because i have so many find memories of roleplaying with my friends growing up since that was most of my social experiences (not sure how to phrase that) came from since i was so anxious at school and literally didn’t talk to barely anyone like kids in my class straight up learned to talk to teachers for me cause they knew i wasn’t going to do it so hanging out with people online was so important.

hopefully at least some of this is helpful- i don’t have a ton of experience since im still only 21 and i also spent all the covid years being stagnant so honestly i don’t even feel 21 so i definitely don’t have all the answers but that’s what i found worked for me growing up. a lot of it is just pretending you aren’t as scared as you are and just being honest with people because in my experience they’re usually really understanding about you being nervous cause everyone has been there even if it’s not to the same degree. ALSO second disclaimer- im not in therapy (tried several times but i’ve never been able to talk to the therapist which is kind of an important part of therapy) so take all of this with a grain of salt because i have no clue if any of my coping mechanisms are healthy but i haven’t died yet so i guess im doing something right?

sorry this is so long lmao and i have no clue how helpful it is

[queerspaceprince]

i really want to post pn fb about how proud i am of myself for starting to clean up my room today.

i havent cleaned since....idk before christmas? and i havent been able to see my floor in god knows how long. its not laundry, ive actually been alright with that, its just. trash and a bunch of random shit, like tangled scraps of yarn, old mail, my winter hats and scarves bc i usually keep them in my duffle but i dumped them to take it camping.

and I havent even gotten to my desk and dresser yet. i have. a major depresion stash of coffee mugs. the travel ones are rinsed out i think? i usually just bring them home from work, set them on my desk and ignore them. i do have some ecosystems in a couple reg mugs tho. as well as a few fast food cups.

see, saying it on here feels safe. bc yall can understand and sympathize that its hard sometimes. that ive just been trying so hard just to do the bare minimum that these things fall to the side. if I try to talk about it with family, they just berate me. oh, you shouldve done that sooner, oh finally!, you better keep it that way!

any time ive tried mentioning having a hard time they just. act as if im making a big deal of nothing. like i have a 'good' life, how could it be hard??

im 5 trash bags in and I'll probs need another one for my desk and dresser.

i feel disgusting, yet accomplished and proud of myself too.

[okay-j-hannah]

Hii hannah!! It's me, the mysterious anon and I'm officially done with not just my exams but highschool! I got my results back few days ago and im surprised i almost got all As because during the last three exams I was literally reading will turner and lotr fanfictions more than my textbooks lmao 😭

And can I just say you're so so sweet and ilysm !!! tysm for accepting my request, can't wait to see how you are gonna write them! although, do remember to write it with your own pace, you don't have to feel obligated to finish it and post it asap (and this goes to all the requests you've gotten) we know you're a human being too with your own things in your daily life and ofc we acknowledge and respect that, that's the least we can do when you actually take time out of your life and accept to write our requests <333

I know I said it in the last ask I sent you but thank you so so much for accidently introducing me to will turner, remember how I fell down the rabbit hole? it seems i am still falling, but now in another rabbit hole named lord of the rings; yes I joined the lotr fandom! i was lookin for more orlando bloom movies and found out he played legolas and I started the series just for him lol,, really though the lotr universe is so beautiful!! ive always loved fantasy universes but was too lazy to actually start something classic like lotr but now that i've done it im feeling the hyperfixation literally running through my veins!! I ordered silmarillion and im like this close to ordering all the books in Tolkien legendarium even though im nearly broke lmao. and my bi ass is in love with everyone, especially the elves, came just for legolas but staying for all the tolkien elves and faramir, eowyn, sam and aragorn 😭 really though, I have barely read silmarillion yet i am in love with elves like ecthelion and glorfindel too 😭

i can't wait read more of your lotr work, so far, I've only read haldir fic (it was so cute!) and hobbit/doctor who one and im in love with that one!! i spend so much of my time thinking what if I were to accidently end up in my current hyperfixation universe. will I survive actually? Will I even be able to make eye contact with my comfort characters, or speak to them? unless somehow I get some kind of superpowers or immortality, i would likely die in the first fifteen minutes for sure haha. can't wait to read the second part of that story and how doctor fits into the story! Also mgime trope is actually so fun to read! after this one, I went to ao3 for more and im so in love with this trope im thinking about writing one myself! 

Just realising, It's funny thing, joining new fandom tbh ; i remember scrolling through your page in March and i had no idea who any of the lotr characters or potc characters were but now im in love with the lotr&potc universe and its all i can think about. do you mind, if i ask you how do you balance fandoms thing? you're in so many fandoms and i always wonder how you love them/give them time equally even after having so many other fandoms. in recent years I've joined many fandoms but every time I join a new one, i start loving the new one so much i  completely stop even thinking bout the old one. and it's incredibly silly i know but I feel like I'm betraying/cheating my old fandom and my comfort characters in a way by hyperfixating on whatever my current fandom is. 

Speaking of hyperfixations, also so so excited for David tennant in the 60th specials!! And donna n wilf!! I too will have to finish 13's episodes before November though. btw did you see the bts pictures of 15 and the new companion Ruby? It seems like we're gonna get good history episodes with the new doctor !! 

Oh also!! It's been officially a year since I started reading your fics! And today 29 May actually marks the day(technically night ig) I read the last parts of dying girl series. I still remember that day, I had finished watching stranger things' then new episodes, I was already crying because of The max and vecna episode and I decided to torture myself more by reading the series and cried more lmao.

Ahh cant believe its been a year, i remember being anxious to send you my request and all those asks and now I am actually talking to you! I am so glad I decided to check out your blog last May, one of the best decision ive made! If it werent for you, i probably would've never further watched doctor who, or started potc and lotr/hobbit series and just Tolkien's work tbh. Ik I've said it a lot of times but really though, thank you so much for introducing me to all these movies, shows, books and ofc, your writing. I've loved every single second I've spent on your blog and while watching these tv and movie series, idk how to exactly word this because english isn't my first language, but the time spent on your blog and while watching the shows/movies really is best time I've spent in my boring life, I've felt more alive doing that than I actually had while living my "life". 

Oh and I'm glad you had fun writing my domestic fic request! I would also love to read about the reader and doctors' in between adventures, hope you write about it and honestly, I'd love to read whatever you write, even if it isn't full fics, just random stuff like headcanons or draft ideas you had! And I would request bout it but I've already requested two fics and honestly, my brain feels too disconnected from the fic to give you ideas kinda stuff for the fic. I guess, its time to reread the series ; I hope I can get through it this time without crying though 😭

I still haven't finished watching all the potc movies, only two or three because I got into lotr, but more will turner content from you? So excited!! And yeah It is surprising that I haven't watched the movies because they are classic! but they actually came out before I was born/when I was really young so I didn't get to watch them at that time, plus movies, especially from outside my country weren't as accessible so my brain focused on what I had, the barbie and disney movies and tv cartoons.

Sometimes I honestly can't believe that all the movies/TV series I'm hyperfixating over came out so long ago and that I am watching and obsessing over them after like 15-20 years, that really is a lot of time! but tbh, I feel like this is how it was meant to be, yknow? I was meant to love these movies and characters rn, because maybe I needed them now more than I did back then. And as I said, I was barely a kid and didn't even speak English language, even if I did get to watch all the movies I don't think I'd even understand them lol. 

Oh and I too love the pen pal things we have going, it's fun, isn't it? Really sorry for replying months late though, i wanted to write earlier but I have executive dysfunction so it's really hard to do even the simplest of things😭 next time i'll try not to be months late lol.

I just realised I wrote a lot lol, Thank you for reading the whole rambling, I hope the whole thing doesn't seem too diorganised to read . And yeah, Bye! hope you have good day/night or whatever time of the day you're reading this at<333

Hello mysterious anon!

I think our trend will now be just randomly replying to each other every few months because 100% we both have busy lives.

I feel weirdly proud to have instigated some of your new fandom hyperfixations, I am so obsessed with too many. It is really hard to spread all my love/attention to so many.

I think I look at it like phases. I will always return to my old loves, but depending on my mood or phase in life I'm drawn to a certain fandom. I started rewatching Criminal Minds a while ago and got so reinvested in the show that I started writing a series with Spencer Reid {it's like 21k words right now and I haven't decided if I'm posting it or not}

And I started watching The Crown, so I've fully entered another time period phase and I want to watch all things Jane Austen. I read Sense and Sensibility recently because of it. I think I'm going to watch Little House on the Prairie for the time period drama. I might watch Poldark or Outlander or Vikings for the same reason.

I agree it's hard to move on to another fandom when you feel you're neglecting the others. I try to refresh my brain of my old favorites, like I remember the day I mixed up Death Eaters and Dementors and I felt so ashamed that I reread the whole Harry Potter series just to remind myself.

I guess I just do my best to acknowledge all of them and then be patient when I'm fixating on only one in particular. I find a balance when I'm writing fics about them because I'll rewatch something so I can get a feel for the characters before I write about them. But sometimes it is hard to write a request for a character that I am not currently obsessed with.

I'm glad you passed your classes and are hopefully moving on to bigger and better things {I know you are fandom wise}. I haven't been writing much the last year, but I do still check my activity frequently. We'll see what and when I'll decide to post next.

But for now, I wish you luck in life and hopefully the comfort you'll get from your new potc and lotr friends will get you through some of the tough times.

💜 Hannah

[zaptap]

btw i still think theyre going to do unova remakes this year. for a second there i wavered a bit since i realized they could do something with johto first (hgss is older than gen v after all) but i think after indigo disk bringing unova back into the spotlight, it makes more sense to keep that going right into the next game (and there's no pattern yet for second-round remakes, since we've only gotten lgpe. could be total coincidence they did kanto again before sinnoh)

as for whether the remake will even be any good? idk lol. maybe they'll get ilca to do the bare minimum again. or maybe they'll decide not to after how much of a mess bdsp was (i feel like theyd rather not have to come up with special rules for pokemon home transfers again)

and to me legends arceus was one half of the sinnoh remake (the part where they add a lot of new stuff and bring newer pokemon to the region, which bdsp lacked) so they could do another legends game. they could continue the trend of focusing on a mythical and maybe do genesect or victini, or maybe base it on that merged dragon legendary we never really saw? idk

really hope though that they just... do a normal remake again. recreate the world and story of the original game, yes, but add to it. let us have pokemon that didn't exist when the originals came out, add new pokemon forms, etc. i really miss the old remakes being in the same style as the brand new games of the generation and able to communicate with each other, instead of this thing theyve been doing since lgpe where everything is in a weird bubble by itself

at the same time though i liked legends arceus and it'd be nice to see something like that again. my theory has been that it came about because game freak maybe got a little too ambitious working on a more traditional sinnoh remake (trying to work something like the wild area into sinnoh, maybe settling on making five of the areas more open, and ultimately deciding it was too different--or had some ideas to make it even more different--and spinning it off into something new while hiring ilca to cover the expectation for a "normal" remake since they'd be abandoning that)

and now, after having already done the split-model remake with bdsp and legends arceus, would they do the same thing again? i think with scarlet and violet's open world, having it be similarish to those games probably won't happen (also they absolutely wouldn't have terastalization and tera raids--if blueberry academy is in unova and has a special tera orb to enable all of that, that means it isn't in the rest of the region). but they could still have it be more linear while being stylistically similar to sv, as opposed to what bdsp did

ANYWAY how about this actually: have the type of remake we got with frlg/hgss/oras (where there's plenty of new stuff and you can get pokemon that didn't exist in the originals) and then throw in some kind of Dream World inspired side story area with legends arceus mechanics. that would be really cool

.......also there's the whole question of like. what the fuck are they gonna do about bw2. those games went above and beyond the usual third version deal. different story, different starting area and map progression, different protagonists. they can't simply tack on some alternate clothing options and throw in the kyurem/kami/etc forms and call it good. that would be unacceptable

would they put both games in one? would they sell the second as dlc? would the paired games, instead of black remake and white remake, be bw remake and bw2 remake? (would that even work?) or would they really just ignore bw2 as much as possible? honestly with the way game freak's been these days i feel like that might be most likely unfortunately

for the past few years ive been wanting to replay gen v, but with these remakes coming... well, in the past i've replayed rs before oras and played yellow before lgpe, and that was fine, but when i replayed platinum before bdsp came out it just felt like i was playing the same game again except worse. like i think i'd rather have played bdsp and then platinum. so i'll wait until after the remakes before doing that i think (or at least until we have an idea of what we're getting) (not that i think i'll have time to get around to playing those before then anyway)

[atiny-piratequeen]

how do get people to talk about your stories with you? i've honestly been trying for years, but barely get any interactions from any one. i know i shouldn't be upset about it, but seeing you and other writers talk about their works just... idk kind of makes me want to give up writing. i'm sorry if this is like sad or weird, but i want to have more interactions with my followers but have no idea where to start...

This may sound weird. And im apologizing in advance.

But its luck. Its literally luck. Ive been writing for over 10 years. Ive been writing for kpop specifically since 2018 ish. Its really like playing the lottery.

Against the Tide is my absolute baby and its very similar to Ataraxia in regards to the fantastical setting and it definitely has more content ive produced than anything for Ataraxia and yet I've gotten more interactions with Beauty Leaves and Ataraxia in these past two months than im sure ive gotten for all of Against the Tide in the three+ ish years I've been writing it.

People will pick and choose what they interact with. There is no one set formula for it. Ive seen fluff series get 200+ notes in a few days and people happily interact with the author. Ive seen things similar get 5 notes and all of them are likes.

Even now, really if you look at it, for as much as I'm getting asks on say, Ataraxia as a verse, Beauty Leaves is still sitting at less than 100 notes im pretty sure and the like to reblog ratio is a joke (most of the reblogs are from me.)

The issue isnt with you or your writing. Its with people not sharing your works. Its with people consuming your works and then just dropping nothing but a like and leaving, if that. Thats what hurts us authors the most because we are not being seen. There are plenty of people out there who I'm sure would LOVE to interact with your works. Who may be curious for more or have little world building questions here and there. They'll never see it sometimes if no one shares it. We authors can only reblog our work but so many times but if our own followers wont help share it, who the hell is gonna see it?

Most of the people who regularly interact with my works at the end of the day are my friends. Gaia, Laz, Dior, Luna, Smalls, these are my friends who I've known for years. Met through writing. Fellow people who also may understand how fucking rough it gets for authors when it feels like your work isnt good enough when the person next to you is getting all these notes and interactions, yet you cant even get a single reblog for something you took who knows how long to share and create with the world.

My advice, if I can give any that help with the pain you're going through and I'm all too familiar with- (again. I have over 2k followers, and most of my interactions are from about 5-7 regulars and of that group literally 95% of us are mutuals. My tag list has over 40 people in it and again, i get reblogs from at best, 4-5 of them that are not me usually unless something REALLY pops off...then i may get like. 10ish. Who knows)

Two things.

One, be your own hype person. Our writing, our worlds, are ours. You work hard in your craft and whether or not people see it will not change the fact that you work hard. You're doing it. Stop to look at what you've done and remind yourself "yea. I fucking did that." And be proud because come hell or high water, its yours. Plus, if you have the time, posting things about what your writing (character blurbs, mood boards, story snippets, spoilers here and there, general world building nuggets) help pique interest. Its how i did it with Against The Tide (i literally never shut the fuck up about AtT and people began to notice and get curious) and literally most of Ataraxia's world building now is because again, i didnt shut the fuck up about something that started small and kept talking about things here and there and then people got curious and asked their questions and just like that, it helped me refine and shape what was originally fuzzy images and vague ideas. Sometimes being your own marketing manager helps wonders

Two, your writing is for you at the end of the day. 1k notes or no notes. You're writing for you. As long as its something your passionate about and something you put heart into, its always worth it. Even if other people dont seem to appreciate it. Join some nets, make some friends with fellow writers. Talk about it there. Honestly it works wonders to have other writer friends because some writers (im looking at myself) will deadass reblog shit they know their friend is working on in a heartbeat with or without having read it. The writing community tends to look after each other most of the time here so i would say if its something thats hurting and truly getting under your skin, tell the world more. Join and share with nets. Talk and hype your works up as much as possible.

Its always worth it when you work for it.

Im sorry i dont really have any foolproof method. I have a few of my own friends i feel envy for because of how consistently some of them get reblogs, get shares, get interactions. Its a bitch and a half and its honestly something I've been saying for years. Its not fair for content creators (artists, gif makers, writers) to give give give all of our worlds our crafts and our effort and then have to beg the people who are take take taking to do the bare minimum and interact with more than a passing like, if that.

Im sorry you're feeling disheartened, friend. If you feel comfortable, send your work to me sometime. I'll happily boost you up if you feel okay with it. Every writer has their own stories to share and I hope some day people will appreciate yours, too

Pace yourself and remember you're doing great regardless

[smallestapplin]

as someone with hypersomnia, ive scared people.

slept for 3 days once.

imagine the poor mc scaring everyone like that.

they wake up and everyones crying cause they think your dying (granted you havent eaten in 3 days but still)

Your sleep schedule has been a mess. All day almost every day and night you’ve been working, mission this and mission that, you’re exhausted.

Today had been the first day you had gotten home at a reasonable hour and the second your body touched your futon you were out.

The warmth or your blanket and the softness of the mattress made the perfect cozy cocoon, it felt like a cloud with the week you’ve had.

Rei was sent that morning to get you, you hadn’t gotten up yet and the commander was getting agitated the longer you weren’t in his office.

He knocks on your door and calls out “hey hero! You up?” He continues knocking for a bit before waiting.

There was no sound of movement on the other side, man survey work must’ve taken a lot out of you!

“Hey, I’m coming in, if that’s okay!” Ever the sweet boy.

Gentle sliding the door open just enough to peek in. Seeing your still asleep he walks in.

Sitting beside you Rei tries to gently shake you awake.

“Come on wake up, rise and shine! We got the whole day ahead of us!”

His shaking gets more and more aggressive trying to wake you up before he yanks your blanket off of you, and when that didn’t work he took your pillow from under your head and started hitting you with it.

“This isn’t funny, how can you be such a heavy sleeper!?”

The more he continues the more his frustration turns into worry. Why aren’t you waking up? You’re still breathing but no matter what he has done you don’t budge.

“Okay I’ll be back!” Rei tries not to panic, where you hit by some Pokémon attack?

He rushes back to but goes try to Cyllene’s office.

“The hero won’t wake up.” His voice breaks a little.

The stoic woman looks up for her paperwork “what do you mean they won’t wake up?”

Laventon pokes his head in from his office “everything alright? Usually they are up by now.”

“That’s what I thought!” Rei cries “but I shook them as hard as I could, called for them as loud as I could without getting a complaint, and even took their blanket off them, I even hit them with their pillow! Nothing! They didn’t even twitch!”

Laventon and Cyllene share a look.

“I’ll go check on them.” The professor heads out the door with his assistant following close behind.

Cyllene only hopes they come back with a drowsy you.

Laventon does what he can, he made some Galarian curry, the warmth and smell of the homemade dish didn’t wake you, a whistling tea kettle didn’t wake you, both of their yelling didn’t wake you.

Laventon picks you up “we are taking them to the medical ward, in form the others.”

Rei rushes ahead of the professor so Pesselle gets ready, once he does that he in forms the commander, knowing Cyllene’s office door is open and will see Laventon.

Cyllene barely holds back a gasp when she sees Laventon bringing you in.

“Were they attacked last night?” The captain meets Laventon before he can continue and takes you in her arms.

“I’m not sure, they made no moves other than breathing.”

Cyllene cusses under her breathe and moves you to the medical bay.

“I already have the bed set up over there please.”

Setting you on the bed Cyllene is swiftly moves away by Pesselle. The nurse quickly checking you over, moving your limbs to see if there is anything out of place or wounds.

When those don’t work she turns to the captain “they have a Blissey, right? Professor said those are good at sensing when someone is hurt, could you by any chance go get one for me?”

Cyllene didn’t need to be told twice and was at the pastures within seconds.

Your Pokémon there perk up at the sight of her, gently letting out happy sounds from each one.

“Is there a Blissey in the pastures?” The stoic woman asks the worker.

“Oh yes, she usually stays around the smaller Pokémon go tend to them in the back over there.”

“Perfect.”

The pasture worker screams as Cyllene hops the fence with easy, your Pokémon have noticed her stressed emotions and actively call for the big pink Pokémon.

Who comes rushing towards her.

“Hello, I require you assistance for a moment, please follow me.”

With a joyful cry the Pokémon follows Cyllene through the field, opening the gate herself and allowing the healing Pokémon free.

“I’m sorry but-“

Cyllene doesn’t stop to listen, making her way to where you were.

“I’ve brought the Pokémon.”

The Blissey cheers at seeing your sleeping form and bounces around happily, but makes no move to start healing or tending to you. In fact Blissey sits down and starts rocking and falling asleep.

“Laventon.” Cyllene doesn’t take her eye off you.

“Blissey’s are natural healers.” He starts.

“So that must mean there is nothing wrong with them.” Pesselle finishes.

The room is filled with sighs of relief, but then confusion.

“They why won’t they wake up?”

“Possibly the worlds heaviest sleeper? I’m sure they will come around.” Rei adds.

“Abra.” The Pokémon instantly teleports in “I wish for you to stay here and keep watch over the hero, if they wake you are to report back to me.”

The floating Pokémon makes a confirming sound and makes a spot floating beside you.

“Everyone else, back to your orders.”

And they did, occasionally checking on you to see if you’ve woken up yet. Cyllene gets increasingly more worried when by the end of the day her Abra doesn’t come to her at all.

She peeks in and finds you haven’t moved, neither as your Blissey or her Abra.

She hope in the morning you’ll be up.

But you never did.

The next morning the room is exactly how it was left as were you.

“Where is the hero?” Kamado was at Cyllene’s desk those time.

“They are still asleep sir, Abra has not alerted me to any movements or them waking up, I am concerned by this, it’s been over twenty-four hours.”

Kamado huffs “have you tried pouring water over them?”

“I’m positive if Pesselle doesn’t end you for ruining her sheets, I will.” She stops her work and stares at the man in front of her.

“Then what are we to do? We need them out there.”

“If you are so concerned about filling the pokedex then why don’t you go do it?”

Kamado stops talking and crosses his arms.

“If you don’t wish to talk to the clan leaders about why the hero hasn’t showed up to help them direct them to me.” She returns to reviewing reports.

Kamado leaves for his office just as Rei and Laventon show up.

“Are they awake yet?” Rei asks excitedly.

“I’m afraid not.” The swordswoman sighs a Rei’s dejected face.

Laventon looks towards you in worry.

“And Blissey hasn’t indicted something wrong?”

“Also no.”

The three sigh, worried about your condition.

The silence is broken by a sniffle “a-are they dying?”

“What? No not at all Rei! If they were dying, hurt, or ill, Blissey would’ve let us know.”

Laventon shushes the boy gently, hugging him and rubbing circles on his back.

“I apologize for the interruption-“

“I don’t, where are they!”

The three look towards the door and see Ingo and Lian standing there.

“I’m sorry for his outburst, we haven’t heard from the hero and we are getting worried.” Ingo tilts his hat down.

Lian puts his hands on his hips “they promised to hang out with me today, but it’s almost evening, where are they!…..Rei?”

Both warden’s look concerned while Rei furiously wipes away his tears.

“A-are they?” Lian’s bottom lip quivers.

“Did they?” Ingo asks softly.

“No no! They are fine!”

Laventon speaks “it’s been over twenty-four hours, probably more than forty-eight hours, and they still haven’t woken up.”

“We have tried everything! And I just..I was getting worried.”

“They have been asleep for two days?” Ingo sounds surprised, sure you’re always sleepy and tired, but that long?

“Yes, Abra is set to alert Cyllene if they wake up, and their Blissey has basically told us there is nothing wrong with them.” Laventon hums.

The two warden’s visit you where you slept.

Blissey jumping up happily at the sight of them.

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

The professor shakes his head “I’m afraid not, it’s just a waiting game now.”

“Then we stay here until they wake up.” Lian declares, sitting beside you.

“Lian we have work to do, and you have a noble to tend to.” The older warden says tenderly.

“Lord Kleavor will understand! He likes big sib anyways.”

Ingo sighs “should we tell everyone else?”

“Oh no, if this is just something small it would cause a big fuss over nothing, we don’t want to start chaos.” Cyllene waves him off.

That night Lian laid on the bed next to yours waiting for you to wake up.

Rei laid with him hoping that whatever was listening would wake you. He weeps silently.

Cyllene closed all doors to her office and allowed herself to shed a tear, her worry for you is immense.

Laventon cries into the desk, what if you are dying? What if you’re too far gone and that’s why Blissey isn’t reacting, cause there is nothing she can do.

Ingo stayed in Jubilife that night as well, but he couldn’t sleep, he kept walking around the Village and stop by to spend time with your Pokémon, before going back to the medical bay and checkin on you and the boys.

You blink your eyes lazily, groaning as your stretch, bones popping while you fall limp once more to the bed.

Man last night sleep felt great.

You scream when the door flings open, Cyllene, Laventon, and Ingo stood there wide eyed.

The noise woke up Lian and Rei who awaken with a start.

“You’re awake!” Laventon cries.

“Oh thank the Sinnoh’s.” Cyllene sighs.

“You had us worried.” Ingo laughs in relief.

“YOU’RE AWAKE!”

You’re suddenly tackled and pulled into a snug group hug by Lian and Rei.

“Guys what the hell, I was just asleep.” You speak through a yawn.

“Dear you were asleep for three days, we have a right to be worried!” The other stare in disbelief at you.

“Now that you mention it, I am hungry and a bit thirsty, can-“

You didn’t even get to finish your sentence when Ingo and Laventon ran off to fetch those things for you.

“We thought you were dying!” Rei cries this time.

“Guys please, I was just really tired.”

Cyllene clears her throat “I will be making sure your hours are cut then, I do not want a repeat of this.”

“Cyllene, as much as I love how much you guys care for me you can’t do that, it’s not something that can be stopped.”

Their confused faces tell you you’re going to need to explain what hypersomnia is.

[broiunno]

License to Steal - Act V

License to Steal

ACT V

Act I // Act II // Act III // Act IV // Act V // Act VI

More License to Steal!JHope here:

DUCHESS

---summary: Min Yoongi is your new protection detail upon your return to your father's side after being sent away during a bloody gang war. Now the dust has settled, you've been called back to your old controlled life, and leaving you an unwilling participant in your family's plans. You don't know what they are but you are no longer willing to be the obedient, protected daughter. You don't really care in the least of it makes Yoongi's new assignment hell on earth- So you'll carve your own life out back home on your own terms.

-rating: 18+

-pairing: min yoongi x reader - this chapter includes reader x ???

-word count: 7.2k

-warnings: swearing, gang activities includes drug mention and eventual drug use, the slowest of burns, organized crime, toxic af family dynamics, traphic physical abuse, BEWARE IN THIS ACT: violence, blood, graphic descriptions of torture, and murder occur in this chapter. Passing mention of non con sw, kidnapping in this act as well but does not include any of the main characters, and fingering

PLEASE READ:

-authors note: @chelsea-chee is a blessing on this earth and no one will ever convince me otherwise. She puts up with my constant lamenting and persuades me to write even when I haven't gotten out of bed at noon. A BLESSING I TELL YOU.

The reason this authors note says please read is - obviously Hobi is perfection, but in this act you start to see how special he is in this WORK OF FICTION. This act and the next act set up DUCHESS so if you wanted to know how they fit... :)

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

Yoongi had been fighting the urge to even breathe too deeply for the past hour.

Your leg had draped itself over his as you had adjusted yourself to curl half your body on top of him. Your head had nuzzled into the crook of his neck, a hand resting on his chest. He had allowed himself to enjoy your steady deep breaths and how the puffs of air hit his skin. It had been a long time since he had even had this semblance of intimacy with one of the girls he had used to reach his high, then excuse. Any contact like this had been accidental after he had drunk himself into complete oblivion and wasn’t coherent enough to tell his partner to leave post-coitus. He had always awoken from his black out, skin crawling at the feel of another resting their weight on him, bare skin connecting in a way that didn’t serve a purpose. Yet here, he found himself unable to bear the thought of even shifting to grab for his phone to start his day. Maybe it was the knowledge that you wouldn’t have done this to him if you were conscious. This was just an inherent need for comfort of another person.

He had never experienced it as an adult, but logically he knew others did. His childhood hadn’t really programmed him to seek out affection or comfort. It had taught him society was selfish, and if you wanted something you had to take it for yourself. If you wanted to keep whatever you had taken, you had to put your entire soul into protecting it by any means necessary. He knew what helped whet his bloodlust at seeing what your father had done to you; it was the buried memories of his own childhood. Up until his twenties he woke in shaking sweats over nightmares of his father’s looming figure swinging the door open to his piece of shit childhood home. The food was never even constant in their household, but the beatings were. He knew what to expect, knew how to detach himself from his body as he took the blows that were dealt to him. The thought made a sick part of him wonder what was worse; his experience of knowing what to expect every night, or your experience of never knowing what would make your father snap.

He let out a soft sigh, caught up in his own thoughts as he decided he had been better off by knowing what to expect every night rather than being coddled one moment in the lap of luxury, before being treated less than human the next. He let his eyes look down at you, smirking at the annoyed grimace that had come up over your face as you battled to stay unconscious. He allowed himself to reach his free arm up and bend to cradle his head, watching the ceiling intently as he continued to let himself get lost in his memories.

His mother had left a bigger scar than his father. At least his father had abandoned them and never came back. His mother had stuck around her son until she passed from some infection or another, Yoongi never knew what. It wasn’t like they could afford a doctor. She was thoughtful enough to continue the physical abuse, fueled by her own addictions. Graciously, she added an element of psychological abuse that Yoongi had never allowed himself to admit he hadn’t recovered from.

Eventually your squirming broke his trance, and he watched you carefully as you rolled away from him onto your back, allowing him to reach for his cell phone and promptly start typing furiously.

The sound of his fingers on the glass screen made your eyes flutter and Yoongi tried to ignore the fact that you stared at him unabashed as he located his associates. The men continuously protested that after all they had been through, that they were friends but Yoongi didn’t think he would ever allow himself to give them that brand name.

“You stayed.” Your voice was rough with sleep and Yoongi didn’t let his phone drop from in front of his face as he nodded in acknowledgment.

“I did. Observant as always Princess.” You scowled but the soft mew of pain had Yoongi sitting up swiftly in bed and walking over to his suit, long fingers fishing in the pocket of his pants and producing a small unmarked pill bottle. “Don’t take more than two every four hours. You need to rest today. I put some ice on your face while you were out yesterday. You should keep icing it today while I’m gone.”

“Where are you going?” You sounded much more alert as he watched you struggle to sit up.

“With you not going out on the town right now, I am going to try and take care of some business I’ve been avoiding.”

He wasn’t lying exactly. It had been in the back of his mind, festering as he watched the turn the organization’s business dealings and workflow had taken. He wasn’t an emotional man and he believed in doing what had to be done, but the orders he’d seen handed down for the past year were senseless and unnecessary. There were few things Yoongi considered cardinal sins, but issuing unessential directives was one of them. He viewed it as an attempt to crush any autonomy within the family, and his autonomy was something he valued above all things. “Jungkook will be outside the door, so you won’t be alone,” Yoongi finished as he pulled his top off, and started to shrug on the white button down before he turned to look at you.

“Jungkook? Really? You were at his throat yesterday,” you grumbled and slid out of bed and headed towards the bathroom with the water glass Yoongi had given you last night in your hand.

“There’s no one else available right now that is a good enough shot and could physically protect you for me to comfortably leave with you,” Yoongi said simply, taking the opportunity of you leaving the bedroom to slip his sweatpants off and step into his slacks. “If there was someone else free, I would have,” he finished, trying to force the iciness out of his tone. He looked up and frowned, noting that he had never heard the noise of the sink, nor the flush of the toilet, but he watched as you shut the door. “Call me if something happens or you need me back,” he offered stiffly as he slipped on his holster and began to fold his sleep clothes, leaving them on the side table. He would fetch them when he got back. He didn’t want to risk walking into the hallway with them and having Jungkook getting off the elevator. He needed to focus; he didn’t need to be distracted by the younger man’s insinuations and prying.

“I won’t need you.” Came a harsh reply from the other side of the door and the shift in your tone made his eyebrows disappear into his dark hair. He knew you would see it eventually, he couldn’t protect you from what had already happened.

“I am sure you won’t Princess,” he mumbled and slipped on his jacket, running his fingers through his hair and sighing, unable to stop from glancing at the bathroom door every few seconds.

---

A soft knock came at the bedroom door and Yoongi strode over and stepped out into the hallway, signalling your freedom to let the sob rip out of your throat as you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, trying to curl in on yourself from your crouched position on the bathroom floor. You hadn’t even thought about it as you strode into the bathroom to fill up the water glass. You hadn’t thought about the fact that Yoongi had stopped you last night from looking at your reflection. It didn’t take a genius to realize why.

You were absolutely grotesque.

Your face was swollen on one side, bottom lip fat on the same corner. The bruising was intense and enough to make your gut churn. Most of the surface on your neck, chin, and cheek was dark red, some patches just starting to darken to uncomfortable shades of deep purples and blues as the blood began to break down under your skin. There would be no covering the marks of your disobedience. Maybe it was what your father wanted, not only to feel the pain and tenderness, but to wear the badges of your argument as you proceeded to go along with his will.

You felt the tightness in your chest clench as you took another deep breath, shutting your eyes tightly and feeling the hot tears leak out again. Yoongi had done a great job of distracting you from the pain: physical and emotional. You hadn’t even thought of the reason for the clash between you and your father until now.

Marriage.

You were going to be tied legally to a piece of trash your father knew well and someone who viewed you as an item to be bought. You tried to swallow the nausea but failed as you felt your body tense before throwing yourself towards the toilet, heaving loudly into the bowl, the burn of bile making you cough hard. You didn’t even eat yesterday, the aching in your belly doubling as you looked at the bright yellow staining the white porcelain, dry heaving now that you had emptied your stomach of even the acid.

You rocked backwards and sat in silence before standing shakily, pulling at the black hand towel and wiping your lips gingerly. You needed food. That was the first order of business; it was unavoidable. You knew that you couldn’t take another dose of that medication on an empty stomach. You swallowed hard and rinsed your mouth out with tepid water before attempting to steel yourself as you headed to your bedroom door, reaching for the handle and barely cracking the door. “Jungkook?” you said softly and the almost immediate appearance of a large doe eye and half a smile sent you jumping back away from the door frame. You let out a soft startled chuckle, but the laugh died in your throat as you watched the sliver of his face morph from excited and friendly to someone you were sure you’d never met. The open inviting smile dropped and his lips, even that full bottom one, thinned impossibly as he bared his teeth, eyes hard and narrowed.

“Noona. Let me in.” The words were simple, soft and deceptively light. The command paired with his expression was enough to make you step back, allowing him to knock his open palm into the door with such force it snapped back into the wall with a loud bang.

You blinked and continued your path back into the room, breath caught in your throat as the man stalked into your bedroom, bright eyes roving over as your face and pausing on your throat as his lips pulled back further to expose more teeth. You were used to seeing them pulled back in a smile, not this purely feral expression that made a prick pass over your scalp, pores prepared to spill nervous sweat. “Jungkook, I only opened the door-“ The hiss that emerged from him cut your words off and you swallowed. Your back stiffened and you couldn’t help but bristle as he wouldn’t let you speak. “Aye! Stop looking at me like that. I need to fucking eat!” you snapped and you watched the wheels turn in his head as he stopped his advance, only a few feet in front of you, his expression not shifting from rage.

If Yoongi was chilling ice when angered, Jungkook was blazing fire. The fire wasn’t extinguished but it cooled enough as he shoved his hand into his pocket and tapped a few times. You took a few steadying breaths as you noted he gripped his phone so hard his knuckles were blanched white. He looked back to your face and dropped the phone from in front of his face. “Stop changing the damn subject Noona. Who did that to you?”

“You’re the one that works for him, Jungkook. I don’t really see why it matters when no one is going to do shit about it.” The venom had slipped into your voice unintentionally and you didn’t miss the flinch from him as he balled a tattooed hand into a fist and glanced away. You couldn’t help but bark a laugh as his jaw ticked while he tongues his cheek, lost in thought and fury. “See? What fucking difference did knowing make? You won’t do a goddamn-“

“You told Yoongi-hyung who it was Noona?” His question cut you off again but this time you weren’t angry. He still wasn’t looking at you and he had seemed to wilt slightly when he discovered who had dealt you the bruises blossoming over your skin.

“He was the one that brought me back here. Of course he knows,” you said, waving your hand in a way that you hoped came off as unbothered. “Just forget it, it’ll be better for everyone.” Jungkook let out a loud sigh and rolled his shoulders back and flexed his hand to try and shake out some of the anger that had him near-shaking.

“Then it’ll be taken care of soon…” he mused and gave you a tight lipped smile, tilting his head slightly. “I ordered you samgyetang. I hope that’s ok. I know you’re not sick but-“

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You took the opportunity to cut him off this time, turning away from him and starting back towards the bathroom. Your brain was replaying his words. ‘It’ll be taken care of soon’. You didn’t want to dwell on what he had just implied so implicitly in regards to Yoongi and his intentions. “Can you wait outside? I want to take a shower.”

Jungkook watched you increase the distance between you, a pained look entering his eyes as he continued to study you. “Noona, I won’t peek; just let me stay and watch over you. I don’t want to leave you alone. I can protect you better if I’m closer to you,” he grumbled and shoved a hand into his roguish long hair. You rolled your eyes and walked to your closet, dramatically ripping clothing out so you could change in the bathroom.

“Whatever. If someone wants me dead, I’ll be dead.”

“Don’t say that Noona, you’ll always be safe with me.”

“Why? Because of this family? Jungkook, if I needed you inside this house, the person trying to kill me is probably in the family too.” You rolled your eyes again and snorted; too many of these guys thought the family meant they were always safe. Maybe Jungkook was one of these disillusioned men, but his surprised laugh had you whipping your head around to face him, the dopey bunny smile back on his handsome face as he approached you. What was it with him and stalking you in your own bedroom?! He stepped into your space and pressed his lower body into your hip and you jumped in surprise, letting out a small yelp.

“No, Noona. Because I have a gun.” Your brain had short circuited at the feeling of his body against yours, needing a second to buffer as you realized the stiffness that was pressed into you from his own hips was the steel of a firearm, not his rigid cock like you had immediately thought. You felt the unmarred half of your face paint with color as you huffed and pushed him away from you.

“Sit down and don’t you dare fucking bother me- if you do, I’ll shoot you in the damn thigh with your own gun,” you snapped and stumbled to the bathroom, ignoring the laugh that sounded behind you as you closed the door.

--

Yoongi swirled his drink as he leaned against the dirty bartop. The amber liquid that he had been sipping as he waited for his expected company wasn’t his choice of whiskey by any means. In his current mindset he needed whatever he could get to help take the edge off; the acidic timber of his thoughts had eaten it’s way into every interaction he had today since he left you in the bathroom this morning. It had made him sick to know that you were looking onto your beaten face. He had prevented you from seeing it last night, but he couldn’t hide it from you forever. You would see yourself at some point, even if he covered all the mirrors. He supposed he could have stayed. He knew from the bite in your voice when he checked on you, that you didn’t want him there as you shouldered the weight of yesterday’s events. He wasn’t going to push you when he had pieces of yarn to begin tugging on; he needed to begin unfurling the sweater he had helped knit.

He glanced down at his watch, frowning at the time as he studied the Audemars Piguet and he felt his lip twitch up unconsciously. He really had come a long way from the thief you had sneered at as a child. Yoongi had always done his job extremely well, and he had a knack for it. He had saved and invested a large chunk of his money- always a planner for the long term- but the expensive stainless steel watch had been an indulgence he had allowed himself. He wondered if you had even noticed his timepiece. You always picked everything else apart; with your predisposition to luxury items, he repeatedly found himself having to swallow down the twinge of disappointment that you had never commented on it the past few days.

“Is the whiskey that horrible?” Yoongi’s eyes snapped up to the tall broad-shouldered newcomer. Thinking about you really was something he would need to control more closely if he hadn’t even noticed Seokjin’s approach. His life and yours depended on his awareness and ability to anticipate. The prime example was what had happened when he left you alone even with your own father.

“Is it that easy to tell hyung?” Yoongi snickered and sighed loudly as Jin laughed and gave a knowing nod.

“Ya! I’ve been here more than you have! Of course I know it’s terrible!” Seokjin’s words didn’t stop him from ordering the same drink as Yoongi and taking it from the bartender, his handsome features deceptively blank. “You going to tell me why you called? Not like you needed a ride…” Jin’s voice was light but laced with a bit of bitterness. Yoongi knew he hated that your father had him driving most days, but he really was the best wheelman in the family. To top it all off, the man was friendly but shrewd; he picked up on things in conversation and if he was tasked on just transporting a person under the guise of providing ‘protection’ he always put them at ease. And he knew exactly how to determine how loose the person’s lips were. How much of a liability they may become.

“Hyung, are you still interested in changing things up like we talked about? I know it’s been awhile since we talked about it…” Jin didn’t react with surprise or shock to the damning question. There was a reason Yoongi had agreed to meet him for a drink to discuss this. There were only a few of the guys he wanted to recruit that would be able to keep their wits about them, wouldn’t gasp or draw attention in the dive bar- even if they were caught off guard by the proposition.

“I honestly thought you’d never ask.” Jin smiled into his drink and threw most of it into the back of his throat. “I will say I don’t know how you’re managing to sip that. It’s not like it needs to be savored, just let it get the job done!”

Yoongi lifted the glass slightly, letting a real gummy smile break through his normally aloof demeanor, because dammit, his hyung had a point. He knew Seokjin was a sure thing; his skills were being wasted. He really should be out working with the people directly, securing contacts in high places. Not many in their line of work could carry themselves like him. Yoongi had listened to his ‘friend’ grumble discontentedly one night as they drank in Jin’s apartment, and Yoongi had tested the waters with a sales pitch that night, with Seokjin expressing interest. Yoongi doubted Jin would waver even if he had agreed when he was drunk; the man said what he meant and didn’t agree or placate anyone.

“Cheers then hyung.”

“Cheers Yoongi.”

---

The shower had brought you back to center in your universe, stomach still empty and aching, but you no longer felt like you might shatter if you lingered among your own thoughts for a second too long. You sighed and tightened the belt of your silk robe at your waist, gingerly separating your hair at the roots to just fluff the wet strands so your locks didn’t dry flat to your head. You were not thrilled to find your scalp was still tender; everything was still aching since you hadn’t taken any medicine. You ran a manicured nail over your mottled cheek and winced. What if your intended fiance was violent? Purple and blue weren’t colors you wanted to become a permanent staple on your face or body. You gazed at your body, running your hands over your breasts and down your stomach; you were still in your prime, you knew better than to expect freedom in your personal relationships. Men that were willing to pay for a particular woman were doubtful to want to share them. Was the last man you choose for yourself going to be that drunken one night stand at the art gallery exhibition in SoHo? You didn’t even remember the idiot’s name. With a groan you let your head fall back and reached for the clothes you had gathered before storming into the bathroom because of Jungkook… Jungkook.

You smiled as you thought of the absolute perfect specimen of a man on the other side of the door. You were a mess, far from your normal standard of coiffed perfection, but you doubted you could get him back on the other side of your bedroom door now that he had gained entry. You took a breath and reached for the door handle, stepping out without changing out of your robe.

You heard Jungkook abruptly clear his throat, as you let your focus drift to the take out containers on the table, the smell of food making your mouth water before you forced yourself to focus on the tall man’s figure that was draped in your armchair, noting how his wide eyes were glued to your figure with predatory intensity. “Noona… you should get dressed before you eat,” he chastised breathlessly as you made a beeline for him.

“I want to try something first…” you said softly, stepping in between his legs, offering your hand to him, noting that he had yet to blink. His tongue flicked out to run over his full bottom lip and he reached his large hand out to you, dropping his knees outward to give you more space in-between his limbs. His actions seemed to be delayed as you lifted a knee to rest outside his leg, trying to gauge his reaction as he dropped your hand just as quickly as he had taken it once you straddled him fully, palming your waist instead.

“Noona,” he breathed, leaning into you, a smug grin slipping over your lips as you basked in his drunk tone. “I thought you didn’t like me?” he finished and you shuddered as he nosed into the curve of your neck, his lips tracing the neckline of your robe; the combination of his slightly wet lips and the silk material causing a shudder to run through your body. One of his hands stayed on your waist while the other fisted in the luxurious material where it crossed over your breasts.

You gnawed on your lower lip as a soft sigh slipped out of your mouth. “Let me enjoy this Noona…” he scolded softly and his admonishment made you reach up to curl your fingers into his dark locks at the nape of his neck.

“Jungkook. Please,” you whispered and leaned towards his chest, your free hand running up his hard muscled forearm, gently tracing the black ink that trailed up his arm. You couldn’t help but gasp out his name as he shifted and pressed a thigh up into your bare heat, the material of his black jeans rough against your sensitive lips. His response was a deep chuckle as he let you join your lips with his; his tattooed fingers made swift work of the silk knot, letting the flimsy garment slip open and bare yourself to him. His lips worked against yours as you opened for him, gasping as he slid his tongue inside your mouth, massaging against your own. You groaned as you rolled your hips against him, pressing your bare chest into his clothed one. His mouth and body were hot and ready as he dipped a hand down to grip your thigh.

“Noona, you’re such a tease.” His words were practically a growl as he broke the kiss, leaning back as you took the opportunity to kiss your way down his cut jawline, feeling yourself growing slick as you rolled your hips again, this time hitting the ridge in his jeans that was his hard member. “Did you think I wouldn’t see Yoongi-hyung’s clothes over there?” The growl was practically a hiss and the change in his demeanor made your heart change rhythm, your face erupting into flames. “But I don’t think he got to see you like this, so needy and hot. I think that’s just for me...” He hummed with an antagonizing smirk.

His fingers trailed from their hold on your thigh to pass lightly at your heat, unable to stop the guttural groan at what he found there- your core already wet- and he pulled his hand back. “You’re so wet and ready for me Princess,” he said, throwing Yoongi’s nickname for you in your face, and you couldn’t help but stiffen slightly, the disrespect for his hyung making you leak more. He was such a perfect bad boy.

“Don’t call me that.” Your words lacked the snap you intended, coming out breathy and closer to a whine. “Jungkook, tell me what you want to do to me…” you pleaded, eyes closing as you tried to lock lips with him again, but he dodged your kiss and your eyes flew back open.

“Noona, you know I can’t do what I want to do with you right now,” he said tightly, the finger that had passed over your cunt disappearing into his mouth before he reached to cradle your head, running them over your swollen lips, lingering at the unhealed split in the corner that was now beading a drop of ruby. Your eyes widened in wonder as you watched him taste you. “I’m not going to touch you again until I can actually take you exactly the way I’ve been dreaming of since I saw you on the street shopping with Yoongi-hyung. ” He leaned up, your eyes still wide as he kissed the droplet of blood away from your lip.

“And when I do- I’m going to do it more than once.”

==

Yoongi hadn’t planned to speak to anyone else today, but when the opportunity had presented itself so perfectly, he couldn’t bear to refuse. He found himself catching a ride with Jin to the warehouse on the other side of town from the organization’s headquarters. He found it was taking him a lot more effort than usual to not check his cell phone, even though it hadn’t rang or vibrated all day; he knew you were safe as he had left you with Jungkook for a reason. As Jin turned the vehicle into the receiving garage of the warehouse, Yoongi spotted the few teenagers loitering near the alley and along the sidewalk. He felt his lips flatten into a thin line; he remembered being tasked to do similar things. He could clearly remember playing lookout and feeling the steel of a gun in the waistline of his pants for the first time.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” Jin sighed as he noticed Yoongi turning his head to watch the boys as they pulled further into the warehouse.

“Hyung, they never put you on the street. Too many people hit on you,” Yoongi said dryly, finally pulling his eyes away and glancing at his hyung, a small smile on his face.

“Well, could you blame them Yoongi?” His words and facial expression were laced with such exasperation that Yoongi laughed openly.

“No hyung I can’t.”

Jin parked the car and Yoongi couldn’t help but finally check his phone when his elder exited the vehicle. He stared at the screen as if trying to make a notification appear. Yoongi finally let out a soft growl to himself and opened his messaging app as he stepped out of the black town car. He slammed the door harder than necessary, causing Jin to glance back and let out a yell of protest as the pair headed towards the freight elevator. The men that were stationed inside were slightly older then those posted outside, but not by much. The young sentrys inclined their heads deeply to the duo and Yoongi hit send on his message to you before he shoved the device into his pocket with a bit too much force as he followed Jin into the freight elevator. If you weren’t asleep, what were you so busy doing that you couldn’t even text him? He ignored the nagging voice that tried to remind him the two of you had never texted heavily before, but wasn’t that because he was almost always present? You never needed to text him.

Jin watched Yoongi with a considerate gaze. “What has you wound so tight?” Yoongi shrugged his shoulders and picked an imaginary piece of lint off of his lapel as the metal bars of the vertical door slid up. Yoongi stepped out, not waiting for the bars to reach even his shoulders, ducking under them as he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“I mean, it has to be something Yoongi; you ask me that question about changing things up after a year and a half? You want to talk to Hoseok now? What lit a fire under your ass?” Yoongi made an annoyed ‘tch’ in response as Jin followed him closely through the hallway of the finished level of the warehouse.

Yoongi knew most people hated it here, because of what happened here, what it represented; he never minded and found the perpetual smell of bleach and the bright fluorescent lighting reassuring. He could control what happened in here; he was the omega. The hall was lined with doors that had large windows looking into the small individual rooms; as they walked down the hall, the gap between the interrogation rooms grew. The lights were off in every room except for one at the very end, and Yoongi couldn’t help but smile at the thought that his associate would be here of all places in his leisure time. He hadn’t answered Jin but his hyung didn’t push, as if he knew that Yoongi was here to offer the same opportunity to someone else. He’s known Yoongi for long enough to recognize he was not the type of man to repeat himself if he could help it.

A chair had been pulled up to sit outside the one way mirror and Jin abruptly dropped into it with a dramatic sigh. “You should just go in and do it with him so we can finish sooner. I had to come pick him up and I have a dinner date,” he said passionately, words spilling from his plump lips quickly as he pointed towards the door to the interrogation room. Yoongi shrugged and slid his suit jacket off, looking into the room for the first time, trying to roll his eyes at the sight. He slid off his watch and rolled his shoulders before entering the white, soundproof room. He recalled being ecstatic when they had made that update. The screaming when there was more than one occupant had been almost unbearable.

“Hope.”

The addressee didn’t turn his finely coiffed head from where he was crouched in front of the middle-aged man that sat slightly behind the large drain in the middle of the room. Yoongi was not surprised; the broad smile that showed all of J-Hope’s bright white teeth was enough of an indication that he had been waiting to get time with whoever his guest was. “Hey Min. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I want to run something by you. I heard you were about to be a hard man to track down,” Yoongi said lightly, unaffected by the stranger’s whimpers, studying the binds on his ankles. One to either chair leg, more rope wrapped around his upper body to hold his arms in front of him and his back flush against the chair. His wrists were zip tied tightly, and had been so with multiple ties so the skin of his clasped hands was mottled. “You can work and listen right?”

Hoseok finally swung his head to face Yoongi, his bright smile still affixed and nodded. “I will if you help.” The man rose from his crouch, running his hands down his all-black apparel, popping open a few more of the buttons on his black dress shirt. “What’s the point of coming all the way here to see me if you don’t have some fun? I heard you’ve been living like a lap dog for the Duchess of the unholy.” Yoongi tried not to seethe, and he concealed his annoyance with a smirk, following Hoseok over to the small metal tray of tools.

“Don’t worry my friend! I boil these after every use!” J-Hope chirped over his shoulder to his guest. “You’re lucky Min showed up; he gets annoyed at how much care I take in breaking people into pieces. I think it’s only right to give you what you deserve.” The lamenting sigh made Yoongi quirk his eyebrow.

“You must have a lot of pent up energy. It’s about time the old man let you back out of the cage.” Yoongi watched J-Hope’s fingers dance over the instruments of horror before settling on a pair of garden shears. When the man lifted them from the tray, Yoongi tried to not get annoyed by the immediate screeching from the restrained man, the gag not completely muffling the screams that tore at his throat, his face turning a deep red as he attempted to jerk. Yoongi reached out a pale hand to snatch a serrated knife with a hooked tip, not bothering with the flourish that Hoseok had displayed. “I don’t know what you did to end up here man, but I don’t know why you waited until now to scream. What did you think happened here?” Yoongi drawled, and wrinkled his nose as Hoseok let out a tinkling laugh that was at odds with the scene the man had set.

“Min you’re exactly right! Isn’t it fucking annoying?” The auburn haired man brushed his hand through his parted hair. “Should I tell my friend here how you were lining your pockets with profits from that piece of shit whorehouse we let you run? Or how about how we found those girls that were way too young to be in a place like that in the back rooms? You know I talked to a few of them. They told me all about how they didn’t want to be there, about how you tricked them into working for you… told them they could be models!” The unstable man snatched the purpling hands of his captive in a vice-like grip as he attempted to struggle. Yoongi narrowed his eyes as he watched Hoseok open the shears and grit his teeth as he brought the shears down on two of the man’s finger tips, blood spurting onto his chest. Yoongi supposed it was from all the blood trapped there from the zip ties. The cries rose to a pitch that had Yoongi massaging his temples.

“Jin’s here. I wanted to tell you both at once, he won’t be able to hear out there,” Yoongi grumbled, turning to the window and waving Jin in with a quick motion, ignoring the fact that J-Hope was laughing lightly, moving the shears further down the man’s twitching digits and snipping again while he grunted with effort, letting out a cheer as the chunks of bone and skin separated from his hand at the knuckle.

“I said I would listen if you helped,” Hoseok pointed out, shaking the bloody shears at Yoongi who just sucked at his teeth and stepped forward, swinging his arm down and sinking the blade into the meat of a thigh. He rocked the blade back and forth and looked pointedly at the Hoseok. Yoongi let out a sigh as the door opened and clicked shut, signaling Jin’s entry. Hoseok didn’t acknowledge the eldest joining them, but he licked his lips and smiled in satisfaction at Yoongi’s actions, pleased that he had finally joined his game.

“Hope, I think it’s time we unseat the old fuck,” Yoongi said lightly, ripping to blade back out and earning another scream from the stranger. “He isn’t running shit like he used to. You know who holds all the shit together. It’s us, and has been for years. We’re beyond his errand boys now.” Yoongi kept his voice unemotional and eyes empty as he watched the bright smile widen even further, something he always forgot was possible. That smile never stopped growing.

“How do you plan on doing it?” Came Jin’s steady voice from the corner where he leaned against the wall, eyes trained on Yoongi’s face and ignoring the man that was currently dropping his head back, eyes rolling as he teetered on the edge of going into shock.

“No no no no no! Not yet!” J-Hope cried, jumping forward and slapping his face repeatedly, the smile dropping away and melting into unrestrained fury, bright teeth now bared in a snarl. “FUCKING LOOK AT ME!” He grabbed a fistful of the man’s thinning hair and jerked it back and forth with such force the chair rocked.

“We have all the contacts, we’re the ones they work with, we’ve handled all the recruitments for the past few years. We’ve been fair and we react fast. Everyone knows it. The only thing that keeps that piece of shit at the head of the table has been money. The older men are all fucking dirty as shit; that’s why the younger ones have been getting put away. It won’t take much to get them to flip if we play our cards right. They’re our crews; we just need to step out from under his thumb,” Yoongi said, watching as the bleeding lump of meat came back around to look at his torturer, eyes wide, ignoring the absolutely blood chilling high pitched scream he emitted as the garden shears snipped down on the tip of his large nose, the cartilage rolling towards the drain and settling in a hole on the grate.

“We’ve needed a switch... Dogs like this one are getting away with too much. We’re losing money as a whole from all sides. The order needs to be restored,” J-Hope said simply, and Yoongi smirked at the sage words uttered from the man. He was completely ungovernable when his violent side was whet, but he settled into someone capable of Yoongi’s own propensity of observation and inference. There was a reason that he was drawn to the normally smiling man, and it was never long before he was reminded. J-Hope held a moral code of his own making, and Yoongi had yet to disagree with it.

Jin nodded in agreement and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Have you talked to JK or anyone else yet?”

“Not yet. I wanted to make sure you guys were in before I involved the kids.” Yoongi couldn’t help but feel a small swell of affection for these men. They’d been through hell together, and they were still here. “Hoseok, he’s done,” Yoongi grumbled on a tangent, noticing J-Hope had opened the shears again.

“Yoongi, they're not kids,” Jin scoffed as he watched Yoongi walk around to the groaning renegade and slip the smooth edge of the blade across his throat, finally completely silencing the noise emerging through his gagged mouth. Yoongi was silently grateful J-Hope didn’t seem to mind.

J-Hope had dropped the shears onto the metal tray as he watched the river of blood drain away before turning his attention back to Yoongi. “Hey hyung, this doesn’t have anything to do with Duchess does it?” he said, the heart-shaped smile returning to his lips. “You were always sweet on her, even as kids. Anytime she was around you-”

Yoongi just dropped the knife in response, the clatter seemed to be enough to make Hoseok trail off, but amusement still glinted in his eyes. Yoongi grabbed a towel from the ledge of the window, willing himself to not feed into his long-time comrade’s teasing. Jin’s eyebrows shot up and he let out a laugh that had him rocking forward.

“Are you serious?!”

“You guys are more delirious than I thought,” Yoongi finally grumbled and threw the blood stained rag at J-Hope who shrugged and side stepped it gracefully.

“You know I had to ask. My new detail is on Ha-Joon since he made that offer on Duchess.” Yoongi couldn’t help but visibly tense at J-Hope’s offhand statement, making Jin furrow his eyebrows.

“The lawyer?” Jin asked in confusion, standing up off the wall and shaking his head. “I knew he was running for some post, but marrying a crime lord's daughter doesn’t seem like a smart move.” Yoongi agreed with his hyung, but nobody except Jungkook and himself had seen the predatory glint in Ha-Joon’s eyes when he had met you at the restaurant. Yoongi knew then it wouldn’t be the last he’d have to deal with the man where you were concerned, but he didn’t quite expect this. His power of deduction had failed him for the first time in a long time.

J-Hope’s heart smile widened as he let out a loud laugh. “I knew it!”

“He made an offer for what exactly?” The tone with which the words escaped Yoongi made J-Hope’s laugh die out, his head tilting to the side, the smile managing to live on. Yoongi knew it was irrational that his heartbeat was slowing into a killing calm as he waited for the answer J-Hope obviously was dying to share. Was the lawyer trying to buy a night with you? Yoongi wouldn’t stand for it; he would throw every blockade he could against whatever plan was currently underway. How had he been so stupid to not find out the reasoning for your father laying his hands on you?

Hoseok’s voice was melodic as he purred. “Aren’t you her body guard Yoongi-hyung? How do you not know that your Duchess got engaged?”

[souichioneshots]

Untitled Binzo x Reader Fic

SO uhhhh.... Binzo thinks about the reasons why he hates Y/N so much? IDK you guys are kinda like frenemies ???

This is the stupidest thing ive ever written...

Might make an NSFW continuation of this if anyone shows any interest tho lollll

Enjoy?????

Binzo could remember the day you two first met like it was yesterday.

He had been awoken by the sound of his father and uncle arguing in a nearby room. Although he could barely make out what they were saying, he could tell by the way he was screaming, his father had done something unbelievably stupid again.

As the door to his room slid open, Binzo quickly moved to ‘greet’ the sudden visitor, his chains holding him back just before he was able to reach the door. A smile spread across Binzo's face as he saw his father react in a panicked motion, jumping back to avoid his son's vicious attacks. However, Binzo's laughter was put to a stop when he saw a small figure move behind the older man.

Moving a bit to the side, Souichi revealed a girl, a little under Binzo’s age, who had been hiding behind him the entire time. She gripped onto the back of the false-gentleman’s suit jacket, obviously hesitant to enter the room.

Binzo's eyes widened in surprise as his father insisted, almost pushing her into the room forcefully. His eyes looked the girl up and down, trying to figure out why his father had brought her here, let alone why he decided it would be a good idea to bring her into the same room as him.

Her clothes were almost as tattered as his own. She had no shoes on her feet, but the socks that she wore were stained black with dirt and mud. From what he could see with the little lighting in his room, the exposed skin of her arms and legs were covered in scratches and bite marks. Her cold eyes stared at the pale boy as she walked in cautiously, immediately following the older man to the other side of the room. Binzo could remember how she ran her fingers through his father's greased-up hair as he placed the chains around her ankles. They exchanged a look that his mind could not understand at the time.

Getting up from the dirty floor, Souichi stated that the girl’s name was Y/N. A name so foreign to Binzo that he was sure it was made up.

As soon as his father finally left, Binzo tried to attack you. But, that was when he found out the truth. You were a monster just like him. An abomination that someone must have tried to get rid of, only for his own idiotic father to pick up and bring home like a kitten off the street. You bared your fangs at him as you backed away into the corner, trying to avoid his sudden yet expected attack. Binzo watched as you stayed low on the floor, staring at him with angered eyes.

He should have been happy to finally meet someone like him, but he wasn’t.

Binzo hated you.

You were an idiot. You could barely keep a hold on your victims, and on nights when you couldn’t secure a meal like him, you resorted to trying to catch and eat the bugs that crawled around the room. You were also idiotic enough to try to steal from him. Whenever he would get ahold of someone, you would try to get close and steal a small piece for yourself. Sometimes Binzo would be too busy to realize, but when he did, he would reach out as far as he could and use his long-sharp nails to scratch you away, leaving you to become a crying-hungry mess.

You also had a habit of not responding whenever he spoke to you. However, this was completely his fault. After you finally became comfortable enough to talk to him, he started to tease you, claiming that your voice was annoying and, using a piece of broken glass, threatening to cut out your pretty pink tongue to eat as a snack. From that day on, you didn’t utter a single word to him.

However, as time went by, Binzo started to find your presence to be slightly humorous. Specifically, whenever you tried to feed.

Binzo would always laugh whenever you dug your fangs too deep into someone’s neck and ended up getting completely doused in their blood when you pulled away. He thought it was a waste of a good drink, but worth it to see you freak out as you tried to stop the fast-paced bleeding.

Your hair also grew at an unnaturally fast rate as well. It was disgusting, but fun to pull on whenever he wanted to get your attention. It was also especially fun to watch your victims pull on your hair, stunning you for a moment, and getting a couple slaps and punches in as they tried to get away. But, Binzo wouldn’t allow that, stopping them at the last minute and dragging them back in your direction. However, you would always be too embarrassed and cry, refusing the meal he was kind enough to go after for you.

You were ungrateful. Idiotic. An amateur. Everything he hated bundled up into a small ball that dwelled in the corner of his room.

But on top of all that, the thing he hated the most was how you weren’t here now.

“Where’s Y/N!! Where is she!!” Binzo exclaimed to his physically and mentally exhausted aunt. She just stayed quiet, ignoring the child’s vicious words and actions. If she knew, she would have told him by now, but she didn’t.

Binzo looked around his dark messy room as he tried to think of what might have happened to you. It had been 2 nights since he last saw you.

If you had been moved to another room, he would be able to smell it. But you weren’t. You weren’t anywhere in the house in fact.

Could his father have decided that it was too much for him to support 2 cannibalistic children, and off’d you in the woods while he was sleeping? No way. He was the one who brought you here in the first place, he should have known what he was getting himself into.

Maybe you ran away, not wanting to be held captive and enslaved to work at a lunatic’s haunted house. That would explain why his father was also not around either. Maybe he had gone out in search of his most popular attraction.

No matter the reason, you weren’t here now, and Binzo hated you for that.

As the raven-haired boy finally started to calm down, he laid down in his cage, his eyes fluttered shut, unable to keep their focus on the door of his room anymore.

However, he was suddenly awoken by a loud scream.

It was his aunt. She had left the room, leaving him alone while he was asleep. Her voice was loud, but not angry. It sounded almost cheerful. An emotion he hadn’t heard from her in the longest time.

Binzo jumped to his feet as the door to his room slid open. There stood his father, alone from what he could see, cigar burning away in his mouth as he smiled. Binzo tightly gripped the bars of his cage, a feeling of rage boiled inside him like nothing he had ever felt before.

However, that emotion quickly washed away when he saw a familiar face appear from behind his father.

There you stood. Alive and in one piece.

Just like the first time you two had met, Souichi forced you into the room. Binzo’s eyes looked you up and down as you cautiously walked in. Gripping the hem of the older man's suit jacket, you stared back at the pale boy.

Your hair had been cut, shorter than before. You were also wearing a kimono similar to his aunt. You looked almost like a doll. It was weird how he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

Binzo watched as his father put the chains around your ankles again, your hand running through his greasy hair. You two exchanged that look he couldn’t understand again.

Binzo barely listened as his father warned him not to fuck up your clothes. As Souichi finally left the room, Binzo put his hands on the lock of his cage and, using his nails, undid it.

Crawling out of the cage, he stood onto his feet and he looked at you. Although he was still only in his early teens, he was starting to grow extremely tall, a gene he inherited from his mother no doubt.

Binzo felt his heart start to race as you looked up at him, your eyes sparkled as they reflected the small amount of light that leaked in the room. It was almost like you were giving him the same look you and his father would often exchange.

Without a word, he forcefully shoved you to the ground. “Stop looking at me!” He exclaimed.

You probably thought he was jealous that his father actually let you go out, got you nice clothes, and even treated you like you were an actual human being. But that was far from the truth. He didn't really mean to push you so hard, but his emotions had gotten the better of him.

Binzo yelled out in pain as you kicked him for pushing you so hard. Just before you could kick him again, he moved to straddle you.

Putting his weight onto your stomach, he held your wrists on both sides of your head. You growled as he brought his face close to your neck and took a deep breath. It had been so long since he smelled your scent. However, this time it was different.

“You smell delicious.” He said in a hungry voice, drool dripping from his lips as he showed you his fanged teeth. You squirmed under him, knowing that he didn’t mean that as a compliment. “I thought my dad killed you. But now I see that he just dolled you up so I can do it myself. Kishishishi!” Twisting your head to the side, you dug your fangs into his arm.

“OW! You bitch!” Binzo screamed as he pulled his arm away from you. His long fingernails left a scratch across your face as he slapped you hard.  

Baring your fangs once more, you pushed him off of you and rushed to get away. However, your chains didn't let you get far.

Binzo grabbed your legs just before you could go any further. His nails dug into the thick fabric that made up your kimono, tearing it a bit as he pulled you closer to him. Flipping you onto your back, he put himself on top of you.

You squirmed in a panic as the boy wrapped his arms and legs around you, restraining you from getting away. Not having eaten anything in a while, you soon became unable to continue fighting with the monstrous boy.

Binzo’s heartbeat slowed down as you started to relax, his body unconsciously trying to mimic the pace at which you breathed. You whined as he tightened his grip on you a bit more, making sure that you wouldn’t try to slip away from him again.

Pressing his head into your hair, he breathed in the new scents that covered your body. The smell of the brand new kimono you wore mixed with the fruity shampoo you had used made him doubt that you were really the same creature he had shared a room with 2 nights ago.

“Where did you go…?” He asked, his words slightly muffled by your hair.

Your body tensed as he dug his nails deeper into the fabric of your clothes, trying to force a reply out of you, but ultimately receiving nothing back.

He hated that you wouldn’t talk to him…

[dashielldeveron]

and i’ve gotta crow | takami keigo

hawks x pro-hero! reader. quirk unspecified.

summary: “You’re suffering from amnesia,” says Hawks to you, in your hospital bed.

No, you are not.

“We’re engaged to be married.”

No, you are not.

After an accident that was that bastard Hawks’s fault, you decide to play along with your diagnosis of amnesia, among other things, because how far can you make your former bully bend over backwards for you?

fluff/trickery??? completely avoidable angst, bc reader is a little shit. hawks is a scumbag bully at first. reader is honestly kind of violent. dealing with acne in a scene.

When the first things you saw after groggily blinking your eyes open were multiple IVs in the back of your hand, you flipped over and snuggled farther into your hospital bed to deal with it later, but against your will you were forced to lie flat on your back to stare into the hospital fluorescents.

When the nurse fiddling with your IVs came into focus, he said, “You need to lie on your back. You have deep gashes on your lower abdomen, and tossing about too much could open the stitches.”

That sounded like bullshit, but you were too out of it to care. “Yeah, okay,” you said through a croak, “Oh, fuck.” You wrestled a hand to your throat, massaging it. “Am I waking up from a coma? Don’t let anyone see me until I’ve done my eyebrows.”

The nurse laughed through his nose. “No, don’t worry. You’ve barely been—” He cut himself off and frowned. “The news should probably be broken to you when you have emotional support. I’ll be back soon.”

He left.

Emotional support? Wouldn’t that fucking gash on your stomach be—ooh, ouch, don’t move.

Where’s your phone? Where’s your goddamn phone; where’s any of your personal belongings? If they got crushed, you’re killing Hawks on sight.

Hawks, oh, my God. Where is he? He’s dead. If he still has the audacity to bully you professionally—fuck.

He’d cornered you on patrol earlier—whenever that was—and cut into you in that casually, negging-type way that wasn’t enough to report but enough to make you stay up late and freak out about being good enough. It hurt your chest whenever you thought about it.

But this was the first time he’d gotten seriously physical.

He’d alit on the top of the warehouse next to you, landing what would have been haphazardly for anyone else (the arch of his feet against the edge, his toes barely touching roof) and had crouched next to you, his scarlet wings completely blowing your cover as they stretched and shuddered.

“What’s a little girl like you doing in this part of town?” Hawks had propped his chin on both his fists. “Thought shoplifters were more your calibre.”

“Hawks, this is actually really important to me, so please, please leave,” you’d said, keeping your eyes on the group you could barely make out through the skylight. They’d already been partially concealed by crates, so they were hard to see.

“Someone else give you a tip for their location?” He’d tapped your opposite shoulder with the end of his wing, but you hadn’t even flinched.

“Bruh, you know I’ve been on this for weeks,” you’d said, shifting away from him, “I even shared intel at your last briefing.”

“Is that what you were talking about?” Hawks had scratched his chin. “I zoned out. Usually the little cases female heroes present aren’t in my circle, and I like to unwind when brain power isn’t needed.”

You’d planned to rip his wings out feather by feather while you’d gritted your teeth. “You can’t talk to me like that, Hawks.”

He’d laughed, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “C’mon, babygirl, have a slice of chill, won’t you? I thought you were one of the cool girls. Relax. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“Leave me alone, Hawks. You’re not gonna bully me into joining your agency. You’re not gonna bully me into quitting being a hero,” you’d said, inwardly screaming, “I’d tell you to go talk to someone who’d fall for your shit, but then, she’d have to suffer, too. So, fuck off into a sewer, jackass.”

“Oof,” Hawks had said, placing a hand over his heart and shaking his head, “You don’t have to be such a bitch, sweetheart. I’m only looking for my better half. Didn’t think it could be you, but I’d thought I’d give you a chance to prove me wrong. Don’t take yourself too seriously; just be along for the ride like the rest of us.”

“Huh,” you had said, and you’d stood and strode to the edge of the warehouse to your harness and rope, and you rappelled down the side of it as stealthily as you came up.

“I’ve been watching you all these years, sweetness, and I know you by now; I know how you really feel,” Hawks had said a bit too loudly while he flew downwards at your speed (braggart). “Strip away all of your busy work, your so-called hero trappings, and we’d mesh together just fine. We may be rough around the edges, but we clean up really nicely, don’t we?”

You’d unclipped your carabiner and stepped out of your harness, stashing it in your pack. “Fuck off.”

You’d moved towards the back entrance, but Hawks had slammed a hand against the concrete wall in front of you. You’d ducked under it and carried on, and he’d grabbed the back of your shirt.

“C’mon, if we didn’t know each other, and our eyes met from across the room at some hero gala, you’d be all over me, wouldn’t you?”

You had swiped his hand away. “I’d be putting a lid on my drink.”

His arms behind his back, Hawks had followed you through the door and behind the exposed pipes and closer to your targets. “Saw you coming onto Todoroki at the last one. You looked fine in his colours, but you would’ve looked better in mine.”

Don’t grace him with an answer; don’t grace him with an ans— “I wasn’t coming onto Shoto,” you’d said, pulling yourself up a couple of pipes for a better view—and you’d hit him when he flapped his wings to hover the few feet you’d ascended, because the noise might alert them.

“Yeah, you just simp for him, right? Then you didn’t step outside your comfortable ice queen act?” Hawks had gripped onto a pipe just underneath your ass. “You’re too much of a natural tease for that.”

How can you report him when he’s the head of his own agency? You guess the commission might listen, but what can they do besides slap his wrist? There’s really no one who can stop him, is there?

You hadn’t replied but instead crawled onto the iron catwalk. If you could position yourself about three-quarters of the way across, you’d be able to effectively activate your quirk and get this over with—wait, why would you think like that? You’d been waiting for this for ages.

A hand spreading across the small of your back had reminded you.

You’d flipped over with fire in your eyes and kicked him away as quietly as you could, but all he’d done was sit back on his knees to grin down at you, army-crawling your way through a dirty warehouse.

Would he take credit for your work again?

You’d shaken yourself. Eat my entire ass, Hawks. And with that, you’d continued inching towards your targets. When you’d gotten into position to watch them, Hawks had merely watched you.

You had scowled. “I’m gonna tear you a—”

“You had a hard childhood, didn’t you?”

A chill had unfurled up your spine, simple as that. Hawks now not only had the annoying air of an arrogant pick-up artist but also gave you an intense sense of danger. You’d moved away from him, regrettably away from your target, but Hawks had followed you, getting closer until his body heat had seeped into yours, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his dumb face.

“I could take suuuuch good care of you, little girl,” he’d said under his breath, “if only you’d let me. No one else is crazy enough to call me out or want more than the bare minimum.” His wings had folded in on his back, making themselves as small as possible to get closer to you. “If you give in, tell me yes, say please, you wouldn’t have to let any worries cross your pretty little mind. All you have to do is let me in.”

“Yikes,” you had said, sucking in through your teeth, “God, you’re a creep.”

Hawks had slammed you down onto the catwalk, iron reverberating through the warehouse as it struck your head, and your targets had looked up by the time the catwalk hinges had loosened and had come crashing down in the midst of their meeting.

You’re really not supposed to shoot guns inside. Don’t they know that’ll ruin their ears? No matter, really. You had fought them anyway, amidst crates splintering open from whatever they were shooting at you—fuck, that was a big hole. What’s oozing out of that? Gross, don’t step in it.

One with a normal revolver—his arm had given a woody crack when you’d bent it backwards—God, that was nice. Good sounds. If you could sample them into a rap track, you would.

You’d been planning a collab with a popular rapper while you’d hurled yourself at another villain, sawdust flying—just to keep your mind busy, really, but fucking—fucking Hawks had bested whoever he’d half-assed to the ground and had shouted your way.

“C’mere, you little shit—”

He’d scooped you up while you’d been taking care of it by yourself, and he had pinned you down behind a stack of crates that reached the remains of the catwalk, straddling you but keeping most of his weight off, his wings outstretched yet still hidden from the cloud of sawdust rising with deep gurgling on the far side.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he’d said over the chaos, spit flying, “You can’t handle this; you’re gonna get fucking killed. I can’t babysit you all the time.”

“Get fucked; I’m the number fourteen hero,” you’d said, deadly still, but twitching in fury, “I can handle anyth—”

“Aww, fourteen. And one day babygirl might reach the single digits.” Hawks had sneered in your face. “If she manages to fuck her way through them.”

Your jaw had dropped, and you pretended to cough on sawdust and kicked him off in the confusion. Hawks had grabbed a hold of your calf, grappling for your thigh, while you’d scrambled to climb over crates to the gurgling mess on the other side; you could handle it, and you would.

You’d slapped his hands away, wrestled out of his grasp again and again, and you’d launched yourself into the dust—

Yeah.

While the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, you picked at a hangnail. You hadn’t braced yourself for the explosion, so, you guessed you deserved whatever was wrong with you now. Big-ass gashes on your stomach. Probably broken ribs. Something felt off in your left leg, besides—oh, ho, what had the doctors thought when they’d seen Hawks’s scratches?

What an idiot.

When the door creaked open, the nurse returned with a mug of water for you, but—what? Who’s that bitch following him?

You blinked, twice. With his hands in his pockets and his nasty little wings tucked in behind him, Hawks meandered to your bedside, his gaze on your throat as you swallowed down water.

God, you’re too tired to deal with him. Let’s get this over with.

The nurse glanced over his clipboard. “I’ve already told your partner this, but I thought you would want him here.”

Maybe if you ignore Hawks, he’ll leave.

“You were very brave today,” said the nurse, “Your work as a hero is greatly appreciated. You’re on temporary leave to heal, though. Like I said, you’ve got three, major gashes on your stomach, and your leg’s broken—the fibula split, if you want to know. You’ll be on crutches for a while. You have four broken ribs, and—” The nurse bit his lip and softened his voice. “You hit your head pretty hard. Nothing’s broken, but you should have amnesia, with the trauma you’ve endured.”

Should have? They don’t know? You sure as hell don’t fucking have amnesia. It barely happens in real life, and it definitely hasn’t happened to you. You remembered every fucking infuriating thing Hawks did to ruin your mission, and if he doesn’t square up—

“I’m so sorry, baby,” said Hawks, grabbing your hand. He stroked the back of it with his thumb, and then he took his glove off to hold you skin-to-skin. “You remember who I am?”

You just stared at him.

“Your fiancé’s been a real presence in the waiting room,” said the nurse, “He hardly stopped pacing the entire time you were in surgery. He wouldn’t even talk to fans.”

Oh, my God.

Holy fucking shit.

“Oops, sorry,” said the nurse, covering his mouth, “I know you were keeping it a secret. Don’t blame him, please; he only told me to be able to see you immediately.”

Shutting your eyes, you took a deep, deep breath. You have been handed a golden opportunity on a fucking Hawks-shaped platter, holy fuck, and by God are you going to take advantage of it. Imagine how much you can fucking humiliate him, how far you can take it. How much you can make him pay for how he treated you, and now, if he says he’s your fiancé, then he’s gonna fucking worship you. You’re going to mould him into your little bitch, and he’s going to thank you for it. And you’ll get endless dirt on him just by seeing his place.

Don’t fuck this up.

Exhaling, you opened your eyes, blinking a bit. You curled your lips into your mouth, biting the lower one. “I remember you’re Hawks,” you said in a nervous voice, “and I remember, uh.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” Hawks squeezed your hand, his tone kind. “It’ll come back in time.”

You clutched Hawks’s hand while the nurse rattled off instructions and gave you your crutches, and Hawks squeezed your hand back, softly smiling at you.

When the nurse left, you turned to Hawks and said, “I’m so, so sorry, but I—I feel like there’s something big missing that I can’t remember.” You scratched your forehead with your free hand, dragging the IVs with you.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Hawks tilted his head, still gazing decidedly down at you.

“Oh, God,” you said, “Oh, fuck. I don’t know. Um.” Take it back. Take it way back. That way he’ll dig himself into a deeper hole. The more lies he has to create, the funnier it’ll be. “Let’s see, I, hm.” You already weren’t speaking like yourself, but you looked upward as you faked combing through memories. “I don’t know how things work chronologically, but the most recent memory I have of you is—it’s after a press conference, and I’ve never been in the building before,” you said slowly, “And I can’t find the bathroom, but some press keeps following me, and I—I faceplant in between your shoulder blades, right between your wings. You—” You lowered your voice, shrinking a little in the hospital bed, “You got rid of them so easily, with just a gesture, and you put your arm around me. You were—” You shook your head, staring at both of your hands. “—so warm.”

Was that too thick? That was too thick, wasn’t it?

His free hand shot to his mouth, and he bit his knuckle. “But sweetheart, that’s,” said Hawks, his eyes watering, “That’s only around the third time we met.”

You know.

“Shit,” you said, widening your eyes, “How long ago was that?”

“Three years.” Hawks squeezed your hand and kept the pressure longer than was necessary. “Three fucking years. You don’t remember anything past that?”

You pretended to be scared to look at him. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, you don’t have to be,” said Hawks, and he leant towards you to lift your chin, rubbing his thumb against it, “It’s not your fault.”

You had to hand it to him: Hawks was a good actor.

But so were you.

***

Hawks disappeared for a while after that, but he manifested the day you were loosed from the hospital, more than giddy to carry all of your shit all the way to your flat. He was probably getting some sick pleasure from watching you hobble on your crutches.

“I can help you, if you lean on me,” said Hawks, giving you an easy grin, “I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you have to.”

“This is something I should do myself,” you said in what was hopefully a tough-it-out voice, “I’d like to be able to walk without depending on anyone.”

“I honestly think you ought to be in a wheelchair.” His wings bristled. “But what do I know? I could fly us to your place, if you like.”

“I don’t like. I’ve gotta concentrate on limping. Stop talking, Hawks.”

You got to your flat, and Hawks had guessed which key opened the door on the first try. Drat! He was already doing a good job of acting like he’d been here before, like he’s not surprised that the number fourteen hero lives in a pretty shitty apartment (you started living here as a student and got too damn comfortable for your own good—plus, you didn’t want your cat to endure the trauma of moving).

Hawks plopped your keys in the bowl by the door with a clatter, and he shut the front door behind you, flipping one of the locks.

He set your stuff neatly on the kitchen table—your purse, your tactical pack, your ropes—and lay your dry-cleaned hero suit over the back of a kitchen chair, and his hands were on you the next moment to guide you to your tacky, sunflower couch. Removing one crutch, he put your arm over his shoulder instead, one hand planted on your lower back above your bandages, and he eased you down onto the cushions.

Hawks then stepped over your legs to sit on your opposite side, and he brought your legs to rest in his lap, his hand gripping your non-casted leg. “Gotta keep it elevated, chickadee.”

You let yourself giggle. Time to get this shitshow started. “Thank you so much for helping me, Hawks; I know I’ve been a real hassle these past few days, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of stress. You’re already under so much. I don’t understand how the commission would let you date anyone, let alone propose.”

“Oh, I know,” said Hawks, spreading himself out on the couch. He shifted himself to face you in addition to accommodate his wings—he was now positioned so that they’d drape over the arm of the couch instead of being squished against the back cushions. That bitch, he probably wasn’t used to couches that weren’t custom made to his special body requirements. Spoiled fuck.

“The commission was really pissed when they found out. Do you remember how, sweetness? Right, I’ll tell you,” said Hawks, running an ungloved hand through his hair before shaking it loose. “You remember up to the press conference with the faceplant. Short version is that you hated me for a good year before something clicked. You started acting awkward whenever I was around, avoiding me, and stuff. Sometimes getting red. I thought it was cute.”

You ducked your head. Flustered. He probably likes easily flustered women.

Wait. That’s not who you are. And he’d like you for who you are, if you’re engaged.

But at the same time, if you’re (gag) in love with him, wouldn’t you be flustered by some of the things he says?

Easy, baby. Take it as it comes. Pick your battles. Go with your gut.

And gut says make Hawks eat shit.

“You think I’m cute?”

“I know you’re cute.”

You’re going to stuff his own feathers down his throat.

“We got together at that dinner Endeavor’s agency sponsored. Do you remember that at all? That place with the purple lights. You’d gotten nervous from the crowd and had gone to take some of your anxiety meds. I caught you in the hall back from the bathroom and talked you down before going back out there.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’d like to say I’m the one who kissed you, but you took initiative before I had the guts.”

Funny. Hilarious, in fact. That was the night Hawks had solidified himself as the Biggest Dick in the World, because yeah, he’d caught you in the purple-lit hallway, but he’d caught you on the way to take your meds, not on the way back. You were talking yourself down from a panic attack and couldn’t argue him away, so he’d followed you into the bathroom, running his mouth and acting like it was an accident when the tip of his wing had knocked your two capsules down the sink.

He’d told you that if you’re a big girl, you’d be able to handle the rest of the night. Or you could leave at any time with him, and he’d make excuses that everyone would have to accept.

Honestly, you’d love to let his fake memory be true, because then, you’d be able to wear purple again without feeling queasy.

Cocking your head, you smiled. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

Hawks let out a light laugh, craning his neck to rest his head on the back of the sofa. “That’s what you said that night, too. About how it felt out of character.”

“Was I good?”

Lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow at you: probably the first genuine emotion he’s shown you the whole time he’s been here. “Hm?”

“When I kissed you. Was it good,” you asked flatly.

“Oh,” Hawks said, his wings puffing out just barely, “Oh, sweetheart, you were amazing. Groundbreaking. Show-stopping.” His tongue flicked over his lower lip, and he shifted underneath your legs, leaning slightly towards you but holding eye contact before carrying on.

You shook your head. “I don’t have the energy to give you the makeout session you deserve,” you said, envisioning drowning him in the bathtub, “I’m exhausted. Forgive me.”

“Always,” said Hawks, “Want me to keep going?”

“You can hardly eat me out when we haven’t kissed yet.”

“I meant,” said Hawks, pausing to visibly swallow (was it real?), “about our relationship, but if you wanna eat—”

“Nah, keep going. So, I started the relationship? I must be crazy. Neither of us have fucking time to sleep, let alone be in a relationship.”

Hawks never shut up about how he was taking time out of his endlessly packed days to spend time with you, how time was precious to him, and if he’s spending time with you, why, then, you’d better pay up, bitch (always accompanied with his hands on his belt, subtly pointing his thumbs towards his cock).

Hawks shrugged with his wings instead of his shoulders. Interesting. Has he ever done that before? “The commission said that, but after I insisted we’d make time, they relented. Eventually,” said Hawks, jerking his head to the side, “Our quirks don’t exactly fit well, so we haven’t worked with each other professionally too often, and, of course, we’ve had to hide our relationship so that we can’t be a public weak spot to each other. Plus, we’re more marketable as eligible, young heroes.”

“Fuck the market,” you said, slumping into the pillows.

“There’s my girl,” said Hawks, grinning with his tongue caught between his teeth, “There’s her spark. I know, baby. I feel the same way, but being made into libidinous body pillows pays the bills, y’know?”

Nodding, you brought one of the couch pillows around for you to hug, and you smushed your chin into it. “Hawks,” you said, so quietly you almost couldn’t be heard over the A/C kicking on, “How long have we been engaged?”

“Four months,” he said, his grin unconsciously fading until he was essentially baring his teeth, “Since the twentieth.”

Taking a moment, you said, “I can’t remember anything at all.”

“That’s okay. It’ll come back.”

“No, I can’t—” You slid your hands through your hair, pulling at it, and you heaved a sigh. “Goddammit, Hawks. I wish I could—fuck. I’m missing something huge. I know I am.” Make him nervous. Make him lie awake at night. “I’m sorry, Hawks. It’s probably something really important, and I—”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh, it’s all right,” said Hawks, and he stood to lean over you, his hands rising to cup your face, and holy shit, his hands cover so much of your skin; is that legal? He’s got hands. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ve had a big day. Turn your brain off. I’ll take care of you.”

Red flag! Big, red flag! Creep! He’s a creep!

Your gaze fell to his jacket pockets. Does he carry date rape drugs on his person?

“Hawks, I don’t wanna inconvenience you any more than I have.”

“I’m your fiancé,” said Hawks, actually looking you straight in the eyes and not breaking, “I want to take care of you.”

“Sure, in the way the mob takes care of people.”

Hawks’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyes narrowed.

Cover it up. “I’m not sorry. I don’t trust your cooking. You’ll poison my spaghetti!” You made a dumb gesture, pinching your fingers together. “Have you seen The Godfather? There’s actually a pretty legit spaghetti recipe in it; it’s not too bad, but it’s kind of watery—”

Hawks brought your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles and let his lips linger. “Watch it with me?”

You shook your head. “I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll join you.”

“No,” you said, “My bed’s not made with your wings in mind.” Fuck off to your own little sex next, Hawks. Get out of here. “If they got hurt, it’d be my fault. Go sleep in your own bed, all right?” Go home. Get mugged on the way.

Hawks sighed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “If you insist. But you’ve gotta reach out to me for anything you have trouble with, yeah? Memories, opening jars, orgasms, you know.”

“I’m leaving,” you said, reaching for your crutches, “Ten minutes ago.”

***

“You didn’t tell me how you proposed.”

Hawks froze mid-bite of his ramen, but after a quick beat, he slurped the rest of the noodle up. “I was hoping you’d recall that on your own, baby. Get your own feelings about it, instead of me telling you how to feel.”

If you weren’t faking amnesia, you’d fucking break his nose for that. Bastard.

“I imagine once you tell me, the feelings will rush in,” you said, clicking your chopsticks twice for emphasis, “I want to remember everything, and if I don’t, well, I want to fall in love with you again.”

Hawks’s gaze glazed over for an infinitesimal moment. Score.

“It’ll sound goofy once I describe it.” With his wings cramped against the back of the booth, Hawks scratched the back of his neck—a classic move for pretending to be embarrassed. “I’m not exactly known for being romantic.”

Yeah, he’s known for fooling around with anyone who’s glittery, like a goddamn crow. If you’re paying attention.

“Aw, but Hawks, you’ve been nothing but so effortlessly romantic to me since I’ve been convalescing,” you said, rolling up the paper wrapper of your straw and soaking it in the ring your cup left on the table.

“Right, well. I flew us out to the countryside, to this overlook halfway up a mountain. You liked going rappelling there a lot. To practise for missions.” Hawks had some of your habits down, at least. Bet he gets the location wrong, though. “We watched the sunrise. We shared a thermos of tea. I asked you once the sun had risen, but you didn’t say yes right away,” said Hawks, “You jumped off the overlook without your gear, and I caught you. You were furious about it—you didn’t want me to see you overwhelmed. But you said yes.”

Ugh. That sounded about right. That sounded pretty realistic. Hawks was a fucking stalker.

“Fuck,” you said, burying your face in your hands, “That’s cute.” You stretched the skin of your cheeks before releasing, and you returned to your ramen. “Question: did we put the ring into storage, or something? I don’t have the little indent on my ring finger from wearing a ring too long, and I haven’t found anything at home.” Make him sweat. Make him stumble. Where’s the ring, Hawks?

With a flash of his eyebrows, Hawks maneuvered his straw to his mouth using only his lips, looking quite stupid, in your opinion. “Figured you’d ask that at some point. I’m so overjoyed to see you every time that I forget to bring it up. The ring’s been sent off to a high-level, government-backed, support company. I’ve pulled in a favour from the higher-ups. I wanted to turn your ring into something a little more personal and incorporate one of my feathers into it,” said Hawks, taking a moment to slurp his drink noisily, “Depending on how well it goes, I’d be able to help you if we’re separated and know where you are. At the very least—” Hawks ducked his head to give the illusion of staring up at you with wide eyes, his blond eyelashes light against his skin. “—I’d be able to feel your heartbeat. It would bring me great comfort.”

Great, so he’d have a GPS on you at all times, knowing whether or not you went somewhere he didn’t want you to. He’d be able to tell if you went somewhere your non-amnesia self would know about. Great. Phenomenal.

“Hawks, that’s very sweet,” you said, fiddling with the remnants of your straw wrapper, now fizzled out of its snake shape, “Wouldn’t the process hurt you, though? Since you can feel it.”

“Nothing more than a twinge, sweetheart,” said Hawks, holding up his hands, “And I’d bear any amount of pain for your sake.”

You fantasised about beating his head in with the back end of a rifle.

***

When you were told Hawks was waiting for you outside of the recording booth, you told the messenger that Hawks could wait until you were finished with five more takes. You could picture Hawks’s little pout at the news, his feathers bristling despite the closed space, and resigning himself to sit in one of those clangy, metal chairs out front, having to hunch forward so that he didn’t crush his wings.

The idol group adored the ingenuity of bone-crunching as percussion in a song, and along with that and some other combat foley, you were singing the bridge with the rapper of the group (the dance captain would sing your part for live shows). It’d be a good promo for the girl group and for you, and the song, “Spine,” was going to be released as a single as soon as it was polished.

Hawks perked up the moment you stepped through the secondary door to the booth, his eyes brightening and wings spreading to take up more space. “I didn’t think I’d catch you,” said Hawks, standing to take your hands (the cold leather gloves sucked the heat out of your hands), “I’ve got to fly, soon, but I wanted to tell you personally.”

“You’re not pregnant,” you said, fighting the urge to break his goggles/visor/hat thing.

His lopsided grin widened. “Not yet, baby. There’s gonna be a heroes’ gala held at the end of the month, and I wanted to let you know that I’m doing everything in my power to make it a positive experience for you. Here, I’ve got this woman’s phone number,” he said, fishing a slip of paper out of his jacket, “She’ll help accommodate the venue for your leg.”

Stupid fucking bastard man. He probably wanted to pick out your clothes himself, infantilise you and dress you up like a goddamn doll. Deny you your personhood. “I’ll be out of the cast by then.” You slid the paper into your back pocket.

“I know,” Hawks said in a way that was a fucking lie, “I just don’t want there to be any accidents. I can’t have my babygirl any more hurt than she is.” Hawks placed his cold, gloved hand against your cheek, and you, shutting your eyes, made yourself lean into it. “But contact her. She’ll make it the safest place it can be for you, even when I have to leave your side.”

God, galas were great. Big events for villains to ruin. You licked your lips thinking about using a new move you’ve learnt to take a villain down (involving clamping your legs around the villain’s neck to choke him as he crumpled to the floor—your combat coach had banned you from the move after you made her pass out). “Are we announcing our engagement, then? If we’re going together?”

“I’d love to,” said Hawks, “but only if you want to. The ring could be ready by then, if I ask them to rush it—”

“Let’s do it.” If you plunged the ring into icy water, would he start to shiver? Ooh, your ring’s going to act as a fucking bay leaf in your soups for a while.

“Oh,” said Hawks, sighing lightly with his eyes fluttering shut. He pressed his forehead to yours and rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “You have no idea how much that means to me, sweetheart. You are so dear to me, and I want everyone to know it. The best damn thing in my life. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, placing your hand on his face to push him away, “Don’t you have work to do, screw boy?”

***

“Did we have a date?” you asked from the edge of the bathtub.

Hawks dipped the razor in the water, washing off the hair and shaving cream. “We’ve gone on so many, darling; you’ll have to specify.”

“No, I meant for the wedding.” Let’s once again play: Can Hawks Cover His Own Ass?

Hawks dragged the razor down your freshly exfoliated, freshly-un-casted, freshly not-broken leg, starting at your knee. “Nope!”

“No explanation?”

“You wanna get married tomorrow? A six-month engagement is rather short, don’t you think?” His nose twitched. He’d said the scent of your shaving cream irritated his nose. Good.

“I don’t. Why didn’t we have a date for the wedding?” You eyed the actual and literal pile of your dead skin on the towel. Maybe you should make Hawks snort it.

“We were too busy working; you’d said you didn’t mind having a long engagement, so long as I was yours. Then, uh, you know. The accident,” Hawks said with a shrug—with his shoulders this time, because if he moved his wings while he was crouched in your bathtub, he’d soak them, and they were a bitch to dry, apparently. Suffer, you rat bastard.

“The commission isn’t involved in that decision?”

“I thought that was implied,” said Hawks, gripping your ankle to turn your calf to the side, “They don’t want it to be a huge spectacle, so even I don’t know how much of a wedding wedding they’d let us have.”

He’s too damn good at this. If he weren’t a pro-hero, he’d fit right along in a theatre troupe.

You’re going to wring his neck.

You caught him staring at the crotch of your underwear (bone-dry, you might add) while he shaved your thighs, and he spent more time rubbing lotion into your inner thighs than anywhere else. He tossed your dead skin before you could make him eat it, and he scooped you up against your protestations about your weight and capability, humming while he carried you to your bed.

The fucker tucked you in and rounded up your cat to place in your arms (your cat disagreed with him and promptly leapt off the bed).

“Let me stay with you,” said Hawks, kissing each of your fingertips. It’s an order.

Yet you shook your head.

***

“The doctors said you shouldn’t drink,” Hawks said under his breath, taking the champagne flute gently from your grasp.

“But I want to,” you said, sticking out your lower lip, “I’m wearing goddamn heels and a fucking dress. I’ve got on makeup, for Christ’s sake. I’ve done my time; let me drink.”

“Baby, you’ve got to stay safe,” he said, and he set the glass next to some 40s-level hero’s place at the long, white tablecloth. “There’s already press paying more attention to us than usual. You wanna make a fool of yourself?”

“Yes,” you said, lifting another champagne flute from a passing gala waiter, “Who gives a shit about the press.”

Hawks laughed too loudly to be natural before lowering his voice. “Baby, you are gonna be the death of me.”

“Promise?”

***

When “Spine” was released on a cool, spring morning to an excitable audience, you were lurking in alleyways by the docks, searching for a fight. When the music video dropped, you were smashing some guy’s face into a concrete wall. While more and more citizens recognised you and your talent, your work for the community, your connections, your popularity—with your rank steadily rising—you were rappelling down a port sewer to pummel a slime villain into dust.

You wiped his blood off on your pants, hands devoid of anything that could taint. You’d left the ring at home.

***

“You tricked me,” you said, scowling as Hawks pushed you forward, “This isn’t the rock climbing park.”

Once you deliberately smashed your face into the glass door and crossed your arms, Hawks held the door open for you. “Would you have dressed up so nicely for rock climbing?”

“A meta-game challenge,” you said, “to rock-climb in a long skirt.”

You glowered about the restaurant while you and Hawks stood in the lobby, his hand low on your back, suspiciously respectfully. You made no effort to hide your distaste: it was the place with the purple lights.

Over there at the absurdly long bar, Endeavor had drunk flat whisky without so much of a growl at anyone, despite it being his event. Hexagonal tables with lilac tablecloths dotted the floor—you’d hidden in one of the few booths, up against the exposed brick wall—but your hiding place had been ruined once a violet disco ball had emerged from the ceiling. Shiny, wooden floor that had reflected your post-panic attack face right back at you and let every shoe strike it with a clatter. No silence allowed.

The whole restaurant had lavender LED lights running around the walls, swathing the place in a distorted sort of purple haze, and any candles lit on the centre tables had indigo flames—you’d focused on how those might have been made in the process of coming down from your panic attack.

God. You’re going to throw up.

The hostess escorted you and Hawks to a farther back room, this one with booths separated by small, brick walls that didn’t reach the ceiling yet concealed the booths’ occupants from each other—unless you were passing directly in front of one.

Hawks made you sit in the booth first, trapping you in as he settled. He had to be on the edge, anyway, he told you, because of his wings. You’re going to rip them off and boil them in the soup.

The two of you ordered. You don’t remember what. You can only channel so much of your nerves into jostling your leg. This is not cool. This place is not cool. You need to get out.

“Hey, let me through,” you said, nudging Hawks, “Bathroom.”

Once there, you lightly slapped your cheeks a couple of times, trying to ground yourself through physical sensation. No use. Can’t they fucking use normal lights in this place?

You didn’t have your panic meds, because you’ve never needed them rock climbing. You can do it. You’re fine. You’re fine. Your tongue is too big for your mouth.

You took your time meandering back to the booth, coming to a halt at the end of the narrow hallway and ducking behind the corner.

Endeavor stood by your booth, his arms crossed over a flaming chest. You caught your breath at the sight of his orange fire, a comforting contrast to all the damn purple, but still—Endeavor. Talking to your (gag) fiancé.

Without the courage to interact with Endeavor, you listened at the corner for his departure.

“Nah, she can handle her bladder just fine. It’s her nerves,” Hawks was saying, hidden by the bricks, “She likes hiding. She doesn’t necessarily like being in the spotlight.”

“Yet she hasn’t completely withdrawn as Eraserhead has. You’ve picked a strange one to marry.”

From the angle Endeavor glared at him, Hawks must be slumping in his seat. “But that’s what so great about her. And it’s hard to process, y’know, like, she’s finally mine. You follow?”

“Regrettably,” said Endeavor, “Regardless, I offer my congratulations that your courtship finally worked out in your favour. You should have told me sooner.”

Courtship. That’s a funny way to pronounce bullying.

“Eh, I’ve gotta have some secrets, don’t I? Can’t betray my otherwise cool exterior.” Hawks laughed. “I can’t believe I’ve been allowed such happiness. The woman I’ve loved for years is gonna be waking up to me every day soon, y’know?”

Hawks has got to know you can hear him, otherwise he wouldn’t be saying those things. Endeavor must be in on Hawks’s ruse, since Endeavor is Hawks’s closest—actually, Endeavor isn’t the type to revel in romantic shit. Endeavor straight-up isn’t the type to revel. To the best of your knowledge, Endeavor doesn’t genuinely like Hawks as so much as tolerates him; when did they get so close? It must have taken a long time—

Time.

You could feel your IQ dropping as you actually considered: had you been in a legitimate coma? Had you (fuck) genuinely had amnesia?

No, no. You don’t live in Crazytown. Your eyebrows hadn’t been overgrown when you’d woken up in the hospital. You’d only been there a day.

Of course, Hawks is a vain piece of shit and does his own eyebrows, so he might have considered that yours were a piece of pride/insecurity for you and may have done them while you were—did Hawks do his own eyebrows? That spoiled fuck probably had someone else to do them for him. If they were naturally like that, you were going to throttle his ass.

You didn’t fucking have amnesia. Hawks is and always has been a stupid, clammy birdbrain. He’s always been cruel to you. He didn’t fucking like you.

He sure as hell wasn’t in fucking love with you.

Oh, my fuck, what if your memories of Hawks have been fabricated by a coma-addled mind and that—

“Hey, there,” said—said someone, some pale-ass, sleep-deprived freak who startled you out of your head, “Are you all right? You look—I mean, do you need some water? A chair?”

You blinked, yet he wouldn’t come into focus—you were taking in details about him, ones that didn’t fucking matter (chain on his wallet, three rings all on the left hand, a button-down missing the last button, a cloud of axe body spray), but he didn’t register as a human person. He couldn’t; you hadn’t grounded yourself yet. You yourself still had a frazzled, cartoon scribble buzzing inside of your chest, and until you vomited it up, a panic attack may yet still happen.

You can’t deal with anyone new right now.

A spark of recognition crossed the new guy’s face, and he, through a smirk, asked if you were your hero name.

Oh god oh fuck not now

“Sweetheart,” came Hawks’s melodious drawl (registering first his voice, then bodily warmth, then the wingtip covering your ass), “You were taking so long that I came to check on you.” He pulled you by the waist towards him, blocking the guy from seeing your face by pressing it into his chest. “Who’s this?”

Who cares. All you could focus on (sharp and overwhelming, nothing else but) was how fucking incredible Hawks smelled, and at this point, you’d use anything to bring yourself back down to earth. A small voice in the back of your head told you that freaking out to this degree in this particular situation was leaning towards pathetic, since basically nothing happened, besides being in an uncomfortable environment and being accosted by a fan at the wrong time, but you? You did not control the rate at which your brain panicked.

And really, no rhyme or reason played into why your grabby little hands itched for human contact once safe in the booth again, why Hawks’s scent lay on your tongue more heavily than your soup, why the overwhelming sensation of being so fucking spaced out of it threw its entire weight upon your shoulders—you couldn’t find yourself. You were lost.

And in this horrible, purple place, the only thing that’s familiar was Hawks.

When you scooted as closely as you could to him in the booth, keeping your glare towards your lap while you looped your arm under his to snuggle into it, Hawks cleared his throat to say, “What’s this?”

You scowled into his jacket, both hands gripping his forearm.

He set his chopsticks down. “How can I help, darling?”

Growling, you bonked your forehead against his shoulder, dragging your hands down to his.

“Hey,” said Hawks, and he guided your face towards his and stroked your cheek with his thumb, “Did that guy bother you too much before I got there?”

Turning your mouth towards the hand cupping your cheek, you kissed his palm, bit the leather, and kissed it again before burying yourself in his shoulder again.

He rested his hand on the crown of your head. “What’s the matter? Can you tell me?”

“Not sure I can put it into words,” you said, “I think I wanna go home.” You bit the fabric of his jacket and gnashed it between your teeth.

“I can handle that,” said Hawks, “Gimme a moment to get takeaway boxes, yeah? Then we’ll leave, and you’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

Unfortunately, you were still clutching onto his arm by the time he unlocked his darkened penthouse (because you’re not gonna hold his hand. God), but you slapped his hand away from the light switches.

“Turning them on would be too much stimulation,” you said, “Please don’t.”

Hawks hummed against the top of your head, placing keys and both of your phones on the kitchen counter. “Bed or couch?”

“Window,” you said.

“Window?”

“I’m assuming you’ve got one.”

“I do,” said Hawks, guiding you through his dark apartment, probably past scarily expensive, posh shit. He led you to what was most likely his living room, with the cool, dim light of the night sky through a vast, single-frame, wall-to-floor window illuminating furniture custom built for his wings, but he eased you down onto the carpet, tugging your shirt upwards so that the window would be touching your bare skin on the small of your back.

Hawks yanked his boots off, late, instead of at the door, and he tossed them over his shoulder. He took yours off, too, and once he’d set them aside, he sat next to you against the window, a hand on your thigh.

“Better?”

“Probably,” you said, staring at the triangle of light beige carpet between your crossed legs.

“Need me to talk? You need to talk?”

“Not right now.”

Hawks was a dumbass. He’s such a fucking dumbass. But he’s a dumbass who’s here right now, and he’s interested (?) in you, interested in helping you. And good golly, you have to be touched. Hawks’s offering warmth, freely, potentially lovingly, and all you had to do was reach out to take it, even if you didn’t reciprocate whatever sentiment was motivating him yourself.

Do you really want to take what you have no feelings for?

Hawks lies a lot to Endeavor. To everyone. He might not have been lying earlier. What reason had he to lie?

Guess it didn’t matter, because you were lying.

But good God, you haven’t been kissed in a long time. Haven’t felt safe or loved. You could…you could indulge for a few hours in order to calm down. You could pretend.

The last ten months had proved that.

“Hey,” you said idly, reaching out to grab the inner fleece lining of his jacket to rub it between your fingers, “Hawks, I’m gonna—I’m gonna put my mouth on your mouth. Okay?”

Hawks’s wings ruffled and constricted themselves so that he could move closer to you, and his hand has migrated from your thigh to grip your hip—how could anyone’s hands encompass that much of you? Your fucking hands couldn’t, not in the way his does.

(Bird man big and safe.)

([No, fuck you, don’t think that.])

(BIRD MAN SAFE—)

Shoved is how you’d describe the first few seconds of the kiss, followed closely by wet and you’d think his teeth would be sharper. Your lips didn’t line up with his completely until he adjusted your chin with two of his fingers, guiding it open just barely, as well, so that his tongue could graze your teeth—it took you a moment of processing before parting them, with a final don’t think! shouted to your neocortex.

Birds have a higher body temperature than other animals, on average having a body temperature of 105 degrees Fahrenheit (40 degrees Celsius). The colour of their feathers, of course, affects how much light and heat they absorb, with the lighter coloured feathers—say, red—reflecting more, rejecting outside heat sources.

Yet Hawks gripped you like he’d fucking freeze if he weren’t clutching you, if he weren’t straddling your legs, one palm flat against the cool of the window by your head. The other snaked around you, his forearm lying almost vertically up your back to press down between your shoulder blades, keeping you as near to his chest (he probably didn’t realise it, but his fingers ran across the curve of your shoulder blades where his wings were on his own body.

For some reason, the thought crossed your mind that you weren’t enough for him, because you were too dissimilar.)

Don’t think!

When he massaged your tongue with his, applying pressure sporadically, you returned the action—have you ever seen a bird tongue up close? They’re fucking nasty little things, looking more like a grub than anything else. Thank God Hawks had a normal, human tongue that performed particularly delightful, normal things, like drag across the roof of your mouth and aid in sucking phenomenal hickeys onto your jawline, licking over where he’s bitten and kissed.

Stop thinking about bird anatomy. Hawks has no discernible bird traits except for his fucking wings. He’s not a fucking bird man. He’s just some dude with wings. And not all birds have functional wings; for example, the ostrich and the penguin do not have wings to be used in flight—

Oh, my fuck. Turn your brain off.

Your stomach lurched. That had been something Hawks had told you too often, back before your accident.

It’s what he wants.

Hawks fucking whimpered when you pulled the shorter hairs at the back of his neck, prying him away from your skin with great difficulty—he kept trying to touch you with his mouth and tongue in the process.

“Let me have more,” he said, panting, his breath heavy and just below your ear, “Please.” He pressed his lips to the spot in front of your ear in a weak kiss, having spent himself for the most part. “I’ve missed you so much, baby. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me for so long.”

“I don’t—” You fake-stuttered, but it turned out you needed the time to put your thoughts into words. “I don’t think I’m back yet. I’m,” you said, taking as deep a breath as you could with Hawks smushed against your chest, “Something’s missing. Something big.” That’s right. Steer it back in his direction. Make the bird man sweat. “I don’t—something doesn’t feel right.”

It took a moment, but Hawks nodded fervently, shutting his eyes. “Of course. Yeah. Yeah, I get it, sweetheart. Can’t do anything when your heart’s not in it.”

Your heart’s not the problem. “Thank you for being so understanding, Hawks,” you said, untangling yourself from underneath him, “Would you just, uh, hold me for a while?”

His wings wrapped around the both of you on his enormous bed, still fluttering with each slow breath he took. Hawks almost looked genuine while he slept, and probably for the best—at least he was getting rest; at least his guard might be down.

You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing.

***

“Rank speculation is out,” you said, scrubbing the pumice stone over a patch of dry skin on Hawks’s back and scrolling through the twitter with your other hand, “Take a look.”

He opened the link you sent once he’d safely removed a dead feather that had been lodged in an odd spot in a wing. “Huh. Think I could truly take on Endeavor?”

“Well, he’s got that abusive-to-his-family thing, while you’re rocking the preparing-for-my-wedding look, and he can’t network non-aggressively to save his life.”

“Nor can you.” Hawks shot you a smirk over his shoulder.

“Zoom in on my speculated nine, baby,” you said, flicking away some dead skin with a satisfied/disgusted sneer, “And I didn’t have to sleep my way there.”

“Ah, ha, ha,” said Hawks, “Knew you could do it. Whoever’s told you that is gonna have to deal with my foot up their ass. You’re more than capable of getting there on your own.”

“Which I did. I have.” Wait. Hawks told you that. No, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s a commonly said, misogynistic comment towards women heroes. Hawks isn’t special. “But having your foot up someone’s ass wouldn’t be good for PR, unless you wanted to advertise that you’re a kinky son of a bitch who’s cheating on his fiancée.”

“I would never,” said Hawks, and, contorting his arm, he grabbed your hand with the pumice stone to kiss the back of it, “But my PR is solid, regardless.”

“If the public knew how much time you had to spend preening these fucking wings, they’d probably appreciate you more. Or call you conceited.”

Hawks hummed. “It’s a necessary evil,” he said, returning to his wingtip to search for dead feathers. “Thank you for helping.”

“No problem. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get to see how—Hawks, holy fuck. Do you feel that?” You ran a finger near the base of a wing.

“It’s your finger?”

“No, this,” you said, tapping the spot.

“No?”

“My God. It’s a dilated pore of a winer,” you said, already reaching for the tweezers, “Right at the base of your wing. It’s basically an enormous fucking blackhead. I’m popping it. Oh, my God. I’ve never seen one in real life.”

“You’re popping it?”

“You didn’t have a problem with my getting the ones where your costume sits.”

“No,” said Hawks, rolling back his shoulders, his wings spreading with them, “Gotcha. Get on with it.”

“Can I film it?”

“What? No,” said Hawks, “No one can see me preening, let alone dealing with acne.”

“There’s sure to be another hero out there with a wing quirk, right? I don’t know how you can’t feel it.”

“Yeah,” Hawks said slowly, “Since my feathers can feel—I suppose where the wings merge with my skin is pretty numb. I haven’t ever had to think about it.” He licked his lips. “Funny.”

He continued to scroll through his feed and tend to his feathers while you worked at his back. “Bad news: the tabloids got a hold of our grocery list from the last time we went to the shops. I must have dropped it at some point in the store.”

“Oh, so do they know what kind of ice cream we prefer? The horror.”

“No, but they’ve brought in some hack handwriting analyst. Talking about our annotations for each other on the list. Something about how you’re logical and I’m a romantic. The writer of the article is practically swooning.” Hawks pulled out a clot of feathers with his teeth and spat them aside. “With good reason, though. The trashy pictures they snapped of us are hot.”

“Describe them to me.”

“I can show you—”

“No,” you said, concentrating on your work, “I don’t want the image imprinted on my brain. Describe them in your own words.”

“All right,” said Hawks, crossing his legs and placing his phone on the coffee table in front of him, “To start, the flash is on.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. We’ve got that distantly surprised look going on. It looks like we’re near the eggs and cheese. You’re not looking at the camera, but I believe it’s in the moment I caught it.” Hawks flicked away a feather and let it fall to the carpet. “My hand’s on your waist. The other’s on the cart. You’ve scrunched your face up in concentration; it’s really cute.”

“Aw, we should get it framed,” you said, wiping away the gunk with a tissue and wadding it up so that no one will ever have to see or touch it ever again.

“Never,” said Hawks, “The first picture of us I wanna get framed should be on our wedding day.”

“It’s coming along quickly,” you said, setting aside the tweezers, “Bit more quickly than I’d thought it would.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” said Hawks with a light laugh, and you ducked to rest your head against his shoulder, straining your neck to reach him over his wing.

Hawks clicked his non-nasty, non-bird tongue. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Sighing, you said, “Turn your head this way.”

He did you one better, since he anticipated your plan. He twisted around, keeping his legs crossed as he pulled you into his lap. His wings initially bristled but wrapped around you when his arms did, and Hawks kissed your cheek, once, twice, until he arrived at your mouth, where he barely grazed your lips, rather letting his hot breath spread over your face—and he grinned up at you with half-lidded eyes (he’d left off his eyeliner today, but the natural marks below his waterline kept his eyes sharp, anyway).

“Kiss me, you fucking idiot,” you said, overriding whatever he was about to do by kissing him yourself, hard and open-mouthed, almost violent in its fervent. Yet Hawks held you lightly, delicately, but still close enough to freeze.

You ran your cold, cold hands over his bare abdomen, pressing your thumb down with considerable force to trace his muscles (he grunted at that, and that’s it; that’s right—make him squirm; make him sweat; make him yours). His finger only toyed with the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, as if waiting for you, which didn’t line up with what you had garnered about Hawks at all, but c’mon, man, come on; didn’t you want this all those months ago? Almost a year, now? Years, if what he said to Endeavor is true? But when he flinched away with a shaky breath once your cold fingers circled his nipple, you knew this was where you were supposed to be: right here, in Hawks’s lap, completely destroying him with hardly anything at all. Nothing but light touches and a strategic flick of your tongue. Idiot man. He must really like you if this is doing it for him.

You slowed and opened your eyes at that thought, frowning, and you pulled away. With the back of his hand, Hawks wiped saliva off of both of your mouths, yours first.

He waited for you.

“If you can’t take all of me, then what’s the point?”

He tilted his head. “I’ll take whatever part of you you’re willing to share.”

“I’m missing something.”

“I know.”

“I want to find it before we get married.” You laid your palm flat on his chest, and he grinned at the cold.

“You can find it,” he said, “I know you can.”

“I don’t know what I’m blocking out,” you said, lying—or maybe you weren’t? Fuck it. “Whatever I’m repressing is really fucking with me.”

“Take your time,” said Hawks, running his tongue over his lower lip. “I’m here for—”

“Hawks,” you said, faking the light of realisation in your eyes, accompanied with a sharp inhale, “I can’t remember your name.”

Hawks’s mouth snapped shut.

“You told me once. I know you did,” you said, moving to cup his cheek after tapping the mark underneath his eye, “but the memory—there’s a blur where you spoke. I—” You cut yourself off, biting your lip. “That, that might be it. I don’t know. Everything else about the scene is in perfect detail. I remember what fucking socks I was wearing, for Christ’s sake. But you. What you said. Maybe it’s something so personal, so intimate, that I’ve repressed it. Maybe it was too much for me to handle.” You cupped his face with both hands now, forcing him to look at you. If you hadn’t been scrutinising him for some evidence of breaking character, you wouldn’t’ve seen the minute quivering of his upper lip. Hardly there, but it was there. “It’s a part of you that I want. Even if I couldn’t handle it before, I want to try now.”

Hawks averted his gaze, even though he couldn’t move his head. And bang, you’ve got him. Hawks’s name was still strictly secret, hidden by the commission, but if he’s genuinely in this dumbass situation for the long haul, if he’s truly in it for you, then he would have told you. Even if he wanted you to continue to call him Hawks, your own fiancé would have told you his damn name.

So, this is it. The way out.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out you’ve been faking all this time. Good. Let each feather burn.

“Keigo,” he said, staring into your eyes with a newfound determination, “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Oh, shit—you clapped a hand over your heart, your eyes widening. Maybe you could play this off as memory recovery instead of absolute shock? But you hadn’t any memories to recover, probably. Holy fuck.

Where do you go from here?

You tried to say his name but ended up simply mouthing it, and after clearing your throat and coughing a bit, you managed to say it aloud. “Keigo,” you said softly, reaching for his hand, “Keigo, I fucking love you.”

You’d only been kissing him for a few moments before his wings shuddered in a muscle spasm and flung you off to the side.

***

Only a commission higher-up witnessed your wedding. She stood silently to the side the entire ceremony in the courthouse and only shook Hawks’s hand afterwards.

You and your cat essentially moved into his penthouse and adjusted. Your mostly empty apartment stayed leased under your name.

Sometimes, you’d note that you turned your brain off and instantly be hit with a lightning strike of self-loathing—but you didn’t have to consciously decide to be affectionate with Hawks. Being with him came naturally and easily. Probably for the best, since if you had to think about it, you’d screw it up.

You stayed together. Supported each other. Sneaked out to see the other on patrol. Took care, listened to each other. Defended each other. Worked it out.

And now, you stared up at the ceiling fan whirling in your darkened bedroom, Keigo lying on his stomach next to you in the bed as he slept. Your cat catloafed between his wings and nestled into them, rising and falling with each breath he took. Hawks was perfect, always saving the day, working up a routine to mesh with your fighting style and quirk, always charming and easygoing with the people he rescued, indulging you in your ferocity, and Keigo, Keigo whispered sweet and dirty things into your ear when he spotted you in public, made you laugh, worked wonders with his cock, helped you clean up before he even thought of preening himself, held you, and made you feel held. He’s got it bad.

And maybe you do, too.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out.