#fic: the hawk and the bear

[screechthemighty]

God of War fic posting has RESUMED. This one is for memories of mother, so it won't be entirely Ragnarok compliant, but we all saw that coming I think.

Anyways, this is part one of two of a little fic called the hawk and the bear. I'll post part two in a reblog, and the whole thing will be up on AO3 as well (with the link to that in the same reblog)! I hope you enjoy it. :3

the hawk and the bear: part one

{cws: alluded to suicidal ideation and depression.}

The deer was dead when she reached its side, and Faye was grateful for that. She wasn’t sure she could handle finishing a sloppy kill today. “Thank you,” Faye whispered quietly as she stroked its head. It was a good sized doe. She shouldn’t have to worry about hunting for a while.

It was another thing to be grateful for. She was starting to get better about leaving the house, but it could still be a struggle. Now she wouldn’t have to worry about starving if she went through another spell of staying inside.

A few leaves drifted past as she started tying the deer’s feet together to drag it back. The forest would be all red and gold soon. She was almost looking forward to it. But after fall came the winter, and...

Well. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

As Faye started to lift the deer, a sudden feeling of dread swept up her spine. She straightened up and looked around. She thought at first that it was a predator, perhaps a wolf seeking to try and steal her kill. But there was nothing there.

Then why...?

Shit. The stave. Something had passed through somewhere.

Faye dropped the deer and started running, following the tug of magic to the point of entry. It didn’t make any sense; the magic should have kept anything threatening out. Was it something she hadn’t accounted for? Or maybe someone who needed help, some poor soul that had managed to wander this deep into the woods and gotten lost? She wasn’t sure. She wasn’t going to let her guard down until she knew for sure.

Please don’t let it be Aesir. Please…

Faye stopped at the top of a ridge, bow ready but lowered. She saw a hulking figure in the valley below her. She thought, at first, that it was a bear–the figure was hunched over, draped in dark furs, no visible human features at first. Then they straightened up and turned around, freezing at the sight of her.

He was…

Faye’s breath caught in her throat.

Why does he seem familiar?

This man was no human, but he wasn’t a giant, either. Not any giant she knew, at least. He was tall, taller than her, with a shaved head and dark, unruly beard. His skin wasn’t fair, not even extremely fair like hers–it was white, unnaturally ashen white, cut through with a few scars (one over his eye, a much larger one cutting up his exposed stomach) and blood red tattoos stretching across his face and up one arm. His molten gold eyes fixed on her, his brow creasing with confusion. He made no move to attack her–in fact, the feeling she got from him was one of complete confusion. Like he hadn’t expected to see anyone here.

But he was bigger than her, muscular, definitely armed. His build reminded her of Magni, or the beserkers from home, and that thought alone was enough to make her wary. “Don’t come any closer,” Faye called. “What are you doing here?”

His head tilted slightly, like he couldn’t understand what she was saying. He took a few steps closer. Faye’s body reacted before her good will could, making her raise her bow and fire a warning shot. That was all it was meant to be, at least; one arrow in a tree nearby, just to show she meant it. “I said don’t!”

The man froze again, looking back at the arrow. Then he turned to face her.

He didn’t look happy.

Uh oh.

.

It had been days since he’d last eaten. Possibly longer.

The days were getting shorter, colder; it made finding suitable prey difficult. It was why he had chosen to continue chasing the deer, long after he usually would have given up. Despite his best efforts, the creature had gotten away.

Kratos growled to himself as he stopped to examine the tracks. He was beginning to think he’d picked up the wrong trail. These seemed more degraded. Damn it. All this way, and what did he have to show for it? Nothing but an empty stomach.

Pointless. Pointless.

Kratos straightened up, swallowing past the hollow feeling that flooded his chest. The urge to just sit down there in the mud and let the cold claim him returned. It wouldn’t work–he’d been here too long for mere cold to claim him–but the urge remained.

Keep going. You abandoned your camp. You need to find someplace new.

Kratos turned to survey his surroundings…and froze.

There was a woman standing on a ridge behind him.

She hadn’t been there before. She was tall for a woman, only a little shorter than he was. Her hair (partially braided but coming free in loose curls) was golden red, her clothes shades of blue and gold. Her fair-skinned face was covered in a spread of freckles, and her blue eyes stared down at him.

Was she real? He didn’t recognize her, but she seemed so…vivid. Too bright and alive to have simply appeared behind him like a ghost. The woman spoke, but his mind was so trapped on her sudden appearance that the words meant nothing to him. His body moved as his mind struggled to determine what he was looking at. Who are…?

The arrow whistled past him, striking a tree over his shoulder. Kratos looked away, long enough to confirm…

Yes, that was real.

He turned back to her, his face set and hard.

Fine, then. This again.

.

She barely had time to draw Leviathan and block his first blow. It damn near knocked her over. He was strong. She’d gone toe to toe with men bigger than him, and even they didn’t feel like they hit as hard.

Right. Okay. I set him off. Bad plan, well done, Faye.

She probably could have tried harder to kill him, but something in her said not to. She had started it; there was a chance he was just trying to defend himself. There may not have been any time to explain herself now, but the least she could do was spare him. I just have to drive him off. I just have to get him out of my forest and then everything will be fine.

Assuming she survived the fight. This man was clearly experienced in combat. This was no mere scavenger, not even one of the reavers. This man was a warrior. Maybe that berserker comparison was more apt than she’d realized. Definitely not a berserker, he would have turned by now if he–

Faye wasn’t sure what he did. She just knew that one moment Leviathan was in her hands, the next it wasn’t.

Shit!

.

She was good, he’d give her that.

The woman had switched from bow to battle axe–and a formidable one at that. He assumed the weapon was magical. Its blade felt cold whenever it swiped too close to him, as if the metal were permanently frozen. I just have to disarm her. I don’t have to hurt her, but if I can disarm her…

He could what? Run? He was the fucking god of war. He didn’t run from combat. But…

No. He couldn’t kill this woman. If he disarmed her, perhaps knocked her unconscious, if he just knocked her down long enough that he could flee…

It had been some time since he’d fought an enemy with an ax like this, but he remembered how to defend himself. Once he had the right open, disarming her was easy. The woman staggered back, and Kratos readied himself to take out the bow next.

Instead she held out her hand.

Something whistled past his head, barely missing it as it landed solidly in her palm. The axe. The axe had returned to her.

Shit.

.

The startled look on his face when Leviathan came back would’ve been funny if he hadn’t recovered so quickly. He went back on the offensive within a second, his shock giving way to resolve again. Fortunately, Faye’s plan of driving him away was working; they were moving back towards the borders.

Drive him back, then try to lose him. It had worked before with far stronger enemies.

Except…

It took her some time to notice; she had been extremely focused on not getting her head cut off. But the longer she fought, the more she realized: he wasn’t trying to cut her head off.

He was fighting more aggressively than her, that was for sure. But at some point, she made a mistake–misstepped, slipped on some leaves, left herself wide open. He didn’t go for a kill hit that she barely blocked; he went for her head with the hilt of the sword. It was still a blow she barely blocked, but…

He could have killed me. He didn’t even try.

And from there, she realized that there were several points he could have killed her. The longer the fight went on, the more she noticed it. He wasn’t using full strength. It was as if he were sparring, not fighting for his life against someone he perceived as an aggressor. So if he could kill her, but hadn’t…

Oh. Oh!

.

The fight grew easier the longer they grappled with each other. Kratos had always been adept at learning the fighting styles of others, even more so once he ascended to godhood. Drawing out the fight was risky, but it did give him more information to use. And as he learned how she fought, he noticed something…abnormal. Something about this fight wasn’t right.

Then, he remembered a lesson from long ago.

You have more energy than a predator. Wear them down if you cannot defeat them, make it clear you are not worth the effort, and eventually they will leave.

That was how she fought. Defensively, driving him back. Not trying to hurt him (not yet, at least), but trying to make him go away.

A woman with a bow like that wouldn’t miss a target as clear as him, and her hands were too steady now, too skilled, for that first shot to have been a mistake.

That meant…

She isn’t trying to hurt me.

.

He isn’t trying to hurt me.

.

He dodged back from her next axe swing, putting as much distance between the two of them as possible. He kept his stance defensive, ready to continue if she did, but did not make the first move.

The woman nearly did, caught herself mid-step, and froze as well. He saw the brief, confused frown that crossed her face, followed by what might have been wary relief. More wary than relived. She hadn’t let her guard down entirely. “I’m starting to think this was a misunderstanding,” she said.

Kratos grunted in response. His eyes scanned the surroundings. He didn’t see any sign of lodgings, but…

“These are your woods?” he guessed. She nodded. “I did not know. I was…” He had to pause to remember the word. A part of his mind still called him to combat, to finish the woman who had dared raise her bow against him. It made remembering the language of his land difficult. “Following a deer.”

Her eyes scanned him slowly. As he watched, something in her eyes softened. He wondered if he looked hungry to her. It had been so long since he had eaten…even if his body did not change with the lack of food, his godhood keeping his form from cannibalizing itself, it may have showed in his eyes, in the tension in his shoulders at the thought of a meal slipped from his grasp.

The woman’s eyes widened, a curse leaving her lips. “Ah….” She glanced over her shoulder, a gesture that surprised him more than anything. They’d been fighting seconds ago, and yet she still took her eyes off of him. “…You can have some of mine if you help me chase off whatever might have come for it?”

Some of hers? The promise of proper food nearly overrode his lingering wariness of her. Nearly. He took a second to examine her. The look in her eyes was one of frustration; she seemed truly annoyed that she had been taken away from her own kill, which could have been claimed by an opportunistic animal. He did not sense any deception in her, and even if there was…

He had held back until then. He did not have to continue doing so.

“Very well.”

She was off like an arrow at those words. Kratos struggled to keep up. She was certainly more familiar with these woods than he was. The kill wasn’t far, and by the time they arrived, there was only a small creature, its fur a mottled mixture of brown and white, gnawing at the dead doe’s rear leg. “Hey!” the woman scolded. The creature jumped back, but did not retreat entirely. “That’s mine, you little bastard.” She made no move to chase the creature off any further, however, sighing with relief instead as she approached the deer. “All right…all right. Do you know how to clean a deer?”

Kratos hesitated. “What?”

“It will go faster if we work together.”

She was correct, but Kratos was surprised. They had only just met, and their first interaction had been one of violence. And yet…

His stomach rumbled. That pushed past any confusion he might have felt. “I know how,” he said. He was still careful not to crouch too close to her as he settled down next to the deer. “What do you want me to do?”

They made short work of the deer, as the woman had predicted. She divided up the meat and skin as she went. Kratos found himself glancing at the two piles more and more. Focus, he scolded himself. The task is not yet done. He shoved all thoughts of food aside, focused on carving away at the deer.

He saw the creature approaching again as they worked, staying just out of reach, eyes fixated on the deer. The woman glanced at it and sighed. “What? Are you hungry, too?” She took a piece from one pile and tossed it in the creature’s direction. “There, go on…”

The creature hesitantly grabbed the chunk of deer, running as soon as it was in its grasp. The woman chuckled quietly. “Don’t worry, that’s my half,” she reassured him. “I’m sorry, by the way.”

It took him a moment to realize what she might be apologizing for. “You were defending your home. You owe me nothing.” Including his own pile of venison, which seemed ridiculously large. An unnecessary kindness, considering…

“Did I hurt you?”

The woman stopped, her eyes darting back and forth. After the pause, she shook her head. ��No, I’m all right. Are you hurt?”

He almost wanted to laugh. She was an adept fighter, he could tell, but she was still mortal. There was nothing she could do that would hurt him for long. “I am well.” He glanced at the ax by her side. “Your axe is…”

He might have used the word beautiful, because it was. The craftsmanship was obvious, the faint aura of magic radiating from the blade even when it was at rest…even small flourishes meant to give it some artistic value, not just functional. But he did not know how to convey that in this tongue, so instead he said, “Good. It’s a good axe.”

She looked pleased. “Thank you. I’m friends with a few smiths. It’s worked out well for me.”

That was fortunate. Kratos had taken his current weapon off a corpse–not someone he had killed, simply a body discarded on the road somewhere. He had, at least, stopped to bury the body, so he considered it a fair trade. “I’m Faye, by the way,” the woman interrupted suddenly. “What’s your name?”

Kratos froze.

He hadn’t gone by his name in…years. Decades. Even this far north, even when it was reasonable to assume that no common person knew who the Ghost of Sparta was, he kept the name hidden, buried. He spoke to others so infrequently that he hadn’t come up with a false one. He didn’t think anyone had asked for his name before her. If they had, he could usually deter them with a stern glare. This time…

Kratos looked away from her to what was left of the deer. “I think this is done,” he said clumsily. “I’ll…go. I apologize for trespassing.”

“Oh, it’s…” The woman–Faye–stood up as he did. “Don’t worry. I’m sorry for shooting at you.”

“You were defending your home. Don’t apologize for that.”

“Well, we’re in agreement then,” she said. She picked up Kratos’s half and offered it to him. “It was all a misunderstanding and neither of us did anything wrong.”

Kratos huffed in response and took the offering. He wasn’t sure he should, but if she truly wanted to be so foolish…

Kind, he corrected himself. She is being kind.

“Be careful out there,” she said to him.

“...you as well,” Kratos said.

He felt her gaze at his back as he walked away.

He tried to ignore the urge to turn around and meet it again.

.

“That went well,” Faye said aloud.

Her voice echoed around the clearing as she set what was left of the deer down in the hut. She knew she should get to work preserving it, making dinner, starting on the hide, but she just sat on the floor and thought about what had happened. The strange man in the bear skins. His tattoos, the fierceness in his eyes, the way that fierceness had turned to wariness when they finally stopped fighting each other. He reminded her of a hound that had been kicked by its owner one too many times and expected that treatment from everyone.

Who are you, stranger?

She should start on the meat. She should check on the stave. If he’d been able to get in, someone else may have as well, and she didn’t need more trouble right now. But…

His eyes were so sad.

Faye sighed heavily and shook her head. “Get it together, Laufey,” she told herself. “Keep your head on straight. You can’t get unfocused just because you finally spoke to someone again.”

…Wait. Damn it. How long had it been since she’d last spoken to someone?

I need to get out more.

[roo-brr]

Feels really weird to promote my lil fic but I promised in the notes that I'd share the little birth certificate I made for Keigo's Build-a-Bear. I'm not cool enough to know how to add pics on Ao3

So BANG. Here it is ig 🙄

Really nothing special I literally just put text on a template but I wanted to do it for funsies. TO SHARE THE JOY OF BUILD-A-BEAR <333

⚠️‼️ Fic is inspired by/based off @sleepwalkersqueen 's fic "Fear of You" on Ao3. ‼️ Shinyo is her character not mine! ‼️

[cupidbedsy]

♡ 𝗧𝗔𝗚 𝗚𝗨𝗜𝗗𝗘 ୨୧

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main blog posts ..... ˚ ༘♡〚 cupids palace 〛ₓ｡

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me talking the canucks ..... ∞｡.*〚 cupid + the 'nucks 〛

me talking the cubs ..... ∞｡.*〚 cupid + the cubs 〛

me talking the bears ..... ∞｡.*〚 cupid + the bears 〛

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[kiriscreama]

the nightingale can’t soar like an eagle

Whumptober 2023 - Day Three

Prompt: Solitary Confinement

Warnings: Hallucinations, Implied Torture, Ambiguous Ending, Minor Character Death, Mental Instability, Referenced Child Abuse (by the commission)

Summary: After Hawks kills Twice, the Commission punishes him for acting against orders.

A/N: am i leaning too heavily on the ambiguous ending to do a lot of the heavy lifting in these fics so far? maybe. will i stop? probably not. this fic could have been about 4k longer but i finished writing it at 11:45 last night so there was no way that was gonna happen. i might come back to this one some day in some way. we’ll see. title from Hawk in the Night by Madds Buckley

also on AO3 | Whumptober Masterlist

This room was getting to him.

The first day or so had been bad enough. With hands still raw from scrubbing Twice’s blood off of them and his entire back stinging with still-healing burn scars, all his other senses had been dulled. He’d been aware, but too caught up in his own agony and self-pity to really register just how awful it was.

A Commission doctor with a speed-healing quirk had come by in the beginning to finish healing his burns. Hawks had tried to plead his case, but his words went nowhere.

That had been his last human interaction beyond the slot in the door that served up his meals — always a glass of water and a tray of bland food that was somehow just as gray as the walls around him and the sheets on his metal cot. Maybe it was symbolic. Being surrounded by the color had always made his brain feel like it was being slowly turned to the mush they fed him.

He knew he’d be punished for offering Twice a way out. For letting Dabi burn him, putting him out of commission for who knew how long. For daring to pretend, for even a second that he had an ounce of free will.

He hadn’t been expecting solitary.

At least he could see, even if there was nothing to look at. When they first tossed him in he was still kicking and screaming, flapping his stubby wings wildly and trying to shake the hood off of his head. It had only been after they’d left that he’d settled, letting the darkness crowd his vision as his heart rate finally slowed. It was only after he’d fully dozed off that they’d removed it.

(Hawks hated that he’d been trained to calm down with the hood on. He hated that the Commission saw him as nothing more than an animal to tame, and that he hadn’t even noticed until fucking Dabi pointed it out. It shouldn’t have taken a villain’s words for him to realize it.)

The hood always made solitary worse.

Still, access to all of his senses was only the lesser of two evils. The loneliness, the blank walls, the long formless hours stretching into infinite. It was enough to drive even the most patient man insane eventually.

Hawks thought he may be reaching his breaking point.

The walls felt like they were closing in. It always felt like this after a while, but usually it wasn’t quite so bad so soon. It felt like that scene from that old space movie, when the walls of a trash compacter got closer and closer to the heroes as they scrambled for an exit, except Hawks knew they weren’t moving. The distance between the edge of his cot and the far wall wasn’t getting smaller.

But Hawks’ world kept getting smaller, creeping ever inwards, only to retreat when he refocused his vision.

The silence was starting to get to him. Hawks knew better than to talk to himself — there was no use in letting his mouth go dry just for the noise — but the lack of sound was so loud. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought that his handler was pumping a ringing noise into the room through a hidden speaker, but he had used his quirk to examine every inch of this cell over the years, back when he was very young and still thought of this as some sort of training exercise. There was nothing, not a single crack or break in the walls and ceiling and floor for sound to pump through. Both the door and its food panel slid neatly into place in the wall, nearly seamless where they met. When they slid open, it was near-silent.

And yet his ears were ringing, had been ringing, wouldn’t stop ringing. Hawks didn’t remember a time when a dull ringing noise wasn’t echoing through his head, drowning out his thoughts.

He had perfect hearing, better than perfect. He knew there was nothing, but the ringing didn’t stop.

His skin was crawling. Something was creeping up the back of his neck, but there was nothing there. Where would some kind of creature even come from? He swatted at it anyway and was unsurprised when the only thing he got was the sting on the back of his neck from his palm meeting skin.

Hawks shook his head and pressed his back further into the wall behind him.

He had to keep it together. They’d let him out eventually. Until then, all he could do was wait.

***

Sleeping on the metal cot was hard. It had been years since he’d had to — the last time he’d actually been thrown in solitary confinement, Hawks had been a teenager. After his debut, missteps had been handled with stern warnings and increased surveillance and restricted incomes, things that were nearly imperceptible to an outside observer. There was something to be said for a good mattress and the ability to turn a light off, he’d learned.

He’d never been a particularly deep sleeper. It was one of the many things he’d inherited from actual birds, he had to assume. The League had teased him about it endlessly. Toga in particular had seemed to delight in seeing how long she could creep around his sleeping form before he woke and caught her; it was never more than a few seconds. (The fact that he’d been comfortable enough with them to let himself fall asleep around them at all spoke volumes, but not in a way that Hawks wanted to think about.)

He had never been a deep sleeper, but at least he felt rested. Inside the cell, he barely even felt that much.

At his best approximation, it had been somewhere between six and eight days. Surely they would be letting him out soon — even seriously injured, it wouldn’t be good for the current Number Two to be missing for long, especially when the rest of the country was a bubbling stock pot of fear and resentment and war. So many people had already begun to lose hope in the hero system. Hawks needed to be out there proving why it was still valuable.

Surely, someone had said something. There were constant meetings these days, war rooms with dozens of agencies represented, large scale attacks to be planned. There had been several plans wherein Hawks and his quirk and easygoing charm were crucial components. Those he’d been working with must have raised concerns.

Tokoyami, at least, had to have wondered where his mentor was. Or any of Hawks’ sidekicks, all of whom he had hand selected without the involvement of the Commission. (“For the authenticity,” had been the excuse, and even four years later, he was surprised it had worked.) And surely Hakamada and Rumi wouldn’t let him languish here in a concrete cell. Hawks may be disposable — or so his handler had proclaimed for most of his life — but there were people out there who cared about him.

(There were, he reminded himself, and then he’d killed one of them in cold blood. Twice’s eyes, wide and too-trusting, filled Hawks’ vision every time he lay down to sleep.)

No matter what had happened, there were still people out there who would be worried about him. He couldn’t just disappear. They wouldn’t let him.

He tried to imagine where Rumi could be right now. Last he’d heard, she’d been absolutely kicking ass and snarking back at the Commission officials who tried to continue toeing a line that didnt exist. They were staring down the barrel of a war, and Rumi had been determined to make them admit it. He could almost hear her voice.

“You’ve got yourself into some shit, I’ll give ya that.”

She was right there. The room was still sealed, and there was no way she would ever have known where the Commission’s Hero Project solitary confinement cells were hiding anyway, but there she was. One hundred and fifty nine centimeters of spite and passion. The dull lighting washed her out, making her warm skin turn grayish and sick.

“You aren’t real,” he announced, his voice scratchy. His throat ached from disuse. He closed his eyes tightly, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids until sparks exploded in his vision, and repeated it. “You aren’t really here.”

Rumi laughed, a sound that was somehow too loud for the tiny, silent room. It was all-encompassing, and lasted for a long, long time. It could have been minutes or hours for all he knew, but eventually the sound faded. He kept his eyes covered for a long time after that. When he finally looked up, the vision of Rumi was gone.

***

Hawks’ vision was filled with flames. He couldn’t feel any heat and smell any smoke, but all he could see was fire, bright orange turning to brilliant blue. The laughing was back, but this time it was Dabi laughing maniacally in the tiny room. Except his laughter turned into Endeavor’s, which turned into Takami Motohiro laughing, laughing, laughing.

He pressed himself into the space underneath his cot and closed his eyes and prayed for some kind of ending.

It was only after he fell asleep that it finally, finally ended.

These hallucinations were getting stronger now. It had been around a week, at his guess, since he’d seen Rumi. She’d been back a few times, usually to tease him for going crazy. But there were others.

Most of them were quiet — Twice lurking in shadowy corners that didn’t exist, his mother crouched and weeping by the toilet while her quirk’s eyes followed his every move, Tokoyami watching stoically from beside the door like a guard. Sometimes it wouldn’t be visual; he’d started to grow used to hearing Toga’s giggles from nowhere or smell the lotion Rumi liked to use. Once he’d sworn he’d felt Spinner’s claws on his arm,

He had woken up to the flames and tossed himself beneath the bed before he’d known what he was doing. It had taken him too long to realize that none of it was real.

Hawks had read once that there had been few real scientific studies done on the effects of solitary confinement on the human psyche. Most research had been on prisoners, and had pretty uniformly proven that it didn’t take long to leave serious, lasting mental scars.

He was beginning to see why.

***

He’d stopped trying to keep track of how long he’d been in the cell.

His brain felt like it had become a fuzzy, sloshy soup inside of his skull, making all of his thoughts form and melt together. It was hard enough to follow one thought to an end, let alone to hold onto a count of days that he was only half-confident was even correct.

He was sure now that he was never getting out. The Commission hadn’t forgotten him — he still got meals, so they couldn’t have. But it was clear that he’d been deemed useless to them.

Dabi was right. Hawks should have let him kill him when he’d had the chance.

***

There was something happening.

Hawks wasn’t sure what it was, but there was something happening outside of his cell. Something in the air was different. The oppressive silence bearing down on him from all sides had changed to a strange sort of static. His few remaining feathers fluttered nervously.

It probably wasn’t real. Something about being in this cell made his quirk go bonkers. Maybe it was too much time with no extra stimuli to focus on. It was like the quirk had started to hallucinate too, making up things to sense in a desperate attempt to keep itself active.

It was exhausting, and he’d stopped trying to parse the signals from his wings into any kind of actual information.

There was a change in the air, one that made Hawks turn his head to look.

The door was open. Someone was standing just outside of it.

Hawks closed his eyes, pressing his palms flat against his eyes, and willed the hallucination to go away. They weren’t going to let him go. He knew better than to even hope for it.

There was another noise from near the door. There was yelling somewhere, he was pretty sure. Somewhere far away. His feathers twitched and fluttered in an attempt to parse out words, but anything they caught floated through the fuzzy mess in his brain and he didn’t bother to try and catch hold of them.

Then another voice, one far too familiar. A voice that he hadn’t heard beyond its laugh in all the time he’d been there.

“Hey, pretty bird.”

His eyes flew open.

[ladyymiisa]

UP SO LATE?

summary: a late night visit from your sweet boyfriend!

tags: hawks x fem!reader, fluff, a bit of spice but it’s barely there like you have to squint to see it

author’s note: YEAAAHHH WE ARE SO BACK BABY i’ve had this idea for months now im so glad i could finally write it out it was eating me up 🤞 also on a scale of 1 to 10 how wiling would you guys be to read obey me fics 😋

it happens during the late hours of the night, when you're completely worn out from a long day of work, after you've showered, applied all of the lotions in your bathroom, and changed into your coziest pajamas. by the time you’re usually done, your eyes can barely stay open from how tired you are, and all you can think about is sleep.

just like clockwork, right as you settle into the most comfortable position in bed, you hear it: three knocks on your balcony door—one firm, two light. the all too familiar signal that announces his presence.

despite the tiredness weighing down your limbs and your body’s desperate plea to stay cocooned in the warmth of your blankets, the excitement of seeing him always overcomes your exhaustion. it drives you to get out of bed quickly, your feet carrying you eagerly to the balcony to let keigo inside.

a fact about keigo is that he never fails to arrive with some sort of gift for you. whether it’s a small flower he picked up on his way or a box of chocolates he knows you particularly enjoy, he always comes bearing something. perhaps it’s his way of compensating for the lateness of his visits.

tonight is no different. without even glancing at the shopping bag he’s holding, you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder.

the action causes keigo to let out a surprised sound, which quickly shifts into an amused chuckle. as he adjusts the bag with the help of two feathers, balancing it effortlessly so that the contents inside don’t get damaged, he embraces you back just as tightly. his warmth, mingled with the faint scent of his cologne and the crisp night air, envelops you entirely, making you acutely aware of just how much you had missed him during the day.

“looks like someone’s quite eager to see me,” keigo remarks teasingly, his voice partially muffled by your hair as he plants a gentle kiss to your head. “you almost knocked the daylights out of me, babe.”

instead of giving keigo a verbal response, you nuzzle further into his shoulder, concealing your burning cheeks from his view. he laughs again, which prompts you to grumble softly against his jacket.

“keep acting cheeky and you might end up sleeping on the balcony,” you warn keigo, drawing back from the embrace to face him directly. despite your words, your arms remain looped comfortably around his neck.

now that you can clearly see his face, you take notice of the faint blush reaching the tips of his ears. sly bastard, he has the audacity to tease you as if he were any better. fortunately for him, being the considerate girlfriend that you are, you decide to refrain from commenting on it.

unfortunately for you, keigo’s fluster is short-lived. he quickly becomes more daring as his hands, which were previously caressing the small of your back, move to rest on your hips. he gives them a gentle squeeze, drawing you closer to his body while his fingers trail lightly along your sides.

honey-shaded eyes gaze at you devilishly. your warning appears to have no effect on keigo; if anything, it seems to amuse him further.

he hums softly, a lazy grin playing on his lips. “oh, really? you’d actually deprive your poor, overworked boyfriend of your warm bed?” he leans in, voice dropping to a low murmur. “and your touch? your warmth?”

before you can even register it, his lips begin to trace a path of feather-light kisses from your cheek to your jaw, gradually moving towards your neck with slow, carefully practiced pecks. he’s clearly aware of the effect he has on your body, for the moment his teeth intentionally bite into that particular spot that has your mind short-circuiting, any retort you had prepared fades away. the way he works you up so easily is enough to erase any trace of tiredness from your body, replacing it with newfound excitement instead.

your arms tighten their hold around his neck. he feels the way your fingers entangle themselves into his hair, giving it a firm tug. the sensation causes him to emit a low, appreciative grunt against your skin. as keigo continues to kiss, lick and suck along your neck, you find yourself unable to suppress the soft moans that fall from your lips any longer. the moment his ears pick up on them, he promptly lifts you, his hands moving beneath your ass to support your weight.

without any complaints, you wrap your legs around his waist, allowing yourself to yield completely to his touch. at this point, there’s no use in trying to fight back. you’re in for a long, long night.

as keigo slides the balcony door open and carries you into the bedroom, he takes care that his feathers place the shopping bag carefully on your desk. seems like you won’t be needing the lingerie set inside it tonight. no matter, he’ll ensure that you find use for it next time.

[halfvalid]

the blade daughter, pt. 1

ABOUT

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

alternate title: dracule mihawk cures your daddy issues!

rating: mature

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!dracule mihawk | live action!straw hat ensemble

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 23.6k total | 8.3k this part

description: as the daughter of dracule mihawk, you've been living alone at home, unwilling to go out and find a life of your own due to the belief that your father needs you around. but when he sends you off to buy him a jacket, you end up running into a pirate crew—and a particular swordsman—that end up changing how you feel.

tags: mihawk's daughter!reader, female reader, canon-typical violence, cursing, no use of 'y/n', pet names per mihawk ('dear', 'darling', 'sweetheart', 'little hawk'), emotional hurt/comfort, sexual harassment (from nameless OC), slow burn

author’s note: finally she's here! i'm posting it spaced out because i don't want to overload you all with a 23.6k fic in one post... IMPORTANT NOTE: i did some research from the animanga for mihawk's personality, weapons, and home, but this is still very much only a fic for OPLA and not the other iterations of the material.

the fic is not exactly only a romance; it focuses a lot on the reader's personal character development along with her relationship with mihawk too. i hope you guys don't mind! i kind of lost the plot lol.

reader is mihawk's biological daughter, but is stated to take after her mother and doesn't bear similarity to mihawk. so the fic is poc reader friendly!

Your dad was late to dinner again. 

To be fair, Dracule Mihawk didn’t exactly follow a schedule. He was fickle—back when you’d been a girl, he’d been around all the time, because although he was a lot of things, Mihawk was not an absentee parent. But as you’d grown older, he started being less strict, leaving you alone for days and weeks until you’d finally matured into an adult. Mihawk spent most of his time away from the house, now—but you agreed to have dinner together every week, no matter what part of the ocean he was in. 

And he was late. 

You’d started cooking the meal early, only for Mihawk to not show up when everything was ready. Or after everything was ready. Or even when everything had cooled, and you’d eaten your fill, and waited in your chair for him to arrive. He finally showed up a quarter past two in the morning, the doors of the dining room bursting open to announce his entrance. 

You cracked an eye open from where you’d been dozing in your seat. “You’re late.” 

“I’m sorry, darling,” Mihawk said, taking his hat off and bowing with a flourish. He pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. “I got a little busy. Garp had me deal with a pirate in the East Blue.” 

You made a face at him as he sat down to eat. “Could’ve at least let me know. Den den mushi exist for a reason.” 

“Ah, well, my apologies.” Mihawk sighed, dramatic as ever—you couldn’t find it in you to be mad at him for more than a few minutes, though, something he knew well. “It would’ve gone quickly had some upstart not challenged me to a duel. So I had to spend the night.” He tsked, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “And then I went to visit an old friend. Red-haired Shanks.”

“I remember him.” You got up from your seat, moving to the kitchen to rifle in the icebox for a popsicle. “Another duel? What’s this week’s body count?” 

“You know I don’t tally such trifling matters, sweetheart,” Mihawk said. You shrugged, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen to watch him start eating. “This pasta is cold.” 

“Wasn’t cold four hours ago,” you said, languidly licking at your popsicle. “No sympathy here, dad.” 

“Fine,” Mihawk said. “Anyway, I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of the man. Tall, green hair, three swords.” He wrinkled his nose. “Said people called him the Demon.” 

“Roronoa Zoro,” you affirmed, slipping into the chair beside your father. “Scariest pirate hunter in the East Blue. You killed him?” 

“Clearly not much of a pirate hunter, considering he’s a pirate now,” Mihawk said, the scrape of his knife and fork ringing around the room. “Joined the man I Garp sent me after, this little boy in a straw hat. And no. I let him and his crew go.” 

You paused, voice faltering as you registered the words. “You let him live?” 

“Yes. He was rather interesting. I expect he’ll come find me later,” Mihawk answered. You stared at him, still baffled. Your father was a lot of things, but a man of mercy was not one of them. Your earliest memory of him exacting his power over others was when you’d been two, watching from your crib as he speared the nanny for calling you a brat. A touching gesture, for certain, but still. “But enough about work. How have you been, little hawk?” 

“Bored,” you said with a sigh. “It’s so dull on this island.” 

Mihawk looked amused. “You could leave. I’m not restricting you here anymore.” Back in your teen years, Mihawk hadn’t let you leave the house—something about enemies wanting to kill his daughter or whatever else nonsense. He’d trained you personally, though, so you were nearly as fearsome as your father—able to beat anyone in combat in the blink of an eye. “You don’t have to stay.” 

“The house would get all dusty,” you protested, lips tugging into a line. And it wasn’t like you hadn’t done any exploring. Mihawk had taken you to all four seas throughout your adolescence, and you’d taken vacations to everywhere of importance. You just—didn’t have much of a point to leave, really. You very much preferred not to, something tying you firmly to the island, to your castle. “And besides, where would I even go?” 

“I hear the East Blue is interesting this time of year,” Mihawk said. “You could venture around here, but…” He shrugged. “The Grand Line is dangerous.” 

You made a face. “I’ve lived here my entire life. I can take care of myself.” 

“Certainly,” Mihawk agreed easily. “But it’s simply not worth it. You really should get out more, dear. It’s not good for your health.” 

“Maybe,” you said, but you weren’t very enthusiastic about it. “Here, I’ll clean Yoru for you while you finish eating.” You moved around the back of his chair, lifting his sword off the jacket he hadn’t bothered to shed from his back. You grimaced upon seeing a line of dried blood along the blade. “Dad.”

“Sorry, dear,” Mihawk said, and you rolled your eyes, carrying the sword over to the living room. You set Yoru down with a heavy thud, pulling out a box of materials. Mihawk came over to watch you, one arm propped against the doorway as his aureate eyes gazed down as you worked.

Compared to your dad, you looked relatively normal. You’d always taken after your mother—a mysterious woman you barely had any memories of—and the relation between the two of you was never immediately obvious. The fact your eyes were plainly normal instead of bearing the golden hawk eyes Mihawk had was another factor added to that, too. 

You pulled out a bottle of oil, pouring it generously over Yoru’s blade before grabbing a cloth to carefully wipe it with. “Where in the East Blue?” you asked abruptly, not looking up. Mihawk’s fork clinked along the ceramic of his bowl, presumably surprised you’d actually consider the offer of leaving. 

“Well, I could send you out to run some errands if you wish. I’ve got some things to attend to,” Mihawk optioned. “There’s this one store in Loguetown with a rather nice jacket I’ve had my eye on.”

You shot him a disbelieving look. “You want me to go to the East Blue to buy you a jacket.” 

Mihawk shrugged. “My birthday’s coming up.” 

“No, it’s not.” You slid your rag along the edge of Yoru’s blade, folding it in half before wiping the entire thing again to ensure there was no grime left. “Finished. Maybe I’ll just stay—” 

Mihawk gave you a look. 

“Fine. Loguetown it is,” you said with a sigh. “Don’t give me a crew. I’ll just take one of the sloops. I’ll get your dumb jacket for you.” You got up, tossing the cloth over a shoulder to hand wash later. “I’ll leave later today.” 

Mihawk clicked his tongue. “You’re so enthusiastic, darling. I can practically see the excitement oozing off of you.” 

You rolled your eyes, moving past him to go up to your room. “Short trip,” you said. “No more than a couple of days.” 

“The little hawk, so incited to leave the nest.”

“Shut up.” 

Mihawk had complied with your wishes, as when you woke up the next morning, he had already prepared a sloop for you to board alone. You packed some of your things, not being too fussy about the clothing or other objects, knowing that the boat was already well-stocked on its own. Mihawk waited to send you off, though you knew he probably had affairs to attend to by now. 

“Be good, darling,” he said, while you were loading up the last of your stuff. Just like your father, you preferred to wear your sword on your back; a present he’d given you at the age of thirteen. “I’ll call you. I’ve got business in the South Blue.” 

“Have fun,” you said, and he kissed the back of your hand before pushing you off. 

Loguetown was just how you’d remembered it, buzzing with civilians and pirates alike. The stores were plentiful, and filled to the brim with customers—it was all a little overwhelming compared to the peace and quiet you were used to. Still, it wasn’t a bad place to stay for a few weeks, and you might as well take your time there. 

You slung your coat on as you exited the docks, glancing around the town in search of something to do first. Since you weren’t especially interested in retrieving a jacket for your father just yet, you beelined to the nearest tavern to grab something to eat. It was a lot easier traveling without Mihawk at your side—as much as you loved him, he had the habit of attracting both trouble and fear wherever he went, and he was near impossible to go out with. 

The tavern was full, but not too crowded, and you managed to slip over to the bar without much trouble. It seemed to mostly consist of pirates—rough men with flowing jackets and holsters of guns and swords at their hip, clustered together in groupings that clearly proved their alliances with each other. You were one of the only patrons who was alone.

You gestured for the barkeep, and she bustled over from where she was serving a particularly ragtag group of pirates. They were mismatched, colors oddly paired—a girl with neon orange hair, a short man with a straw hat, one wearing a flowery shirt and goggles and the last man dressed in clothes far too formal for a bar. “What can I get for you?” she asked, a thick brogue dragging down her words. 

You told her your drink order, still eyeing the group. The barkeep followed your vision and let out a sigh. “Don’t bother. Three men have already tried to capture him for the bounty.  Broke half my furniture. And we got a rule here, anyway—no fightin’.” 

“Does he have a bounty?” you asked with a frown. She scoffed. 

“Does he ever. Thirty million berry, child. Highest in the East Blue.” She shook her head. “That crew won’t let anyone touch ‘im. Hell, I think his first mate’s still outside cleaning up the bodies.” She sighed again. “Well, I’ll have that drink out for you in a moment.” 

You nodded, slipping into the closest available chair. Now that you were paying attention, you could see practically every pair of eyes fixed on the group—specifically, on the man in the center wearing the straw hat. 

Before you could ask another question, the door to the tavern opened, and a lean, green-haired man filled the doorway. You glanced over at the barkeep, a flash of recognition in your eyes. “That’s Roronoa Zoro.” 

“Aye,” she said, setting your drink in front of you. “If there’s someone who might be able to cash in that bounty, it’d be him. But believe it or not, he’s with the Straw Hat.” 

You watched as the pirate hunter made his way to the table the others sat at. The glint of his famed three earrings reflected off the tavern lights, and the sword on his hip swayed as he walked—but there was only one rather than the three you’d heard tales about. “Yeah, my father said something of the sort.” 

The barkeep hummed, turning to attend to a pirate who’d taken a seat at your left. “And who’s your father, lass?” 

“Dracule Mihawk.” 

The pirate beside you raised his head, turning towards you in almost alarm. Beside him, his crew quieted, and the barkeep glanced up to meet your eyes. “Dracule Mihawk?” she repeated incredulously. 

“He sent me to buy him a coat,” you said. “I don’t suppose you know where any shops are around here?” 

“Er, there’s a shop off main you might want to see,” the barkeep said, eyes flickering over to the pirate crew that had changed their focus to you. “Anything else for you, then?” 

“I’m good, thanks,” you said, taking another sip of your drink. She nodded, leaving the bar in favor of moving over to another table. The pirate beside you turned slowly, stool scraping against the floor as he sneered down at you.

“Dracule Mihawk’s daughter, eh?” he asked. “Care if I buy you a drink?” Behind him, the rest of his crew tittered. You just sighed.

“Sorry, my father doesn’t let me go out with anyone who hasn’t bested me in combat.” You knocked back the rest of your drink, glancing up and down the pirate’s figure. He didn’t look like much—two pistols strapped to the hip, a longsword on the other, a raggedy leather jacket with a hat to match. 

The pirate scoffed. “Please,” he said, though you could see his skin turning rapidly crimson. “I doubt you’re even related to him. No hawk eyes or nothing.” 

You met his gaze, lips tightening into a line. “I take after my mother.” 

“Biggest lie I ever heard, aye, crew?” The pirate turned back towards the rest of his men, and they cheered in agreement. You huffed out a sigh, trying your very best not to turn combative—despite everything, you were proud of your relationship with your father, and anyone trying to call you a liar for your lineage just left you vexed and angry. Before you could step away, though, the pirate turned towards the rest of the tavern, apparently having had a bit too much liquor. He raised his voice, practically yelling now. “Oi! This girl thinks she’s the daughter of Dracule Mihawk!” 

Out of your peripheral vision, you saw Roronoa Zoro look up, the rest of his crew glancing over at you at the words. You were distracted within a second, the pirate shoving your arm. “Hey, don’t look away, girl. I’m trying to—” 

You grabbed onto his wrist, nails razor-sharp as they embedded into his skin. “Don’t touch me.” 

“Oh, you think you’re tough, do you?” The pirate yanked his hand out of your grip. “Did your daddy teach you how to fight, huh? Think you can beat me?” 

“I know I can beat you,” you answered. The pirate reached for his sword, then, fingers tightening around the hilt. 

“Alright, let’s make it a bet then. You beat me, I believe your claim about being Mihawk’s daughter.” His lips curled back into an ugly sneer, and you debated stepping out of the conversation and just going off to find that shop for your dad’s coat anyway. Fights like these were never worth getting into, and you really didn’t want to break any more of the barkeep’s furniture after she’d let out her annoyances to you. 

Before you could, though, the pirate opened his big mouth once again. 

“I beat you, and you go to bed with me.”

You were whipping your sword out before you could even think, red flashing in your vision as you scraped your blade out from the holster on your back. The metal gleamed under the lights, white steel bright as day as you leveled it in your hand. It wasn’t the largest weapon, a perfectly balanced cut-and-thrust spadroon with a golden hilt wrapped in white ribbon. You tightened your grip on the handle. 

“I beat you,” you hissed, voice low, “and you’re dead.” 

He lunged for you, pulling his sword out in one solid stroke and meeting yours in a loud clang. You shot an apologetic look towards the barkeep, spinning on your back leg and kicking the pirate away. The force caused him to stumble, sword skittering to the side as you shoved it off your blade. 

One of his crew members had cocked a gun to your head, and you spun your swords toward him, blade cutting through the metal like it was butter. The rest of the crew stepped back, one or two of them lunging for you. You parried all of their attacks, shoving them to the ground until they stopped trying to fight. 

The captain had gotten up, a fierce snarl upon his face as you slammed your blade down towards him. He blocked it with his sword, and then went for various attacks towards your figure—you dodged each one of them, parrying them easily as you moved backwards. At the last one, you used your weight to buck the sword back in his direction, and he stumbled again. 

You ducked down, sweeping him off his feet with a well-aimed kick to his shins, and he fell, sword clattering out of reach as he dropped flat on his back. You towered over him, pointing the edge of your blade at his throat. 

“You want me to go outside to kill him?” you asked. The barkeep sighed. 

“If you don’t mind, lass.” 

“Not at all.” You bent over, grabbing firmly onto the pirate’s shirt and yanking him upwards. His crew made a move towards you, but you just shoved your sword in their direction, and they stepped away. You spun your sword’s hilt around in your hand with a flourish, then started dragging the captain out the tavern door. 

“No—wait—let me go,” the pirate begged, once you dropped him to the gravel outside and moved your sword to his throat again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t mean it—you’re a pretty girl, that’s all—” 

“I don’t date men who can’t beat me in combat,” you said coolly. “Lower your expectations.” With that, you spun your sword again, sliding it back on the holster of your jacket. “I’ll let you live just this once. If you ever make any comments towards a woman again—” 

“I get it. I’m sorry,” the man said, scrambling to his feet. You just eyed him. 

“I need another drink.” 

The tavern was dead silent when you returned to your seat, gingerly sitting back down on the stool you’d first occupied. “Another drink, if you don’t mind,” you said to the barkeep, and she nodded. A moment passed as she filled your mug, and then she asked—

“Is Dracule Mihawk really your father?” 

“Unfortunately,” you muttered, taking the drink she offered and taking a swig. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the Straw Hat pirate and his crew muttering amongst themselves. One of them nudged Roronoa Zoro in the side, and he grimaced, the loose shirt he wore parting with the motion. You caught a glimpse of bandages, wound tight with blood seeping through a familiar line. Yoru’s doing. 

Zoro stood up, making his way over to the bar beside you. He propped his elbows on the table, but he didn’t sit, nodding at the barkeep. “Another round for my friends,” he said. His voice was quieter than you’d expected; a low mutter and almost soft in timbre. He glanced over at you, eyes flickering down and up again before he spoke. “I tried to kill your father.” 

“Yeah, he told me,” you said. “Roronoa Zoro. What happened to your other two swords?” 

Zoro scoffed. “Your dad.” 

“He can be a little dramatic sometimes,” you said apologetically. He glanced over you again.

“You don’t look much like him.” He paused. “Figured I’d know if Mihawk had a daughter.” 

“I take after my mother, and he’s very overprotective,” you said, getting just the slightest bit annoyed about everyone questioning your parentage. The barkeep returned then, sliding five beers across the table over to Zoro, and you stood up. “Now if you’d excuse me, I have some shopping to do.” 

You exited the tavern after paying your tab, wandering around the streets of Loguetown to find the closest clothing store. Your father’s style was ridiculously grand, so it’d be something in the nicer branch of the city—you had just entered your best guess when you pulled out a shell phone, pushing the little snail into your ear and calling your father’s number. 

He picked up on the first ring. “What is it, darling?” 

“Did you have a specific coat in mind?” You glanced through a row of black leather, trying to find one that’d match Mihawk’s liking. “I’m at this place called Lady Tide’s Dressing Boutique. It’s the bougiest place I could find.” 

“Lady Tide’s would be correct,” Mihawk said. “I trust your taste. Pick something I’d like.” 

“You better be paying me back for this,” you threatened, turning the corner as you spoke. You jumped back in surprise, letting out a squeak as the Straw Hat pirate from before appeared right in front of you, a grin stretching up his face. 

Mihawk’s laugh crackled through the line at your surprise. “Get startled, dear?” 

“The pirate Garp sent you after is stalking me,” you deadpanned. The Straw Hat pirate’s grin only widened. “I’ll call you back.” 

You hung up, taking the den den mushi out of your ear and back into its case. “What?” 

“You’re a really good fighter,” the Straw Hat said brightly. “I’m Monkey D. Luffy, and I’m going to be King of the Pirates. You should think about joining my crew!” 

“I—” you stared at him in disbelief, mind reeling from the whiplash of his words. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not a pirate.”

Luffy tilted his head to the side in question. “But your dad is Mihawk.”

“That doesn’t make me a pirate. I just stay at home for the most part,” you said. Luffy continued following you around the store, however, even as you stepped past him to browse more jackets. You glimpsed the rest of his crew hanging around the store, though none seemed to do any actual shopping. You figured Lady Tide’s was probably out of their price range. “Why are you still following me?” 

“I think you should join my crew,” Luffy repeated. “Have you ever been to the Grand Line? That’s where we’re headed next.”

You gave him a look. “I live in the Grand Line.” 

“Whoa,” Luffy breathed. “Well, you must know all about it, then!” 

You turned away from him, picking a jacket off the rack in front of you and appraising it. Golden buttons, long tailcoat, wide lapels—not really Mihawk’s taste. You set it back. “Not really,” you finally answered. “Like I said, I stay at home for the most part. Haven’t done much exploring.” 

“Don’t you want to?” Luffy asked, taking a step closer to you. You flinched. “Your dad’s one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea! You should be going out and adventuring, not just staying at home and doing whatever Mihawk tells you to!” 

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice low. “I stay home because I want to. Not because my dad forces me to.” Your words bore no lie, but still, there was a rumble of uncertainty deep in your gut. Mihawk had always been supportive, but pirating had always been his thing. You preferred the solace of your own home, and there was no point in adventuring when Mihawk had seen it all before. 

“I’m just saying, what do you even do all day?” Luffy asked with a quirk of the lip. “Stay home and clean? Go out once in a while to buy groceries or get stuff for your dad?” He gestured at the coat you were holding, and you flushed, shoving it back onto the rack. “Isn’t it boring? Don’t you want more than such an average life?” 

“I’m perfectly happy with my life right now, thank you,” you snapped. “Go preach to someone else.” 

Luffy had stopped walking, then, looking at you with an almost sympathetic expression on his face. “Living isn’t the same as thriving, you know,” he said. “You should go out. Find adventure. Aren’t there things you want to know? Questions you want answered?” 

“Luffy.” You turned to see Roronoa Zoro move to his captain’s side, head dipping as he spoke to him. His tone was quiet, but you could still overhear— “Leave her alone. We’ve got business.” 

Luffy looked dejected at that, but he agreed, bowing his head towards you before turning to the rest of his crew. They’d gathered by the mouth of the store, engaged in their own various activities as they waited. You watched Luffy turn to leave, words climbing up your throat even as you tried to swallow them down. “Wait!” 

Luffy turned, that bright smile reappearing on his face. “What?” 

“I want to know one thing,” you said, taking a step closer to the captain and his first mate. You glanced up at Zoro, who met your gaze. His face seemed carved of steel, skin bearing no grimace, eyes betraying nothing. “Why did my father let you live?” 

Zoro looked away, and you realized he probably didn’t know the answer himself. Before you could speak again, though, Luffy interrupted. 

“Because Zoro’s the best,” he declared, capturing your attention away from the injured swordsman. He slapped Zoro’s bicep with a heavy thud, and you were surprised when the other man didn’t even flinch. “And he’s gonna be better than Mihawk one day. He’s going to defeat him in a duel and take his title and become—” 

“The world’s greatest swordsman,” Zoro finished. The words were muttered under his breath, clearly to himself rather than intending for you to hear. 

You watched them for a moment before finally turning away. “Okay,” you said. “Good luck with that.” 

Luffy stared at you for a moment longer, but Zoro was already turning away and walking towards the rest of the crew. There was an unsettling feeling in your gut, one you tried to squash. Whatever—you had better things to do than worry about some Straw Hat pirate and a retired pirate hunter. 

You returned to your browsing, looking through various jacket designs until you finally fell across one you were certain your father liked. It was ridiculously expensive, but your father’s taste had always been so—you purchased it without a second thought, slinging it across a shoulder and returning to your sloop for the rest of the day. 

To your great disappointment, the Straw Hat pirate’s words continued to echo throughout your head. His demeanor was off-putting, to say the least—the extreme amounts of candor and cheeriness he had made for a disorienting combination. Even as you tried to stop thinking about his terrifyingly honest words, you couldn’t. Don’t you want more than such an average life?

You sighed, mood irritable from the day's events. You’d returned to your sloop and hadn’t done much of anything for a few hours—past having a meal and cleaning up your boat, there was nothing to do. You mulled over your options, wondering if you shouldn’t just start the journey back home. But Luffy’s words came back to you. 

���I need a drink,” you muttered, donning your coat and leaving to attend the first bar you could find.��

You went someplace ritzy this time, near the peak of Loguetown where neon lights glimmered in the dark hour. It was crowded, and music blasted through the bar, pounding bass nearly making the floor reverberate. You slipped inside without much trouble, squeezing through the crowd and making way for the bar at the other end of the room. 

You bought yourself a drink, knocking it back in just a few gulps. There were marines patrolling around in the building, although none of them seemed too keen on completing any of their duties. Pirates walked around freely too, but these ones were more dignified than the ones you’d seen in the tavern at town. 

“You hear Straw Hat Luffy’s here at Loguetown right now?” someone muttered to your right. You glanced over with a furtive gaze to see who was speaking—two men, dressed in fine silks and coats. Swords dangled from their hips. Pirates, maybe, or pirate hunters. “His ship’s docked over by south port.” 

“You’re not going to try and nab him, are you?” the other pirate hunter asked, fingers pinched around a thin glass of something. “That bounty’s hefty, but fighting them’ll be…” 

“I’m getting a bunch of hunters together,” the first one said. “We’ll split the bounty. At midnight, once the whole crew’s asleep. I followed the navigator; seems they’re not leaving until the morning.” 

“Thirty million split between many isn’t much.” 

“Well.” The hunter made a vague gesture, a smirk playing at his lips. “I doubt we’ll all be alive by the end of the night, if you know what I mean.” 

“Right.” The second hunter downed the rest of his drink. “I’ll be there. Where’s the rendezvous point?” 

“Slip forty at south port. Come at midnight,” the first one replied. “My boat. Theirs is at fifty-two.” 

You turned away, knocking back the last of your drink before setting the glass back down on the counter. Your mind reeled, and you pulled out a pocket watch to check the time. Nearly eleven. Only an hour left. 

“Another drink,” you called, but you stopped after that one. Logically, you knew the Straw Hat crew would be able to handle themselves. Your father wouldn’t have let Zoro go had he not been an impressive fighter—and Luffy certainly had to have some tricks up his sleeve, having such a high bounty and all. But an ambush was an ambush. 

You needed to go home. 

You paid your bill and slunk outside, taking the long road down to the port. You were docked in the east, but you found yourself wandering towards south port, hands shoved in your pockets and sword heavy on your back. 

There was no logical reason to get involved with pirates, you tried to tell yourself. That was Dracule Mihawk’s area of expertise. That was Dracule Mihawk’s life. Not his daughter’s. You were not a pirate—there was no point in being one. Mihawk has done everything already. 

You stepped onto the pier of south port, the wooden ramp trembling under your feet. They were shoddily constructed; oak on water, with pegs every few feet or so and ropes thrown casually across the walkways. It was overcrowded with boats, too—ships of every kind and size, smushed into spots not big enough for them depending on how much you paid the dock men. The moon shimmered on the surface of the East Blue. She was calm today, waves lapping at the edges of the docks, tranquil in the night. 

You checked your watch again. Nearly midnight. 

Dock forty moored a relatively small ship, but it was crowded with men—ten or fifteen, maybe, and you knew they’d be killing each other when the fight was through. Thirty million berry divided between so many people was barely worth it. You slunk past them, counting the numbers of the boat berths. 

You knew the boat before you looked at the slip number based on appearance alone. It was large in size, a caravel sporting a gigantic goat figurehead. You stared at it, brows furrowed, jaw slack. Well, it was certainly a ship. There was a large sail boasting the ship’s jolly roger—a crudely designed skull and crossbones sporting the same straw hat their captain wore. 

With a sigh, you pulled yourself onboard, careful to not make a sound as you landed on the deck. It was quiet, but you doubted the crew didn’t have at least one lookout for trouble. You tiptoed around the mast, moving towards the foredeck.

You were just about to step a foot on the staircase when a gleaming katana came to your throat. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Roronoa Zoro was as calm as ever as he held a blade to your jugular, posture perfectly straight, eyes tilted in your direction. You glanced down at the blade, registering the smooth metal. It was the white-handled one; upon seeing it closer, you could better register its quality. It must’ve been insanely durable, more so than his other blades considering Yoru hadn’t shattered this one in battle—one of the strongest blades in the world. 

“What’s the sword’s name?” you asked. 

Zoro ignored your question. “What are you doing here?” he repeated. 

You sighed, turning towards him, although you were careful not to touch the sword. Zoro’s grip didn’t budge. “There are pirate hunters coming here,” you answered. “At midnight. An ambush.” 

Zoro still didn’t move. The night sky cast his entire face in shadow, the only light on board being a trembling lantern by the interior doors. You could just barely see the gleam of one eye, yellow light shining on his cheekbone. “Why would you come?” 

“Honestly, I don’t know,” you answered coolly. “My father let you go for a reason. It’d be a shame if you died before you realized why.” It was an easy lie—because the real reason was one you didn’t want to think about. Because Luffy’s words struck something in you. Because they rang true. 

“We don’t need your protection.” 

You shrugged, only one shoulder moving upwards before relaxing again. “Just a friendly warning.” 

Carefully, Zoro lowered his blade, the steel scraping along the edge of its scabbard opening before he slid it closed. “The Wado Ichimonji.” 

Your eyes were still on the sheathed katana. “Hm?” 

“The sword. Its name is Wado Ichimonji.” 

You tilted your head back, angling it towards the sword strapped to your jacket. “Hiru,” you said. “That’s mine.” 

“Day,” Zoro translated. “You have matching swords with your father?” 

“Just matching names,” you answered. “It’s a spadroon, not a kreigsmesser. Much smaller than Yoru. Birthday present. When I was thirteen.” 

Zoro eyed you. “I’ll wake the rest of the crew,” he said. “You can go.” 

You made no move to, consulting your watch as Zoro rang the ship’s bell. Five minutes to midnight. You could already hear the near-noiseless patter of footsteps on the pier. 

The orange-haired woman was the first out, fingers wrapped around a short wooden rod. She exchanged a look with Zoro, and he nodded towards the pier. She somehow knew exactly what he meant from that, dodging back inside the ship and returning, dragging a dark-haired man out. 

“Uh, what’s going on?” the man asked, stifling a yawn as he fiddled with a slingshot. Both Zoro and the woman shushed him. “Jeez, okay.” He noticed you then. “Oh, hey, you’re the hawk dude’s kid—”

“Shut up, Usopp,” the woman snapped. She’d moved by the boat’s side, ducked under the rim. The footsteps were getting louder. 

The blond man came out next, hands shoved casually in his pockets and dressed in clothes you genuinely did not think functioned as sleepwear. “Hunters,” the orange-haired woman said. “Ambush.” 

“Isn’t that lovely,” the blond man murmured. He caught your eye, and a smile lit up his face. “Well, hello there.” 

Both Zoro and the woman rolled their eyes. Before the blond could say anything more, though, the hunters’ footsteps abruptly stopped. 

The orange-haired woman spun up from her crouch, wooden stick extending into a long staff as she whipped it out. She slammed one end of the staff into an incoming hunter’s gut as he leapt aboard the ship, forcing him off the side of the vessel.

Everything happened all at once, then—you heard the slick shing! of Zoro unsheathing his katana, and the blond was up and running towards another gaggle of hunters within the second, legs flying in an assortment of well-placed kicks. 

You reached over your shoulder, tugging Hiru out of its straps. The blade shone bright under the moonlight, and you caught an incoming hunter’s sword with the lick of it, shoving him backwards as you spun.

“Why’s Mihawk’s girl here?” the blond called, as he slid across the deck, leg raising up into a spinning hook. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” He met your eyes and winked, leaving you staring in utter disbelief until another hunter distracted you. “I’m Sanji!” 

“Okay?” you asked blankly, letting out a huff of exertion as you whipped your sword toward the hunter. He’d pulled out one of his guns, wielding his blade one-handed as he fumbled with the trigger. You breathed in, recalling your father’s words from the thousands of hours spent training. Take advantage of any imbalances, sweetheart. Focus on the center of gravity. 

You aimed a sliding kick at the man’s gun, using Hiru to push against his blade. The pressure caused him to fling halfway across the ship, body thudding against the mast before falling to the ground in a heap. 

“Impressive,” Sanji whistled from his spot across the ship. 

“Shut up,” Zoro and the orange-haired woman said in unison. Zoro was beside the fallen hunter in a second, katana slashing cleanly through his torso before he spun and shoved the blade straight into an incoming man’s stomach. Sanji just scoffed. 

“Show-off,” he said accusatively. Zoro rolled his eyes, turning towards Sanji to argue, when you glimpsed someone at his back. You lunged for the man, sword cutting cleanly through his jugular before he fell across the deck, decollated. 

Zoro turned, glancing over his shoulder at the body and then up at you. “You’re welcome,” you said, flicking Hiru to the side. Spatters of blood dripped off its blade. 

“...Right.” The number of hunters had considerably thinned, only three or four left. The orange-haired woman was still fighting two of them, placing hits of her bo staff along two mens’ skulls. Usopp had crouched by the forecastle, firing pellets off with his slingshot. Sanji dusted off the final two men, until only the ringleader was left. 

“Wait, wait.” The hunter backed away until he ran into the ship’s railing. He scrambled for his pistol, but as Zoro, Sanji, and the orange-haired woman advanced on him, apparently realized the idea was in vain. “We—we can talk about this.” 

“I don’t think we can.” You turned at the new voice, watching as Luffy slipped out from the captain’s chambers. His hand came up to adjust his hat, crowned atop his head as always. “You came aboard my ship and tried to hurt my friends.” 

The hunter’s jaw fell slack, mouth drying over as Luffy came to stand in front of him. The rest of the crew had parted to allow him space, and Luffy titled his head up, the lick of light from the lantern shining against his skin. A crescent-shaped scar under his eye glowed bright, the skin paler than the rest of his face.

“Gum gum…” he started, voice steadily rising in volume as he extended his hand backwards, fingers curled into a fist. To your surprise, his arm just kept stretching back, limb getting longer and longer with a distinctly rubbery stretch until it was all the way at the other side of the ship. “Pistol!” 

His arm snapped back all in one, knocking the hunter straight in the jaw and shoving him off the ship in one, devastating blow. You stared at his flailing body, watching as he dropped straight into the ocean ten or so meters away with a loud plop. 

You turned towards Luffy, one brow arched in question. “You’re a Devil Fruit eater?”

“The Gum Gum fruit,” Luffy said brightly. He adjusted his hat once more, fixing it atop his head before reaching an arm out to pat you on the shoulder. “Thank you for warning us. You’re a good person.” 

“Don’t mention it.” You glanced down at Hiru. “Have anything I can clean my blade with?” 

“Sure! Let Sanji cook you something while you’re here,” Luffy said. “It’s the least we can do.” 

“Of course,” Sanji said with a little bow. “What would you like? Name anything and I’ll make it.” 

You eyed him. “…Anything.” 

Sanji let out an exaggerated sigh. “So uninspired. Meet you in the kitchen, then. We can leave the mosshead to clean up the bodies.” 

The orange-haired woman just rolled her eyes. “I’m going back to bed,” she declared. She glanced over at you, appraising you in one solid sweep up and down your body. “I’m Nami.” 

With that final word, she departed, snapping closed her staff and slipping back into the boat. Luffy, Usopp, and Sanji shuffled into the boat, presumably the kitchen. Zoro just sighed, setting his katana to the side to start cleaning up the corpses left after the battle. 

You made no move to follow the others inside, watching as Zoro easily lifted up one of the hunters. The lines of his biceps strained as he climbed off the ship, still hefting the body before finally placing it down on the pier. 

“Just toss them into the ocean,” you called. Zoro glanced over his shoulder, registering you standing there. He picked another body up. 

“I don’t want to block our slip,” he answered. 

“Fair enough. Any oil around here?” You wandered to the ship’s side, glancing through the boxes fixed to the deck. Zoro gestured in some direction that harmed more than it helped, really, but you dug through some boxes before unearthing something you could clean Hiru with. 

You worked in silence, slicking the blade with the oil and rubbing off all the blood and mess that had gotten onto it. Zoro was quick, piling up all the corpses and barely-alive bodies by the dock. He shoved a few of them awake with his boot. “Go find a doctor,” you heard him mutter under his breath. You suppressed a laugh. 

Eventually, Zoro climbed back on board, searching for his sword only to find it in your hands. You carefully polished off the last of the blade, then presented it to him. “You’re welcome.” 

“…Thanks,” Zoro said, sheathing it in one smooth swipe.

“The cut,” you said, glancing down at his torso again. His shirt was covering the bandages, but you knew they were still there. “It was Yoru that did it. Not Kogatana.” 

“The big one, yeah,” Zoro answered. You watched him thoughtfully, although you didn’t say a word. He seemed to get impatient by that, and was speaking just a moment afterwards— “Why?” 

You gave a quick shake of your head. “Nothing,” you answered, the lie slipping easily off your tongue. But your mind churned with thoughts, the mere brain activity making your stomach curdle. It hadn’t clicked before, but now—your father didn’t use Yoru on anyone who wasn’t worthy. And letting Zoro live—letting the entire crew go, against Garp’s orders? 

This was a more interesting group than you’d anticipated. 

Zoro eyed you for a moment as you were lost in thought, though he didn’t say anything to interrupt you. Once you finally looked up, he adjusted, clearing his throat. “Should go inside to make sure the waiter isn’t burning down the kitchen,” he said, straightening.  

You stood up, sliding Hiru into its scabbard on your back. “The… waiter?” 

Zoro shook his head. “Long story.” He gestured with his head, nodding towards the double doors. “Kitchen.” 

You followed him, the soft aroma of garlic and meat wafting around the room the instant you stepped foot inside. Everyone was crowded around the kitchen island, propped on chairs and staring as Sanji prepared a meal before them. You joined the group, glancing over Usopp’s shoulder to watch. 

There was a stir-fry on the stove, garlic and onions joined by various other vegetables. Sanji drizzled soy sauce along the pan, scraping it around once with his spatula before turning down the heat. He added in some rice—leftover, it looked—along with some battered eggs, mixing it all together. 

“Vegetable and chicken fried rice,” Sanji said, turning off the heat once everything had cooked through and starting to distribute it into servings. “I went for something universal because I don’t know what you like.” He met your eyes, flashing a giant, warm smile again. You took the bowl he offered, fingers wrapping around the warm ceramic. 

“Thank you,” you said. The four of you stood in silence, and you had the feeling that you were intruding. The crew was a tight unit, that much was certain—wound tightly around each other, ropes intersecting in delicate knots and bows. You turned your attention to your meal. You hadn’t had a real supper, so the food was a welcome surprise, and it was damn near close to the best thing you’d ever tasted. 

“So,” Luffy started, “Not to bug you about it a hundred times, but…” You glanced up. His expression was earnest as he met your eyes, lips tugged upwards in an encouraging smile even as he spoke. “Are you joining us?”

“Am I—? Oh,” you said, realizing what it was Luffy was referring to. “Is the offer still standing?” 

“Always,” he answered brightly. “You’d be a good fit for our crew, you know.” 

Would you really? There wasn’t much of anything special about you besides your parentage. You were as skilled a swordswoman as any, but there were hundreds better and stronger than you. There was no one thing you truly excelled at. “I’ll think about it,” you said hesitantly. 

“Well, think quick. We leave at dawn,” Luffy said. “Meet us back here at blue hour if you’d like to join up.” He smiled again, all unassuming, and it was hard to believe a boy so pleasant had a thirty million berry bounty hanging suspended over his head. He yawned, stretching out his long limbs. “Well, I’m off to sleep. Sanji’s next watch.” He glanced over at Zoro. “Why don’t you walk her back to her slip, Zoro?” 

 Your brows furrowed, about to object, but Zoro was already standing up. He opted to say nothing, leaving you to set down your empty bowl and say your goodbyes in a hurry to follow him out. 

The bodies on the pier had thinned, the alive ones presumably having dragged themselves to town to find a doctor. Zoro stepped over the heap of corpses, and you followed suit, walking in silence down south port. “I’m a little far,” you said. “You might lose your way heading back.” 

“I’ll be fine,” Zoro dismissed. “I’m… sorry about Luffy. He can get overly enthusiastic.” 

“Oh, it’s fine,” you said with a shake of your head. “Are the rest of the crew open to me joining, though? It didn’t seem like he consulted any of you.” 

Zoro’s brows lifted at that, though you weren’t certain why. “We’re all fine with it,” he said eventually. “Luffy wouldn’t invite someone who wouldn’t fit.” He hesitated, the plod of your footsteps creaking against the dock walkway for a few paces before he parted his lips again. “I’m going to fight Mihawk again, you know.” 

“I figured,” you answered. You could feel Zoro’s eyes on you, scraping along your skin like they were blades themselves. 

“You’re not upset by that?” 

“Everyone wants to kill him for some reason or another,” you said. “You’re not the first.” Though there was something undeniably special about him. The fact he was still alive, for one. “I figure you’re a long way from that, so I’ll have a father for a few years more until you try to kill him again.” 

There was something in the way you phrased your words that sounded so very ironic, and Zoro couldn’t suppress the light grunt from escaping his lips. It was dry, brittle—but closer to a laugh than a scoff, you could tell. “Is that your blessing?” 

“Sure,” you said. “I, Dracule Mihawk’s daughter, hereby allow you, Roronoa Zoro, to murder my father in a duel.” The lightness in your tone dropped. “If you don’t mind me asking…” you took in a light breath, letting the taste of the words melt on your tongue before slipping them out. “Why do you want to, anyway? Defeat him, I mean?” 

“I made a promise to someone a long time ago,” Zoro answered. His footsteps slowed as you reached your slip, the small sloop you’d sailed all the way to Loguetown calm as ever where it was moored. The black sails—vague, nondescript—sucked away all the light the moon attempted to cast on it, so it was even darker than the rest of the surroundings. “I told her I would become the world’s greatest swordsman.”

“That’s heavy,” you remarked, turning to face your companion. His skin was waxy and dull under the moonlight—aftereffects of the injury he still hadn’t fully recovered from. Zoro just shrugged. 

“Maybe. It’s my life’s dream.” 

“He’s a good father,” you said. “I think he’d like you.” You paused. “Well, he does. He wouldn’t have let you live if he didn’t.” 

Zoro stiffened, the lines of his body tightening, spine pulling up just slightly. You noticed the change—you always did. Observation had always been one of your biggest strengths. Maybe you hadn’t gotten the golden irises your father had, but you had hawk eyes of your own in that way. Never missing a thing, picking out all flaws and details in a scene. “I’m not sure if I want him to like me.” 

“He doesn’t feel hatred for a lot of people,” you said. “Just disdain. Though I’m fairly certain he’d have skewered that drunk at the bar earlier if he’d been with me.” 

“The one who—” Zoro looked distinctly uncomfortable as he remembered what the pirate had offered you. He made a vague gesture instead, just mildly vulgar in motion. You suppressed a laugh. 

“Exactly,” you agreed. “He doesn’t have patience for that sort of thing. He also feels no man who’s weaker than me in combat isn’t man enough to be with me, though I have questions about that particular rule.” 

Zoro snorted. “You could definitely do better than the drunk pirate.” 

“Right.” You glanced up at the moon, watching the steady silver glow of her face along the edge of the horizon. She was full, round and white, soft powder creasing the dents and shadows of her face. “I’m out for the night, then. Thank you for walking me.” 

Zoro shrugged. He didn’t say anything, so you turned away, stepping onto your sloop without another word. You ducked into the interior room, closing the door firmly behind you so you could finally relax. 

You had only a handful of hours of rest ahead of you, after all.

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

i'll be making a taglist for this series; just comment if you'd like to be added!

© halfvalid 2023

[starstruckkittensweets]

“Touch of Red” | Kinktober 2024

Formal Wear || Hawks | Keigo Takami

fandom: my hero academia Goodness gracious, formal wear is my weakness. So I thought about my beloved Hawks in it, and I started salivating. I think this is my first official fic centered around Hawks, and not a little drabble or blurb, so please be gentle! I hope I did our pretty bird boy justice. I hope you enjoy, my dears! warnings: public sex, formal wear + glove kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex, Keigo's wings go a little awry when he's all worked up, panty stealing, finger sucking, brief aftercare || words: 3.1k

If there’s one positive about this mandatory hero gala tonight, it’s the fact you get to spend hours upon hours admiring the extensive selection of outfits, from pristine pressed suits to gorgeous flowing gowns. Everywhere you look is a sea of color; deep reds, blooming golds, striking silvers, and rich blues.

You’ve always been a sucker for anything fancy, prestigious events be damned. Staring at all the freshly ironed suits, blending from stark white to enchanting black. Practically drooling over each dress, whether they bear lace, ripples, or sparkles. All of it catches your eye, has you sipping at your glass of wine far more often than you would under normal circumstances. You can’t help it; there’s just something about seeing so many people together like this, all dressed in their absolute finest, that sends shivers down your spine and your heart fluttering in your chest.

Keigo knows about your little obsession—fascination, you always have to correct him—and he intends to exploit it in every way he can. Tonight is no exception; he smirks when he catches you ogling at him from the side, glass practically trembling in your grasp, nearly splashing the liquid all over the front of your dress.

And goodness gracious, does he look beautiful tonight.

He’s chosen a simple three-piece suit with a red shirt underneath and stark black gloves, but it’s enough to have you squirming in your assigned spot in the room. Hair swept back, golden eyes sharp as they roam around the room, finally settling on you. Lips curling into a smirk as you grab a fistful of napkins from the buffet table behind you, praying to whatever god may be listening above that you don’t make a fool out of yourself tonight.

Your presence is all but required as an active member of the commission. Not as a hero of course, but working a bland desk job well into the late hours of the night. Being a hero isn’t exactly something you aspired to be, even when you were younger, but working for the commission isn’t all flowers and unicorns, either. But if there’s one positive your job has granted you, it’s being given the chance to forge a friendship with the winged hero Hawks.

Even if he’s been staring at you nonstop for the last five minutes or so.

Just ignore him, he’ll go away eventually. Don’t encourage him.

You turn back to the table, swiping a piece of candy from the tray in the center and popping it in your mouth. Savoring the sweet taste before sipping at your wine—and nearly choking on it when Keigo suddenly appears right next to you.

“Careful there, birdie. Don’t want you ruining that pretty dress. I gotta say, were you planning on matching up with me tonight? Or is it just a coincidence?”

Your face grows warm beneath his teasing expression. No, you were most definitely not thinking about the color of your dress when you chose it for tonight. Definitely not thinking about the beautiful shade of his wings, nor the soft feathers that mirror the lace stitched around the hem. And absolutely not pressing a kiss to the little feather necklace sitting in your nightstand back home before leaving for the gala.

“Coincidence,” you manage to get out through another mouthful of wine. Damn it, anymore of this and you’re going home drunk off your ass. “You look…handsome, Hawks.”

He gives a light scoff at his hero name; the two of you are all too aware of the precautions you have to take in public. No kissing, no holding each other, no personal names when unwanted ears are listening in. You don’t doubt there’s someone with a hearing quirk eavesdropping on all conversations going on within this room right now, waiting to be released to the morning paper tomorrow. And as much as you’ve grown to admire Keigo over the past few years or so, the last thing you want is to give him any unnecessary negative attention from the media.

No telling what they’ll do to you if they find out you’re warming his bed every night. Rip you apart like the savages they are.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he says with a wink, and you swear you feel your knees buckle. “Red looks good on you. That one’s gotta be my favorite one I’ve seen you in so far.”

His favorite? He can’t be serious…

You swallow hard and hide your face behind your wine glass. But he’s quick to swipe it out of your grasp with a clump of feathers; curling his gloved fingers around the stem to lift it up to his mouth. Your heart leaps in your throat as you watch him take a small sip, in the same spot your mouth was on.

The exact same spot—is he trying to kill you tonight?! Does he even know what kind of effect he has on you, especially when he’s dressed so…dashingly?!

Apparently he does, by the way he smirks at you over the rim of the glass. Licking his lips afterward, his golden eyes almost glittering beneath the light of the chandeliers above.

“What’s wrong, little birdie? You look nervous.”

He cocks his head to the side, taking a step towards you; and you let out a yelp when your backside knocks into the buffet table. It would be just like you to end up in a fucking splattered cake because of him.

Stupid sexy hero in his stupid sexy suit!

“I’m not,” you choke out, glancing over his shoulder to avoid his eyes. Thankfully no one’s looking in your direction, witnessing the winged hero practically cornering you against the snack table. “I…I don’t…” Your cheeks are on fire, blood singing in your veins as he keeps his eyes fixed on you. “…You just look good tonight, okay?”

“Aww, birdie, you’re too sweet!” He leans in close, nose brushing your own as he rests your wine glass on the table behind you. “I tried my best just for you, after all!”

Of course you did, you feathered fuck.

“How nice… I’m sure you have a hundred admirers in this room alone, with that suit of yours.”

“Nah, not really. Barely notice ‘em! The only one I can see is you.”

Charming. You give him a smile and start to move away, but then he’s reaching for your wrist and holding it gently between his fingers. Leaning in close, making you shiver when his lips brush against the shell of your ear.

“Boring party so far…wanna step outside for a bit?”

A thousand no’s are on your lips, but you can’t seem to say them out loud. Your mind is spiraling, heart pounding against your ribcage, echoing in your ears.

You can’t. What if someone sees you? What if you’re gone for too long and someone notices? What if someone thinks you’re together? What if this backfires on both of you? What if the commission fires you after tonight for not acting professional enough? For getting too close to their precious golden boy?

He smiles, stretching his hand out to you, and suddenly you can’t remember what you were so nervous about in the first place.

“…Okay.”

His fingers feel so good laced together with your own. His red wings spread out, guarding you from any unwanted attention. He waves to any other guests that glance his way, insisting that he needs some fresh air, maybe even a quick flight to stretch his wings and then he’ll be back. He’s always been easy-going and confident with himself in the spotlight, able to sway the crowd and have them swooning over him, hanging onto every word that falls from his mouth.

All too soon you find yourselves out in the hallway, where a handful of heroes and commission workers are gathered. Luckily none of them pay you any mind as Keigo leads you further down the hall. Far away from any prying eyes.

Suddenly he yanks you to the side, not a soul in sight on either end of the hallway. Tugging you into a random room and slamming the door shut behind you. A warm glow fills the room as he pulls on the little chain of the lamp above your heads. The two of you are panting, face-to-face with each other, tucked away in a fucking supply closet of all places.

His lips find yours almost instantly; you can’t help but moan into his mouth, painted nails digging into his soft blond hair. He wraps his arms around your waist, his wings around your body, peppering soft kisses down the length of your jaw, your neck, and finally at your collarbone. Your back hits the wall behind you; somewhere in the room you can hear a few items clanging onto the floor.

“Door’s locked,” he mumbles against your skin, “just be quiet.”

“I’m not the one who has to be quiet,” you remind him, but your smile fades as he starts to suck on the juncture of your neck. “Y-you’re the louder one, you know…”

His lips are heavenly, teeth nipping at your skin, his fingers toying with the hem of your dress. Instinctively you wrap a leg around his waist, moaning as he begins to grind his hips into yours.

You don’t have much time, locks be damned. Sooner or later, someone will notice your absence and start looking. You can only imagine what tomorrow’s headlines would read upon a reporter discovering the two of you huddled up in a janitor’s closet.

Still, you savor the sight of him in his fancy little suit, before pushing his jacket off his shoulders and burying your face against the collar of his dark red shirt. Leaving a few love bites of your own as he rests his gloved hands along your curves. Holding you in place, biting back a moan every time you hit a sensitive spot.

“Keigo,” you whisper in his ear, “I want you to fuck me.”

He allows himself a little smirk, before ripping off one of his gloves with his teeth. “Say no more, pretty birdie.”

His lips are hot against your own, his fingers sliding down the length of your body, right against the small slit of your dress. Your whines are music to his ears as he pushes your panties to the side.

“Aww, already wet, aren’t you? You weren’t thinking about me out there, were you? Having all kinds of dirty thoughts in front of all those people?”

He talks big, but if the tightness in his pants is anything to go by…

Your breath hitches at the first brush of his fingers against your slick. The collar of his shirt is rumpled, the first few buttons of his vest undone. Your dress is barely clinging to your chest at this point, both sleeves tugged down to expose your collarbone and the tops of your breasts.

“Hm? I’m waiting, birdie.” You whine when Keigo slips a finger in, curling it slightly but refusing to move any more than that. “What were you thinking about out there, that got you all hot and bothered?”

He knows the answer, he always has—but he still needs to hear it from your mouth. You swallow hard and force your eyes open, nearly fainting when you see those gorgeous golden eyes staring right back at you.

“I-I…” You clear your throat, the words slipping from your mind as he adds a second finger. “…Was thinking about you, Keigo…”

“Oh were you, now? I’m flattered.” He gives you a cheeky smile before rewarding you with a gentle thrust of his fingers. Your eyes screwed shut, you begin to writhe against the wall, bucking your hips into his hand. “Details, birdie. I need details—I don’t think you were enamored by my good looks alone.”

“N-no… It was—ah, fuck—y-your outfit…”

He leans in so close you can taste his breath, feel his nose brush against the apple of your cheek. “And what about my outfit, huh?”

“’S just… You look good, Kei—always look so good all dressed up…”

“Yeah I know, you got a thing for me in suits, huh?”

There’s no arguing with him as he begins to move his fingers back and forth. Curling them into you, whispering filthy words in your ear, savoring the way you whine for him to go faster. His pants are unbearably tight; he’d reach down to free himself but that means he’d have to let go of your leg, still planted firmly around his waist.

“Always drooling over me whenever I get one of those modeling jobs… You like it when I get all dressed up, huh? Chose this one just for you, birdie—knew how much you love anything fancy. Bet you like these gloves too, huh?”

He reaches his gloved hand up to brush your face, slipping his middle and ring fingers past your lips with a moan. His cock is straining against his pants as he watches you suck on his fingers, eyes dazed and hair strewn about, a thin line of drool trickling from your mouth.

Fuck it. He needs you right here, right now.

He makes quick work of your panties, nearly tearing them in half as he slides them down your legs and pins you against the wall. Bunching the skirt of your beautiful red dress up and around your waist, giving him a full view of your soaked pussy. He wants nothing more than to take his time and taste you, but any moment the two of you can be found. Gotta make this short and sweet for now; save the rest for later at home.

Your fingers fumble with his belt, leaving it loose in the loopholes of his pants, tugging down the zipper and freeing his aching cock. You swirl your thumb around the leaking tip, smearing the bit of precum that’s gathered at the slit. Leaning in to kiss his jaw, whispering for him to fuck you now.

The two of you whine into each other’s mouths as he slides himself in. Your nails dig into his back, legs wound tight around his hips. His wings flutter slightly, each feather trembling with ecstasy. Matching the beat of his heart, so loud he wonders if you can hear it.

“Keigo,” you grind your hips as best you can, eager for any kind of friction, “please…”

He braces himself against the wall, large wings twitching uncontrollably as he sets a brutal pace. Slamming himself into you as hard as he can, pressing you into the wall with every thrust of his hips. You’re nearly sobbing now, tears leaking from your pretty eyes, lips parted with nonstop chants, moans, pleas of his name.

First name, not hero name. Keigo, not Hawks. It’s always been Keigo with you, hasn’t it?

He smiles into your shoulder, suddenly glad he ever shared that part of himself with you.

“K-Keigo, I—”

“Shh, gotta be quiet, birdie.” He presses his palm to your lips, meeting your teary eyes with a smirk. “Don’t want anyone to find us, do you?”

You shake your head no, but the eager squeeze of your pussy nearly has his eyes rolling into the back of his skull.

“Oh, of course you do,” he almost laughs right then and there, still rutting into you like an animal in heat. “Bet you’d like that, huh? Someone to walk in and see you all spread out for me, so fucking wet and needy…”

He’s close, he can feel it; can never shut up when he gets like this. But your needs come first and foremost, no matter what. So he holds you up with one arm, sliding his gloved hand down to your bare clit. Drawing tight circles around the bud with his fingers, eager to bring you to your peak.

You twist and shudder in his hold, nails and heels digging into him, face scrunched up in pleasure. “Keigo—fuck, ‘m coming—”

“’S okay, pretty birdie—you can come, come for me, please—”

You reach your high first, clamping down like a vice around his cock, trembling in his arms as pure bliss courses through your veins. You’re so fucking beautiful, more than he could possibly put into words—and the sight of you losing yourself on his cock has him coming on the spot, groaning into your neck and pushing you up against the wall.

Neither of you move at first, too preoccupied with holding each other as tightly as you can. But then the sweat and mess below get to him, and he’s sliding out of you with a pitiful moan of your name. His wings are quivering, but he forces his feathers to move to clean up the place a little bit. Rearranging the nearby shelf, picking up anything that might’ve fallen in the midst of your lovemaking. Snatching up your discarded panties and discreetly slipping them into his back pocket.

“I expect those back by the time we get back out there.” But there’s no bite to your words, nothing but a lazy, satisfied smile on your face as he lowers you onto your shaky legs. Letting you lean on his chest before straightening up your dress. “Don’t wanna go back out there wearing nothing at all.”

But he shakes his head, allowing you to slip his jacket back over his shoulders. “Nah, I can grab a fresh pair from your place. It’s not too far away, I don’t mind!”

“Then if that’s the case, just fly me home right now!”

“Birdie, you know I would,” he says almost sadly, brushing a few stray pieces of hair from your face, “but rules are rules. I don’t want either of us to get in trouble.”

“Even more than we already are,” you mumble, and he giggles before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“Maybe so. Now wait here, I’ll be back in two minutes flat. Try not to miss me too much while I’m gone, alright?”

You roll your eyes and nod your head, and he kisses your forehead before opening the door as slowly as he can. Glancing at both ends of the hallway before slipping out, sending a sly wink your way.

“See you in a bit, birdie.”

And then he’s off, leaving only a gust of wind in his wake, and maybe one or two stray feathers with you to keep you safe. You watch him go, still dazed and drunk on love, leaning against the wall with heated cheeks. Leaving you to admire just how damn pretty he still looks in that suit of his.

[bubble-dream-inc]

hii! i love ur fics!! can u write something about medical f/reader and her being scared of Ghost and can't look him in the eyes (he makes her really nervous and shy) and Ghost kinda find it amusing:))

an apple a day...

At first, Simon wasn't fazed by the rumors about the cute new head doctor on base; that is, until he realized the effect he had on you - and how fun was it to tease you with it.

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Medic Reader

rbs greatly appreciated!

WC: 1,4K

a/n: hi anon! thank you for this ask, i had a lot of fun writing this <3 bear in mind i used the little medical knowledge from my brief pharmacist student era and i actually have no idea how medical regs work in the army so take these inaccuracies with a grain of salt lmao. thank you my love @chaoskrakenuwu for the beta read <333333

tags: profanity, pure fluff, medical innacuracies, female reader, Simon is a smug little shit.

Ghost was many things, but amongst it all, he silently took pride in being good at reading people.

At first, he didn’t know exactly why he was doing it, and later he’d come to realize it was an amusing game for him, oddly enough, considering Simon Riley was never a man to bask in mundane pleasures.

It started with the rumors around the base about the allegedly cute new head doctor. Simon had been around these men for long enough to grow used to their touch deprived selves thirsting over literally any woman that came close to their general vicinity, so at first the talk didn’t stir his curiosity - it almost never did; he didn’t like to gossip. This changed one morning when he woke up with a killer headache, and unwillingly made way to the infirmary to try and get some painkillers. Gingerly knocking on the door and waiting for the approval of whoever was on the other side - which came in the form of a meek ‘come in’ - he had completely forgotten about the rumors going around until he set foot in the room and instantly came across the new head doctor.

They didn’t do it justice. You weren’t cute, you were a fucking spectacle.

He blinked, seemingly expressionless behind the mask, but he embarrassingly had to admit he might have let his gaze wander more than usual as you looked up from the papers you were looking over, clearly confused as to why you heard your door open but not a word out of the person who came in, and, as you did so, he recognized all the emotions people felt whenever they looked at him for the first time: confusion, shock - be it by his sheer absurd size or the mask - and, lastly, intimidation. It wasn’t unusual, but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t bother a very hidden part of him, the fact he was intimidating such a small and seemingly harmless woman such as yourself. He had half a mind to speak first, but you beat him to it.

“Oh, uh…Hello, er, Lieutenant Ghost? How can I help you?” You clearly fiddled with your fingers as you stared at him with wide eyes, refusing to meet his gaze. Simon was slightly annoyed you already knew who he was - the whispers about him on base weren’t exactly positive, and he wondered what you might have heard.

“Yeah. Got one fuckin’ headache, I need some meds.” He was aware of how much more coarse his already gruff voice sounded, courtesy of the annoying pain and the sour mood he was already in, and took notice of the way the sound of it made your eyes widen even more. Clearing your throat, you mumbled something in agreement, heading to a cabinet near your desk, and he couldn’t help but watch you like a hawk - entranced by how you looked with the clearly frantic tied up hair and the white lab coat moving in tandem with your body. You looked so small compared to him and the thought made him more satisfied than he’d like to admit.

Finally reaching the drawer you were looking for, you searched it around for a bit until grabbing a small blister with four duo colored pills, hastily making your way over to Ghost and handing him the medication. You gave some instruction on how he should take it - once every six hours, if the pain didn’t go away, but not more than three a day - but he barely registered it, too caught up on watching you from above. Deciding to end your torture, he looked over at the blister on his hand and raised it slightly as if it were a toast.

“Cheers. Thanks, doc.”

With that, he left, not going unnoticed how surprised you were at his cordialness.

After that, he unconsciously made a habit out of it, popping into your office for the stupidest of reasons and he wasn’t even sure why; he’d find himself gravitating towards the infirmary, like a lost dog, to the point you updated his file with the recently known information that he had constant headaches - he didn’t. Simon took some sort of sick pleasure from watching you squirm under his gaze, never able to keep his eye contact for long, even more so when you heard his voice, and things took an interesting turn when he realized you probably weren’t intimidated - but flustered instead. It clicked with him one day as he entered your office in casual clothes before heading to the gym and you thought you were being subtle about the way you ogled his arms in the tight black shirt he was wearing. As he was leaving, he subconsciously turned to grip the doorway above him - not by much - to bid you goodbye, and he couldn’t help but to smirk under the mask when your eyes widened and your face visibly reddened at the motion.

So, he decided to test his theory. That day, he didn’t even need to fake a headache to go see you, he actually had gotten injured when helping out with some maintenance, a moment of recklessness giving him a cut on his hand. If it were another circumstance, he would just have taken care of it himself, considering how desensitized he was to pain these days, but for once he had a good reason to bother you, so that’s exactly what he did. Even if his presence made you so shy, this time you couldn’t help but look at him with worry as he entered the infirmary.

“Ghost, you really have to look into those headaches of yours.”

“Not my head this time.”

He showed you the bleeding cut on his hand, and almost chuckled at the way your eyes widened and you got into professional mode, hastily walking around to gather materials he knew all too well - gauze, iodine, all fun stuff. Simon was used to the sting of stitches, but they rarely felt as gentle as you did it, the way he relished on how close you were while fixing his hand, a focused flash in your eyes, not helping his case one bit, even if it was slightly disappointed how all of your shy nature disappeared the moment you had to be professional. He could appreciate how good you were at what you did, though.

Too soon for his liking, you were done, going around mumbling about a specific anti-inflammatory you were going to give him while he admired the neat work on his hand. Still sitting on the infirmary bed, he watched as you realized where the medication was, which just so happened to be on the tallest shelf of the medication cabinet. You sighed, grumbling about the reckless nurse that always messed with the placement of the medications, too caught up in trying to stand on your tiptoes to reach it that you missed Ghost moving right behind you, noticing only when his torso was inches away from your back and he had one hand gingerly touching your waist, the way you shivered not going unnoticed. He indulged in the way you stilled, turning to look at him with a surprised expression, and he almost chuckled at how adorable your eyes looked when wide like that, but, instead, he only looked down at you for a few moments before effortlessly getting the medicine box from the shelf - which was almost at his eye level - and handing it to you, putting minimal distance between your bodies. Mumbling a small ‘thanks’ you averted your eyes from him, visibly gulping while you quickly found the blister inside the box and handed it to him. However, even after taking it from your hands, he made no move to leave, keeping his stare at you while tilting his head lightly to the side.

“Do I make you flustered, Doc?”

You blinked, processing his words before opening and closing your mouth like a fish and looking to the side, breaking eye contact.

“…Yes. I knew you were doing it on purpose…” You mumbled, embarrassed, and he finally chuckled, not a bit ashamed that you caught him red handed.

He was never so glad to be able to read people so well as that day, when he went back to his room leaving behind a bashfully grinning you and the promise to take you out on a real date whenever you’d be free.

[femoso-seben]

mini witch headcanon

Konig x witch reader

You are one of five sister witches, born from the same demon raised by the same witch who grew up together. As the youngest you didn’t have a familiar, you had seen all the familiar your sisters have. A bear, wolf, hawk, and a black panther. All majestic but very… cold.

You wanted something a little more friendly and a little less demanding…. However, the gods have deemed fit you have rotten luck. You were gifted the most horrendously ugly octopus you have ever seen. Slimy and clingy. Your first thought it eat. Deep fry it, with some nice sauces. Then the little squirt transforms. You could no longer eat it. You tried throwing it back into the ocean but the little filthy thing kept coming back clinging to Your skin. Its favorite place to hang out was your chest its tentacles touching your face. You walked the lands keeping your familiar in your hat. When the witch hunt began…. having a massive behemoth of a man on your side was very useful. ----------------

Fic here

@milkywayhou

[its-avalon-08]

Hey lovely, can i make a request for Daniel Ricciardo fic based on But daddy i love him by Taylor? You can have free reign on it, but just that line "me and my wild boy and all of his wild joy" is so Daniel and has been stuck in my head for ages. Something fluffy and funny, so whatever you want (maybe even a pregnancy reveal 👀👀) if you see fit i just love that song and it's so big ric coded.

Love your work!!! Thank you so much 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

but daddy i love him (dr3)

(please bear with me this one is extra long, ily all)

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

the start of the most beautiful things in y/n's life were often masked by difficulties and plagued with the anxieties of life. but when danny was around, things just fell into place. time seemed to stop and the fast paced world began to still.

clutching their pearls, sighing "what a mess"

the air in your childhood home crackled with a tension thicker than the gravy simmering on the stove. you sat across from danny, his smile a little too wide, your dad's gaze narrowed like a hawk eyeing a squirrel.

"so, danny," your dad began, his voice gruff, "you're a… racing driver, is that right?"

"yes sir," danny chimed, a touch too enthusiastically. "formula one, actually! just signed with mclaren for next season."

your dad grunted, poking his mashed potatoes with a fork. "formula one, huh? sounds… dangerous."

"it can be," danny admitted, "but safety's paramount these days, you know?" he flashed a winning grin. "plus, the adrenaline rush? unbelievable."

your dad snorted. "adrenaline rush. sounds like you live life on the edge, son."

you shot your dad a warning glare. "dad, be nice."

he sighed, leaning back in his chair. "honey, I just want to make sure he's responsible. you deserve someone stable, someone who won't make you worry constantly."

"dad!" you exclaimed, cheeks burning. "he's not a reckless teenager, he's a professional athlete! and he takes care of himself."

screaming "but daddy i love him!"

danny, bless his heart, interjected, "exactly! I train like a champion, eat healthy, the whole nine yards. your daughter's in good hands, sir."

the tension remained, a thick fog in the air. dinner progressed in tense silence, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery. you stole glances at danny, his usual sunny disposition dampened. it broke your heart.

suddenly, your dad cleared his throat. "so, danny," he began, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "you said you race for mclaren? ever met lewis hamilton?"

you watched in surprise as danny's face lit up. "met him? I race alongside him! absolute legend, that man. we have some epic battles on the track."

for the next hour, the conversation flowed. your dad, a former racing enthusiast himself, peppered danny with questions about the sport, its history, the intricacies of car setup. danny, more than happy to oblige, regaled him with stories, technical details, even pulling out his phone to show pictures of him with lewis.

by the end of the night, your dad was chuckling at a particularly funny anecdote about a rogue pigeon causing a pit stop delay. he clapped danny on the back with a newfound warmth. "alright, alright, danny. you alright in my book. just take care of my daughter, you hear?"

danny, his grin back in full force, squeezed your hand. "wouldn't dream of it, sir. consider yourself one of my biggest fans from now on."

as you walked danny to his car later, a comfortable silence settled between you. "thanks for being patient with him," you whispered, leaning into his side.

i know he's crazy but he's the one i want

he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close. "your dad just wants the best for you, that's all. and seeing you happy… that's all I want too." he planted a soft kiss on your forehead. "besides, I think I scored some serious brownie points tonight, wouldn't you say?"

you laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. "maybe just enough to convince him that a formula one driver can be perfectly responsible... especially when he makes my daughter this happy."

time skip

the sun beat down on the golden sands of miami beach, the gentle waves lapping at the shore lulling you into a state of pure bliss. sprawled out on your beach towel, sunglasses perched on your nose, you were lost in a trashy romance novel, the sound of danny's playful laughter occasionally breaking through your concentration.

suddenly, a shadow fell over you. you peeked over your sunglasses to see danny, a mischievous glint in his eyes, standing over you. before you could even register what was happening, he swooped down, scooping you up in his arms like a prize.

now i'm dancing in my dress in the sun and

"hey!" you shrieked, a surprised laugh escaping your lips. the book tumbled into the sand, forgotten.

with a triumphant yell, danny sprinted towards the ocean. the cool water rushed at you as he plunged in, carrying you with him. you shrieked again, this time with delight, water splashing everywhere.

when danny finally set you down, the waves lapping at your waists, you couldn't help but grin at him. his hair was plastered to his forehead, and a carefree smile stretched across his face.

i'm his lady, and oh my god

"you're a menace, ricciardo!" you exclaimed, shaking your head playfully.

he just laughed, the sound echoing across the beach. then, in a flash, he was pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. you giggled as he dipped you backwards, the cool water washing over you both.

when he pulled you back up, his eyes held a playful fire. before you could say anything, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was warm, sweet, and tasted faintly of salt. you melted into him, the world around you fading away.

me and my wild boy and all of this wild joy

the kiss ended with a sigh, foreheads resting against each other. you looked into his eyes, their blue depths sparkling with love and adoration.

"you're crazy," you whispered, a smile blooming on your face.

"only for you," he replied, his voice husky. he brushed a stray strand of hair from your cheek, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your jaw.

you sighed contentedly, leaning into his touch. in that moment, with the sun warming your skin, the sound of the waves crashing in your ears, and danny by your side, everything felt perfect. you wouldn't trade this feeling for the world.

time skip

you fidgeted with the hotel room balcony railing, the bustling city of monaco blurring below. danny, oblivious, was humming along to the pre-race hype blaring from the tv. today was his big day, the monaco grand prix, and the nervous energy crackling in the air was almost tangible. you, however, were grappling with a different kind of jitters.

taking a deep breath, you approached him, the small velvet box clutched tightly in your hand. "danny," you began, voice barely above a whisper. he glanced up, a dazzling smile splitting his face.

"hey there, sunshine," he said, reaching out to pull you into a quick hug. "ready for the race?"

"actually," you mumbled, biting your lip, "there's something I need to tell you before you go."

he frowned playfully, his brow crinkling in mock seriousness. "is it that you secretly placed a giant shoey on toto wolff's yacht?"

you laughed, a little relieved at the lighter mood. "no, nothing like that. it's… well, it's important."

he set the tv remote down, his smile softening. "alright, come here," he patted the space next to him on the plush couch. you sat down, fiddling with the box in your lap. the words seemed to get stuck in your throat, a tangled mess of nerves.

"danny," you tried again, voice shaking slightly, "we might need to… postpone those post-race victory celebrations."

now I'm running with my dress unbuttoned

he chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "losing faith in your honey badger already? don't worry, I've got this."

frustration bubbled up. "no, it's not that! it's… it's…" you squeezed the box so hard your knuckles turned white. "i'm pregnant, danny!"

the playful smile vanished, replaced by a look of utter confusion. "pre… what now?" he asked, brow furrowed.

panic clawed at you. was this the wrong approach? "pregnant! as in, a baby, danny! we're having a baby!" you blurted out, your voice bordering on a squeak.

i'm having his baby

the confusion on his face morphed into a look of dawning realization. his eyes widened, then welled up with tears. a choked sob escaped his lips. he whipped his head towards the balcony door and threw it open, a joyous yell erupting from his throat.

"we're having a baby!" he bellowed across the bustling streets of monte carlo, his voice thick with emotion.

i know he's crazy but he's the one i want

he turned back to you, a goofy grin splitting his face, tears streaming down his cheeks. before you could even react, he swept you into a tight embrace, the box tumbling onto the floor with a soft thud. he squeezed you like a lifeline, muttering incoherent words of joy into your hair.

his emotions were infectious. you clung to him, tears welling up in your own eyes. he pulled back, his hands cupping your face. he peppered your cheeks, forehead, your nose, with kisses, every kiss filled with a love so profound it took your breath away.

"this is… this is incredible, y/n," he finally managed to say, his voice hoarse. he pulled you close again, resting his forehead against yours. "we're having a baby. we're going to be parents."

he was chaos, he was revelry

the celebratory noises from outside were a distant hum, drowned out by the frantic thumping of your heart and the overwhelming sense of happiness washing over you. in that moment, in danny's arms, with the promise of a new life growing inside you, the world seemed to shimmer with possibility. you couldn't wait to start this incredible adventure together.

but oh my god you should see your faces

[tickly-giggles]

Feather Ticklish (My Hero Academia)

Warning: Tickle fic ahead!

Characters: League of Villains (Shigaraki, Dabi, Twice, Hawks)

Shipping: Technically DabiHawks but they're not together yet

Lee: Dabi

Ler: Hawks

Word Count: 2,683

Summary: During a meeting at the LoV hideout, Hawks notices Dabi looking more down and apathetic than usual. He tries to make him feel better, but when words don't work, he realizes he may need to take another approach.

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

It had been quite a slow day. The League of Villains had rather frequent meetings as of late, especially due to the pesky heroes getting on their case now more than ever. They usually consisted of what their goals were to be after they succeeded, an entire alphabet of alternative plans, and what to do in the worst case scenario - that being the heroes finding their hideout, a traitor in the League, or one of the League members dying.

The current meeting was regarding their newest recruitment, and how he was going to be of service to them. Shigaraki had a way of talking that made the meetings simultaneously entertaining, yet hard to bear. He was very passionate when he spoke, but his voice was shallow and raspy. Hearing it in large quantities didn’t help Dabi’s headache, especially when he had a tendency to ramble and go off topic.

The hot-headed villain rested his head against the big table they were all seated at, the cold surface stinging his skin in a refreshing way. Slowly, everything started to sound as if he were underwater, and he tuned out his cohorts’ voices. With a gentle sigh, Dabi closed his eyes and listened to nothing while he waited for his headache to subside. 

Bzzzt-! 

He jolted at the sudden vibration against his leg. With a low grumble, he fished his phone out of his pocket and glowered at the notification.

Bird Brain: hey, u look down. u ok?

Dabi furrowed his brow, then looked up at Hawks. He was sitting directly across from him.

Hot Stuff: Why are you texting me? You’re right in front of me.

Bird Brain: we’re in a meeting. i cant just talk over ppl

Oh, he supposed that made sense. Dabi rolled his eyes and responded.

Hot Stuff: Well I’m fine. Now leave me alone.

Dabi huffed as he placed his phone on the table, screen side down. He tuned back into the meeting - what was going on? … Ah, Shigaraki moved onto a different topic. 

Twice raised his hand, “I know we’ve talked about the heroes finding our hideout, but what’s gonna happen if they do? I’m not worried, they’ll never find us!”

“Even if they did find us, Twice, they would stand no chance against us.” 

Shigaraki put two fingers to his chin for a moment, then smiled weakly at his friend, 

“Think of it all like a video game. We’re an army defending an entire tower, and another army is coming after us with their own arsenal of weapons. We have to defend as much as we can and, in the meantime, we’re only getting stronger.”

He smirked and raised his arms out on either side of him, taking a confident, triumphant stance,

“We learn the opposing army’s strengths and weaknesses, as well, and that only further solidifies our victory!”

“We shouldn’t be too lax about it, though,” Hawks chimed in calmly.

He grinned at Shigaraki and leaned back in his chair, resting his hands behind his head,

“The heroes may not know about the hideout now, but we shouldn’t rule it out as a possibility.”

“Of course, which is why this is our course of action.”

Dabi huffed and rested his chin in his hand, absentmindedly watching the meeting go on without really listening to anything being said anymore. None of it really concerned him. He knew what he was going to do if the heroes infiltrated. He was going to kill them, every last one. He watched as Shigaraki took the floor once again, rambling on about yet another plan.

Bzzzt-!

What did Hawks want now?

Bird Brain: u sure ur good? u look tired

Dabi glared at his phone as he irritably typed back a response.

Hot Stuff: I’m tired of you texting me, leave me alone. 

Bird Brain: why’d u give me ur number then?

The hot-headed villain growled and placed his phone back down, a little harder than he meant to. He rested his head in his hands and breathed in slowly, trying to calm himself down. Admittedly, he wasn’t sure why he was so angry. He just felt very tired and wanted to be left alone.

Suddenly, his body involuntarily twitched and jerked as he felt something soft rub up against his side. He furrowed his brow and swatted at it, thinking it was just a bug or something. When the soft flicking persisted, however, his chest tightened and he clenched his fists in an attempt to keep the overwhelming desire to react at bay. 

What was going on?!

Dabi’s breath hitched as he felt a second offender flick against his lower tummy, and it was getting increasingly more difficult to keep himself calm.

Bzzzt-!

Not now, Hawks!

He opened his phone and his stomach lurched at the text.

Bird Brain: somethin the matter~?

Dabi looked up at Hawks, who had the biggest shit eating grin on his face. No one else seemed to notice how he was acting, so this had to be his doing. Then, it all clicked. He shakily grabbed at the soft objects that kept sending tingles up his spine and, when he grabbed one, pulled it out of his shirt.

A red feather.

If looks could kill, Hawks would have been turned to ash. The number two hero bit back a howl of laughter. He gleefully savored Dabi’s reaction, so much so that he sent even more of his feathers to attack the annoyed man.

“Grrk-!” 

Dabi gasped and desperately clutched his seat when he felt feathers on every healthy part of his torso. Most of his body was scarred, but the parts of his skin that weren’t were extremely sensitive. He was having trouble keeping it together, and Hawks’ odd form of entertainment had only just begun.

Bzzzt-!

Bird Brain: u havin muscle spasms or somethin? 

You asshole, you know exactly what’s going on!

He couldn’t even focus enough to grab his phone and type back a retort. He was going to kill Hawks for this.

Bird Brain: im actually concerned and u ignore me? some friend u are

We are NOT friends, you dick!

The soft tickling of the feathers was only getting worse. Some of them flicked back and forth very fast, while others slowly dragged up and down the sensitive skin. The duality drove Dabi insane, and his knuckles were turning white from how tight his grip on the chair was. 

“Hey, Dabi. You okay?” 

Twice whispered, placing a concerned hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Dabi jumped and swatted his hand away, 

“I-I’m fine, Twice, fuck off.”

“Jeez, sorry, dude,” 

Twice raised his hands in apologetic panic, then warily turned his attention back to the meeting.

The hot head quietly groaned, sweat trickling down his forehead. Laughter bubbled up in his throat like acid reflux. He squeezed his eyes shut and desperately tried to focus on something else. 

Bzzzt-!

Bird Brain: careful not to laugh~. dont wanna draw attention to urself

So he’s outright admitting it now? The smugness of that asshole.

Bird Brain: where else are u ticklish?

Dabi shot a glare at Hawks, though it wasn’t as intimidating as he hoped it would be with his quivering lips and flushed cheeks. Like he would tell him where he was ticklish. He wasn’t even sure himself. The last time he was tickled was when he was a kid, he thought he had grown out of it. The opposite seemed to have happened. In fact, he didn’t remember being this sensitive.

Bird Brain: thats ok. i’ll find out for myself~

Like hell you will!

“What?”

Shit, had he said that out loud?

He turned to Shigaraki, who was staring at him with a suspicious gleam in his eye. Dabi gulped nervously and shook his head.

“N-Nothing, sorr-eeEEHEHEE!”

He slapped his hands over his mouth and gaped at his cohorts in horror. One of the damn feathers had dipped directly into his belly button. He chanced a glance at Hawks, who was looking as confused as everyone else.

That damn snake!

“Are you sure you’re okay, Dabi?” Twice asked again, looking more amused than concerned at this point,

“You’re being ridiculous!”

Dabi quickly stood, nervously quivering as he stumbled out of the room without a word. The villains looked amongst each other, all wearing confused expressions, when Hawks stood and politely pushed in his chair.

“I’m gonna go see if he’s alright.”

Dabi stood just outside of the hideout, leaning against a wall and greedily gasping for air as he tried to calm down. Luckily, Hawks had shown an ounce of mercy when he exited the building, and his feathers were no longer assaulting his ticklish torso. Phantom tingling lingered on his belly and sides, and he rubbed at the areas desperately.

“What an asshole,” he muttered to himself after he finally regained some composure,

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Why’s that?”

Dabi whipped around to see Hawks exiting the building, a playful smirk on his face. He sauntered over to the hot-headed villain, who grumbled and stepped backward.

“Get the fuck away from me, Hawks.”

“What’s wrong?” The number two hero laughed,

“I just came to check on ya.”

“Like hell you did!”

Dabi heatedly pointed at the door leading into the hideout,

“What the hell was all that?!”

“All what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, birdie,” Dabi hissed.

He glared intensely at the winged hero as his right hand was engulfed in blue fire.

“Whoa, whoa,” Hawks chuckled nervously, hands up in an attempt to defuse the situation,

“Calm down, man. I just wanted to see you smile.”

The response was so shocking that the villain lost concentration, and his fire was extinguished. He gawked at Hawks, unsure of how to reply. He wanted to see him smile?

“What?”

“‘What’ what?”

Dabi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger,

“You’re a dumbass.”

“Well that’s not very nice~.”

By the time he recognized the teasing tone in Hawks’ voice, it was too late, and he was trapped. Hawks hugged Dabi up against his chest, hooking his arms in between his own and forcing them high above his head. The hot head yelped and thrashed to get out of his hold, but crumbled as soon as Hawks’ giant wings beat against his torso.

“FUHUHUHUHUHUHUCK!!”

Dabi tried doubling over, but the hero had him held tight. He kicked his legs and attempted to curl up, but nothing was stopping the overwhelming ticklish sensation. The incessant flapping of his wings caused the villain’s shirt to rise up, so none of his upper body was protected. Not only that, but the feathers were so fluffy and stiff. They were both insanely soft and dangerously accurate.

“STOHOHOHOP, AHAHAHAHASSHOLE!”

“Wow, you’re really ticklish, huh?” Hawks chuckled.

“I WILL ROHOHOHOHOAST YOHOHOHOU, BIHIHIHIRD BRAHAHAIN!”

“You’re not in the position to be making any threats, hot stuff. Tickle tickle tickle~!”

Hawks smiled at the ticklish mess he was making of the villain. To put it simply, he looked adorable. His hair was a mess as he thrashed and writhed, a giant smile split his face in two, the healthy skin on his cheeks was flushed a bright red, and his overall demeanor was entirely different from how he usually was. To see Dabi, of all people, completely incapacitated due to a little tickling was hilarious. More than that, however, it was humanizing. It gave him a glimmer of hope that these villains could have some level of empathy in them, too.

Hawks grinned deviously as three feathers detached from his wings, and flew to Dabi’s belly. He had to admit, what he made them do was quite cruel, but his laughter was addicting.

“I remember getting quite a reaction from aroooound… here~?”

Two of the feathers slowly circled Dabi’s belly button, while the third dipped directly in and twirled inside of it unfairly fast. The scream that escaped him was inhuman. Hawks’ wings gliding effortlessly across every inch of the villain’s torso, combined with the feathers honing in on his belly button, was enough to send him over the edge. His knees buckled and he would have fallen to the ground had Hawks not been holding onto him. Shrieking laughter quickly turned into silent hysterics as Dabi threw his head back against Hawks and practically fell limp in his arms. The hero’s face flushed slightly, and he couldn’t help but laugh along with Dabi.

When he finally regained his voice, he shrieked hysterically,

“STOHOHOHOHOP!! FUHUHUHUCK, IHIHIHIHI CAHAHAHAHAN’T! C-C’MOHOHOHON, CUHUHUHUT IHIHIHIT OHOHOHOUT!!”

“Sorry, what was that? I can’t understand you when you’re laughing like that~.”

“FUHUHUHUHUCK YOHOHOHOHOU!!”

“Maybe I’ll stop if you ask me nicely.”

“FIHIHIHINE!! FINEFINEFINE PLEHEHEHEASE STOHOHOHOP, HAHAHAHAPPY?!!”

Suddenly, it all stopped. Hawks released his hold on Dabi, and he came crashing into the hero. He eagerly sucked oxygen into his lungs, coughing a little as he did so. His breathing was labored and wheezy. Hawks noted the scent of smoke. He smiled at the villain as he rested against his chest, trying to regain his composure. 

After a few moments, Dabi’s breathing slowed, and he felt his heart rate return to normal. He looked up at Hawks, who had a hand atop his head, petting his hair. His face contorted into one of confusion, then anger, and finally mild embarrassment. He shoved off of Hawks with a grunt and dusted off his clothes. Hawks chuckled and followed suit.

“You okay?” He had the audacity of asking after a moment of silence.

The glare that Dabi shot him sent him into his own laughing fit.

“Lohohook!” 

He cackled as he wiped mirth from his eye,

“I said I just wanted to see you smile! You can’t be mad at me for that.”

“On the contrary,” Dabi growled,

“I’m furious.”

“You looked adorable~.”

Dabi’s breath hitched and his face went red all over again. He told himself it was only due to the residual tingling on his skin.

“Do that again and I’ll kill you.”

“What, ya don’t like being tickled?”

“Was me screaming for you to stop not an indication?”

“I dunno, man, some people actually do like it.”

“Yeah, well those people are psychotic.”

“Says the mass murderer.”

Dabi stared at Hawks, not really sure how to respond to that. He simply furrowed his brow and rolled his eyes,

“Why was seeing me smile such a big deal anyway, birdbrain?”

“Well, like I said, you looked down. ‘sides, I never see you smile aside from an occasional smirk here and there,”

Hawks shrugged and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, feeling bashful all of a sudden,

“Watching you laugh like that, without a care in the world, it was cute. You looked happy.”

Happy?

Dabi’s glare returned, but only for a short moment. Finally, he sighed and moved to head back inside of the hideout.

“Whatever, hope you had fun. Cuz you’re never doing that again. Oh, and one more thing.”

Hawks moved to follow him, but stopped when he turned around to address him a final time.

“Watch your back, birdie.”

With that, he walked inside without another word. A shiver ran up Hawks’ spine. What did he mean by that? Deciding not to think much of it, the number two hero simply followed Dabi back inside and reclaimed his seat at the table. 

Everyone was still there, waiting, and Shigaraki scoffed when they finally returned.

“About time. Can I continue now?”

“Sorry about that,”

Dabi replied calmly,

“Go ahead.”

As Shigaraki started his explanation from where he left off, the hot-headed villain glanced at Hawks. A feeling of triumph washed over him as he examined the hero’s face. He looked calm on the outside, but it was clear to Dabi that he was quite nervous. A low chuckle escaped Dabi’s lips, causing Hawks to shoot his gaze over to him.

When they caught each other’s eyes, neither of them emoted for a few moments. Then, Dabi made a simple motion of his thumb running across his own throat with an evil smirk on his face.

Hawks gulped. He was doomed.

A/N: I wrote a sequel! You can find it here: Watch Your Back :D

[h00nerz]

spots on!

EPILOGUE

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warnings: none afaik :)

authors note: and just like that… it’s finished! there was a lot more i wanted to add to this fic like yeonjun’s dad being hawk moth and stuff like that but idk it was tew much going on maybe i’ll make a oneshot in the future based off of that but we’ll see. also don’t worry guys mark lee got a girlfriend i just didn’t have enough pictures to show it 😒 yeonjun dance instructor y/n moving up in the fashion world everyone is happy 💕

ty all for reading this fic and i hope you enjoyed reading it as i did making it!! lots of love

tag list: (closed) @therealhyunjingf @jakeshands @impureperhaps @mazeinthemoon @tyunlatte @loveliii @exohclipse @txtbrainrot @bubblytaetae @serafilms @iirene304 @snowfalltxt @choistick @lost-leopard-beanie @taekwondoes @captivq @aestheticsluut @surshica @suburbiataehyung @cecedrake2217 @omiomipepperoni @ttyunz @cher-bears @tyunner @eggomi @vianna99 @cookiehaos @90sni-ki @http-gyu @iad0ru @viagumi @reverbtunes @fatoompie @ahnneyong @cutiespaghetti @wonioml @emohazuzworld @taylvvrr @cowsmicwu

[from-memphis-with-love]

Songbird - Ch. 1 - The Handsome Stranger

Summary: The year is 1969. The place is the International Hotel. Valerie Pedretti, an aspiring singer, has a chance encounter with one Elvis Presley in an elevator that will change her life forever. Notes: To me, 1967-1971 EP is kind of peak Elvis, and so I wanted to write a fic with him smack dab in that time period. In the 1969-1970 period, especially, Elvis was probably the most handsome and alluring man in the galaxy. Lots of anachronisms and historical inaccuracies in this one, but just roll with it because it's fun! I based Valerie, in a sense, off of a mixture of Kathy Westmoreland, Joyce Bova, and Linda Thompson. Kathy met the real Elvis for the first time in an elevator, and that really inspired this work. Priscilla exists in this universe but she and Elvis get a divorce far earlier than in real life. Theirs, in some ways like real life, is a marriage of convenience and an "arrangement." Lisa Marie does not exist in this universe.

Las Vegas, Nevada, 1969

*

Vegas was shimmering mirage of bad decisions just waiting to snare me—a sucker-punch I never saw coming. The lights, the noise, the impossible promise of it all crashed over me in kaleidoscopic waves as my cab cruised down the strip towards the International Hotel. I pressed my forehead against the cool glass, watching slack-jawed as sequined showgirls and vacationers blurred by in streaks of neon and rhinestone.

The cabbie swerved to the curb with a jolt, snapping me out of my daze. "International Hotel," he barked, his voice an ice bath to my face. I shoved a crumbled wad of bills into his hand and  stumbled out and into a swarm of hairspray and cigar smoke congregating under the hotel's blazing marquee. Blinking in confusion, I took in the frenzied scene unfolding—beefy security shoving their way through the sea of pompadours, vendors hawking glossy headshots, teddy bears and "I 🖤 ELVIS" pins. The realization hit me like a freight train. This wasn't just any weekend at the International. It was the kickoff of Elvis Presley's residency. Ground zero for absolute Elvis mania.

The irritation set in, simmering beneath my skin. "Shit," I muttered, suddenly feeling foolish for forgetting. Of all the rotten luck. Out of all the times to visit Las Vegas, I had unwittingly chosen the kickoff of Elvis's shows—an event drawing crowds I had no desire to mingle with.

I wove through the throng, lugging my cumbersome suitcases behind me. Inside the lobby was even more chaotic—a swirling kaleidoscope of big-haired fans and cigarette smoke lingering over shag carpet. Elvis was everywhere, his angelic face beaming down from posters, gold records, life-sized cardboard cutouts. A veritable religious shrine. Groaning internally, I caught my bedraggled reflection in a mirrored column. Of course I would show up to the Presley Promised Land looking like something the cat dragged in. Normally I'd at least try to pull myself together for check-in, maybe swipe on some lipstick or fluff my chocolate curls into place. After all, I didn't want to look terrible in front of people dressed to the nines. But after the day I'd had, I couldn't muster the effort.

My flight from Chicago had been delayed six excruciating hours due to "mechanical issues," which apparently was airline-speak for "sit tight while we screw you over." By the time we finally took off, I'd already stress-eaten two sleeves of Oreos and read the in-flight magazine three mind-numbing times. To top it off, I'd spilled coffee all over my only nice blouse right before landing. Clearly, some divine power had it out for me today.

Feeling sweaty and vaguely nauseous, I trudged to the front desk. The angular blonde behind the counter, Brenda, barely glanced up from her well-thumbed issue of Variety as I approached.

"Welcome to the International Hotel. Checking in?" She smacked her gum, eyes never leaving her magazine.

"Yes, uh, reservation should be under Deena Lovelace."

That finally got her attention. Her penciled brows shot up as she inspected me, taking in the coffee stains and rumpled slacks. "Wait, you're Deena? The Deena who told me she booked for the Sinatra audition tomorrow?" The doubt was palpable.

I gritted my teeth into a tight smile. "No, actually. I'm her friend Valerie. Deena got sick at the last minute, some kind of exotic flu, so I'm filling in for her."

Suspicion clouded Brenda's face, but after a long beat she shrugged. "Huh. Well, takes all kinds, I guess." She signaled to a bellhop in a red monkey suit and thrust a key into my hand. "Room 2806, elevators are that way. If you need anything, ask for Hector."

Hector the bellhop scurried over and hoisted up my bags with surprising ease for such a slight guy. I made a weak attempt to protest, but he just grinned and ushered me through the cacophonous lobby to the first hallway. The doors slid open and I thanked him, pressing a few crumpled bills into his white-gloved hand.

“I can take it from here, Hector.”

As I walked along, I looked at my reflection in the mirrored wall and exhaled slowly. My nerves buzzed like an exposed wire as I thought about tomorrow's audition. Landing a spot in the Sinatra chorus line seemed about as likely as shooting the moon at this point. I barely knew the song Deena had been rehearsing for weeks, my go-go boots had a broken heel, and my voice was ragged from practicing the whole weekend.

But damn it, this was the first real shot I'd had in ages to claw my way out of the chambermaid grind and actually make something of myself. To prove Ma right for always saying I had stardust in my veins, even when it landed me more trouble than applause growing up. I had to at least try. For all those thankless nights warbling in dim lounges, waiting for my big break. For Deena, who I knew would kill for this chance.

I'd barely begun my little pep talk when someone brushed by me, sloshing their vodka tonic onto my sleeve and snapping me back to the present moment. I weaved through the crowd towards another inner hallway, clearing my throat.

I turned on my heel and started hoofing it towards my room. The hotel's layout was an absolute dizzying mess of twists and turns in every direction. My thudding, ungainly footsteps were muffled by the shag carpet and the dulled roar of fans congregating throughout the hotel.

As I trudged on, the ambiance shifted gradually. The hum of voices faded away, replaced by an overwhelming silence that signaled I was getting farther away from the bustling core. Exhaustion tugged at my bones while I navigated the maze of hallways. My room was somewhere in this labyrinth, but my bed felt worlds away at this point.

My steps sank into the plush carpet as I drifted into a quieter, dimly-lit corridor that seemed less traveled. Finally, I found myself alone in front of a bank of elevator doors. I stabbed the call button and waited impatiently, my arms aching from the weight of my overstuffed suitcases. God, why did I pack so much useless junk?

"Must be close now," I muttered out loud, my voice barely audible.

With barely a thought, I slipped out of my heels and bent my toes backwards and forwards, allowing my sore feet to relish the heavenly softness underfoot. It was soft, springy, and absolute relief for my aching soles. Automatically, I began humming a familiar, nameless tune under my breath - just a few sweet, absentminded notes I always turned to for comfort when I needed it. The thought of finally washing this endless day off my face and jumping into a crisp hotel bed was the only thing on my mind as the gilded doors opened with a tinny ding.

*

The cab was empty. Relieved to finally have a moment to myself, I dragged my heavy bags inside and slumped against the mirrored wall. As the doors started to slide closed, a large, ring-adorned hand suddenly shot out, halting them.

I straightened up with a jolt, my exhaustion replaced by a flash of irritation. Great, just what I needed, another overzealous Elvis fan trying to cram into my personal space bubble.

But as the interloper stepped into the elevator, my breath caught in my throat. Standing before me, in all his smoldering, technicolor glory, was the man himself. Elvis fucking Presley. The aura he gave off was undeniable, that much was sure. And I recognized his face immediately, the same one splashed all over the posters and knick knacks in the lobby. There he was, outshining the garishly glitzy elevator cab like a supernova eclipsing neon. And next to him, a well-built redheaded man, his hand resting at something shiny on his hip. Bodyguard, most likely. Quickly, I shoved my feet back into my heels, silently cursing myself for having taken them off in the first place.

I blinked hard, convinced I must be hallucinating from sheer fatigue. But no, he was unquestionably real, from the polished black shoes to the perfectly coiffed onyx hair that shone like quicksilver in the light. His lean, powerful frame was draped in an immaculately tailored black suit, a shock of pink peeking out from the silk scarf knotted at his throat. But it was the penetrating, electric blue gaze behind tinted shades that truly unraveled me.

I'd never considered myself much of an Elvis fan. Sure, I could appreciate a catchy tune like "Don't Be Cruel" or "Teddy Bear," but I'd always been immune to the mass hysteria he incited in his besotted admirers. Yet here, in such close proximity to his cosmic charisma and undeniable sex appeal, I finally understood. This man was a force of nature.

The redhead caught my awestruck stare and chuckled knowingly. "I see you've met my friend Jon Burrows here," he said with a wink.

But this was no "Jon Burrows." I knew who it was, plain as day. And his affect on me was immediate. Was I dreaming? My pulse started racing. Should I say something? And just how the hell did this happen? I opened my mouth, then closed it, swallowing hard. Play it cool, Valerie.

Any lingering self-consciousness about my frazzled appearance just evaporated in the sheer force of his presence. Though judging by the unmistakably mischievous curl of his lip, my travel-battered state didn't seem to faze him one bit. His perceptive eyes met mine, always accustomed to the spotlight but now studying me with curiosity. He took in my slumped posture and visible fatigue without a hint of judgment.

"You've had yourself a long day, haven't you, honey?" That voice, richer than a Mississippi smokehouse, sliced right through me.

I could only nod dumbly, a lump forming in my throat. "I—uh, yeah. No. I mean... yes, you could say that," I stammered like an idiot. Get it together!

His smile was pure bewitchment. "Well, you'll be tucked in in no time, I reckon. I hear the beds are mighty comfortable here." 

I looked up at the ceiling in silence, tracing the swirling pattern with my mind's eye and trying to give off a vibe of cool indifference. But my stomach was actually rolling.  

To my surprise, he kept talking. "Pardon my manners. My name's Elvis, and this is my pal Red. Who might you be?"

My throat locked tighter than a cowboy's bullwhip. "Valer—?"

"Valerie." He drew the name out, savoring each note and curve as if testing its ring. Each single syllable seemed to undergo some mystical transformation, alchemized to pure liquid amber from his lips. "A pretty name for a pretty little songbird." A ringed hand discreetly adjusted the bejeweled cups shielding his gaze, maybe hoping to make out my sides better.

Elvis was still steadily playing the blue suede shoes off me, from his elegant bent stance to the teasing half-smirk barely shadowing those indolently hungover features—the whole routine daring me to go chasing his bait. But I was far too busy trying not to spontaneously combust. I screwed my eyes tightly shut for a half-moment, desperately grasping to regain some sense of composure with an oxygen-deprived brain. 

How did he know...?

Dumb question, Sherlock. The very notion conjured images of me, sweat-glazed and punchy-tired, mindlessly vocalizing sweet lullabies straight from my Off-Off-Broadway chambermaid days while I waited for the elevator. Of course he would've overhead that.

I cinched my mouth into what I hoped was a blasé half-smile, refusing to come completely uncorked by his pet name. I replayed the embarrassing moment in my head, wishing I could dissolve into the elevator shaft. Every breath I pulled in seemed to crackle with electricity. First I randomly share an elevator with The Elvis Presley, and now he'd overheard my nervous vocalizing and was complimenting me on it?

"Baby." A rich, salt-cured chuckle melted off his tongue, resining deep in my nerve center. "I got ears like a well-tuned radar dish. You in town for a show?"

I shook my head slowly. "Technically yes, but no. Just an audition," I replied, my heart thundering in my ears. I hoped he couldn't hear it pounding.

"Who for, if you don't mind me asking?" he inquired with that laser gaze.

I sucked in a steadying breath. Might as well take the bait since I'd already been barb-hooked but good. "I'm here for an audition, actually. Tomorrow. For Sinatra. I'm a singer. I mean, not like you, but hopefully one day..." I paused, unsure of how much backstory was worth burdening Elvis with. "Just got a last minute sub-in for a friend who's under the weather."

Something flickered across Elvis' handsome features before the mask of idle curiosity slid back into place. "Is that right?" His gaze raked over me again, slower this time, more deliberate. "And what will you be singing for Ol' Blue Eyes?"

Shit. Why was he asking me so many questions? My palms started to sweat as I racked my brain for a suitable answer. It wasn't like I could admit that I barely knew the material, that I was flying by the seat of my pants on a far-fetched favor for a friend. So I settled for a half-truth instead.

"Oh, you know. Just a little medley of standards. 'To Keep My Love Alive,' 'I Can Cook, Too,' that kind of thing."

Elvis nodded slowly, a shadow of a smirk still playing on his lips. "A classic set list. I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead, honey."

I started to stammer out a thanks, but Elvis was already moving past me towards the door as the elevator finally shuddered to a stop. He paused, throwing a glance back over his shoulder. There was a new intensity in his eyes when they met mine, a dark promise that made my toes curl involuntarily in my heels.

"I'll be rooting for you, songbird. Break a leg."

And with that, he was gone, leaving me weak-kneed and dizzy in a cloud of his smoky-spicy cologne. I sagged against the wall, trying to collect myself. What in the ever-loving hell had just happened? Had I honestly just been shamelessly eye-fucked by Elvis Presley in an elevator?

More importantly, why had I liked it so much?

I shook my head, trying to dislodge the treacherous thoughts as I finally stumbled out into the harshly lit hallway. It was late, I was tired, and I had an audition to rest up for. The last thing I needed was to dwell on smoldering looks from a celebrity Casanova that I had no business panting over in the first place.

But even as I went through the motions of unlocking my room and sinking face-first into the marshmallowy duvet, I couldn't stop my mind from wandering back to the electric encounter in the elevator. The way Elvis had stared at me, equal parts scorching and inscrutable, as if he was trying to crack some tantalizing code. There was no way I could have imagined that. The effortless command he'd exuded, the sheer magnetism rolling off of him in waves. How ridiculously, unexpectedly good he still looked, hips swiveling in slow-motion in my mind's eye...

I punched a pillow in frustration, annoyed with my traitorous libido. This was so far beyond the scope of anything I'd anticipated when I'd agreed to sub in for Deena's audition. But one thing was certain—my time in Vegas was shaping up to be a hell of a lot more interesting than I'd bargained for. And something told me that a chance run-in on a hotel elevator was only the beginning.

[brewed-pangolin]

Got a headcanon request, since it's Super Soap Sunday:

What is Soap like when he's your spotter in the weight room? Does he keep things professional, or does the situation evolve into something...more riveting?

*clears throat*

A million apologies for this being so late. This started as a headcanon, then turned into a drabble and now is a full blown fic. It's definitely not perfect, but whatever. Thank you @deadbranch for all your love and feedback on this. Hope y'all enjoy it, whatever this thing is. 💛

Slippery Soap

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

18+MDNI I can't resist gym rat Soap. Lots of teasing, tons of innuendos, pissed off Dom Soap, p in v, rough sex at the end. My typical filth, per se.

Word Count: 2.7k

It all started with a simple innocent request. You wanted to up your gym routine a bit and add some weight training to your repertoire. And who better than to ask than the buffed out Scotsman himself. 

“Hey Soap. You hittin the gym today? Thinkin about adding some weight training to my routine. Wanna be my spotter?”

First of all, the moment you ask him to be your spotter, he’s beaming. No matter where you are, his face is full blown flushed. Eyes glistening and those crystal baby blues are shining like diamonds. He’s a kid in a candy store and you just gave him the battered Mars bar mountain. 

But once you make it into the gym, it’s all cool, calm and professional. At least, that's how it starts…

"So, ya want me t'spot for ya eh, lass? A'right. But we gotta go o'er some ground rules first. Don't need ya blowin ya back out on me first go around, yeah."

Soap is the absolute epitome of safety in the weight room. It doesn't matter if you're a full blown gym rat or complete novice, he's going to start you with proper body mechanics.  And he won't be shy about it. He'll have his body flush against your back, hands pressing down in a delicate yet forceful manner to get you into the right starting position.

"Posture, bonnie. Most important rule 'ere. Ya go down wrong ya ain't gettin back up."

It’s subtle, He starts it that way. But you pick up on those innuendos instantly. You know this game all too well. And this is where the ball comes into your court. You can either let him continue with those sly comments and not react. Or you can counter him, hit back just as hard as he does. Just be prepared for what comes of it. You poke the Scottish bear, he’ll poke right back. Hard.

He'll start you on the free weights. Good way to get your body warmed up and ready for the heavier lifting down the line. And Soap will watch you like a hawk; circling, hovering, visually critiquing your technique and giving any pointers he deems necessary to correct your form. 

This is where an opportunity presents itself, and you can’t help but pounce on it like a cat to a mouse.

"Am I the only one that's gonna be workin here? Or are you gonna give me a sneak peak to the Soap Gun Show?"

Poke #1. He knows full well what you’re up to. Those blue eyes darken, and the smirk on his face may as well be chiseled into Roman marble. 

"Not bad hen, not bad. Ya gettin a front row seat, yeah. C'mere."

He'll motion you to the spare bench while he adds more weight to the bar. And he won't low ball this. Training lesson or not, he'll show off like a testosterone fueled peacock. Once he positions himself flat on the bench, he'll go over his posture and advise on the proper way to handle a bench press.

"Feet flat, an' legs parallel to the floor. That's yer counter weight. Naw, on to tha' gun show a yers."

You're taking his advice seriously, but you can't stop as your legs squeeze together to quell that oh so familiar ache within your core to his first press. And Soap's well aware of the effect he has on you, and is now fully engrossed in this back and forth game. He knows exactly how to hit back with weaponized remark. So he ups the ante a bit.

He grunts. And they're not just any grunts. He uses those low, growling vocals that reverberate over your flesh, goosebumps rise in waves over your skin and form a maelstrom of heat in your belly. And you take it all in. His taut skin, the rippling of his muscular arms, the veins popping under his flesh. Your eyes follow the sweat as they traverse the curves of his biceps and land in the divots of his deltoid.  After ten reps he places the bar back in its hooked placement and rears himself into a sitting position.

Skin flushed, sweaty mohawk, skin glistening and breathless; gym rat Soap truly is a sight to behold.

"Yer turn, lass. Take a seat."

You don't hesitate. Even as the remnants of his exertion pool into the leather of the bench, you quickly line yourself up to the head, and following his advice position yourself just as he had instructed. Once he removed enough weights to be more fitting for your abilities he stood at the head, hands under the bars and motioned you to take them within your grasp. And as your eyes met he had to add his own quarrel just for good measure.

"Ya likin the view, bonnie?  Grab the bar 'ere."

Oohh he's having way too much fun with this. Lightly he tapped on the metal and you fastened a strong grip around the cold steel. And as you brought it down to rest on your chest you again countered him with your own jestering quip.

"C'mon now Johnny, y'know I always love looking up to you."

Soap's chest flared up as he broadened his stance, a vibrating moan emanating from his throat as his feet cemented into the floor and displayed a completely assertive posture. You were slowly breaking away at his control of this situation, and he didn't fully comprehend how to handle it. He couldn't very well bend you over, you were in a public place after all.

You took his wavering control into your hands, and as you began your presses you locked eyes with him. Not even bothering to count. And the flirtatious curling of your lips must have hit a nerve, accompanied by the view of you straining with a light glistening of perspiration over your skin. Soap was going down. Fast. 

Instantly, his hands laced into the hem of his sweatpants to readjust himself; clearly you were having a profound effect on him. You had barely done ten reps before Soap grabbed the bar from your hands, forcefully putting it back into its hooked resting place. 

"Enough a'this. Up ya get. On to tha deadlifts."

The rumble in his voice didn't go unnoticed. You were more than appreciative that the weight room was deserted, but there were still patrons in the gym area, who thankfully were too engrossed in their own business to bother themselves with the flustering banter going on between you two. 

As you made your way towards the dumbbells you noticed Soap kept himself unusually close to you, and stood at an almost full perpendicular position once you had found the correct weight. The sight of him red faced and frustrated had you swimming in victorious energy. Soap was never one to lose his cool in public situations, but this was new territory for the both of you. And somehow you ended up with the upper hand, a circumstance that most definitely didn’t go unnoticed. And most certainly wouldn’t go unanswered. 

You cocked your head towards him as he stood beside you, eyeing him up and noticing just the slightest tent within the fabric of his sweatpants. And you couldn’t help yourself. 

“Ya alright there, Johnny? Looking a bit flustered.”

Poke #2. Your whispered coo nearly sent him over the edge. His eyes bore into you, like a darkened stormfront barreling towards you. The muscles of his jaw clenched and you swore the veins in his forehead were on the verge of bursting.

“Grab the weight, bonnie. Ya workin my last nerve.” 

It was barely audible, but the gravely tone in his voice was electrifying. You obliged him for his own sake, and did a full set of ten reps without a single word or act of defiance. You could feel the energy soften around him, whatever loss of control he had he was beginning to regain. Standing straight you eyed him again, silently requesting any pointers or advice on your technique. 

“Good form, hen. Now, let’s move on to..."

“I think I’ll do one more rep.”

Your abrupt interjection caught him off guard. And unfortunately for his sake, this was the last of the control he would have in this flirtatious quarrel. Quickly you turned and pressed your back into him, the suddenness of your movements not giving him any time to react. Slowly you bent down and as your hands wrapped around the ring of the dumbbell you cocked your head towards him. With the best ‘fuck around and find out’ expression you could muster,  you returned that coy banter that put this whole scheme into play.

“Ya likin the view there, Johnny?”

Poke #3. Immediately his hands grasped into the curve of your hips, firmly pressing your ass against his pelvis and feeling that delectable bulge in the fabric of his pants. Even through the barrier you could feel the throb of his cock on your flesh. Soap had folded in the game he put before you, and fortunately for you, he was a sore loser.

“Drop it.”

The bark in his voice sent a bolt of pleasure through you, adding to the death grip his hands had on your hips and the pulsing of him between your ass you were already teetering on overstimulation. Yet you pressed on regardless.

“The weight, smartass. Gonnae deal wit tha’ attitude later. C’mere.”

“The weight, or the attitude?”

Standing up straight against him, he pulled your hips in closer letting you feel him hardening in the crevice of your ass. His lips ghosted the flesh of your ear and his hot breath fell over the curve of your neck. 

“Ya testin my patience, bonnie. And ya a’ready got me workin a full stauner ‘ere.”

The flesh of his lips was warm, soft. At complete odds with the cold stone frustration that wrapped around his words. He began to rock his hips into yours, desperate to feel any friction against him, wanting nothing more than to bury himself deep within your cunt. You had only now noticed how wet you were, so focused on the game at play you all but ignored your own arousal. But you weren’t quite finished with this cat and mouse match just yet. 

“Its your own fault, Johnny. I just wanted a simple lesson, you had to turn it into whatever this is.”

As you spoke your hands reached around to his hips, and at the trailing of your words you wrapped your hands around his hardening cock. The feeling of him throb through the fabric made your pussy clench, ache for him to fill you to the brim.

Soap’s breath hitched at the slightest touch of your fingers around him. Instinctively his hips thrust into your grip, eliciting a guttural moan escaping from his lips.

“Yer a fuckin minx, y’know that.”

There was something so endearing when he used nicknames for you, but minx was one you cherished more than most. You knew you had bested him at his own game. You would flaunt your victory in front of him for days to come, but you knew all too well you’d have to survive the onslaught of poor sore loser Soap first. And with that thought in mind, you decided ‘what the hell, go big or go home.’

“Is that gonna be it for it today Soap, or are you planning on giving me a real workout at some point?”

Ultimate Poke. All that playful beaming faded from his face, and those bright blue orbs turned as dark as the deep ocean. He knew he lost the battle, but that last quip threw him over the defeated edge. Quickly he dragged you over to the wall and pressed your back against the cold mirrored glass. His arms outstretched on either side, thick frame caging you in, denying any escape from his sorely beaten fury.

“Yer askin for it, aren’t ya. Meet me outside hen, an’ I’ll give ya a real workout.”

With that, he left you against the wall. Heart nearly pounding out of your chest and body electrified in victorious conquest. You had bested your Scot at his own game. So many times he had won you over, making you crumble to his feet in utter defeat. You relished in this, bathed in the energy that still filled the room. And as you peeled yourself from the cold glass you looked around and reminisced on those silent victories littered throughout the room. You left quietly, your feet floating on the high your mind had manifested. And as you turned the corner to go down the back hall, with your head held high and a proud step in your gate you marched towards door and openly invited whatever defeated torment Soap would throw at you. 

*************

“Steamin fuckin’ Jesus, bonnie. Got me runnin fire hot ‘ere.”

The taste and smell of leather rushed over your senses like a barreling riptide, a constant push pull motion not too dissimilar to the movements your bodies were making now. It was the only thing keeping you held down to reality as you felt him piston his cock deep within your hole. You had won the battle in the weight room, but Soap would win the war in here; a spare equipment room where the stench of sweat and blood hung to the walls like ancient moss. 

Even now he couldn’t help but run his mouth. One hand with a firm grip on your hip keeping you still, the other held down in the crook of your neck forcing your face into the fabric of the overwarn bench. The earlier comment about “not blowing your back out” rang between your ears, and the memory of the events only minutes before played through your mind like a sultry viewmaster. 

You were basking in the torturous pace he had on your cunt when he unexpectedly repositioned himself and the head of his cock hit that bundle of nerves deep within your pussy. Your walls clenched around him, and a husky drawn out moan escaped your sweat covered lips. 

“No more sass mouthin eh, lass. Aye, know how to shut that fuckin mouth a yers.”

The growl in his voice went straight to your core, and that familiar pulsing ache began to build deep within your lower belly. Soap was right; your grasp on speech had all but left you. Words were foreign or nonexistent all together. As always, he knew just how and when to make you fall apart around him. Soap’s pace began to falter, his hold on your flesh tightening to an all out death grip. A telltale sign that he was close.

Desperate for your own release, your hand traveled down and found the burning nerves of your clit and began to swiftly rub at its pulsing flesh. 

“That’s it. Come for me, bonnie. Come on my cock.”

You were helpless against him. The walls of your cunt convulsed around him as your fingers continued to frantically rub at the flesh of your clit. The waves of your orgasm washed over your skin, goosebumps rippling over your overstimulated flesh. With one final thrust Soap buried himself deep inside you, both hands now gripping into the flesh of your hips as he pulsed his seed deep within your hole. Everything around you fell away; the walls, the stench,the feel of the cold leather against your flesh. All you felt was him. 

As you slowly came down from your orgasmic high he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and brought your body flush against his own. The sweat between your bodies melded with the fluids dripping from your cunt, still lightly pulsing around the flesh of his softening cock. Soap latched his lips into the crook of your neck, his tongue tasting the salty essence of his defeated wrath against you. As reality began to come into view once more, your mind finally regained the will for speech, and as usual you had to give him your signature ‘sass mouthin.’

“Shit, Soap. Is every workout session gonna end like this?”

He moaned into the flesh of your neck. No doubt there was going to be a bruised hickey left in his wake.

“Nah bonnie, ‘his is only for rewards members.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his remark, and as you turned your head to meet his lips you left him with one last playful quip before taking his mouth. 

“Then sign me up.”

And he followed suit, in proper Soap fashion.

“Yes ma’am.”

[gumnut-logic]

Blossom

Have some weird fic. Vaguely FishTank, mostly brothers. I hope you enjoy.

-o-o-o-

Virgil Tracy loved living on a tropical island. It was warm and the air was clean. The ocean was their constant companion with its moods and fickle ways, its colours ever so vibrant.

The blues went on forever.

But there was one thing he missed on the plains of Kansas.

Ironically it wasn’t even the correct time to miss what he missed. The blossoms of Kansas bloomed in March and April. Here in the southern hemisphere it was the complete opposite end of the year.

Perhaps he was connected to his ecosystem more than he realised? Because every August he got tetchy.

Today was a perfect example. He really shouldn’t have bitten Gordon’s head off like that. The Fish meant well…most of the time. Virgil was just short tempered.

Of course, Gordon hadn’t helped his case by declaring ‘the bear has just awoken from hibernation, Island beware!’

It took all of Virgil’s restraint to prevent himself from clapping his brother up the head.

Which only proved the point.

Because somewhere further south of the Island, the seasons were rolling slowly into spring, and yes, it was that time of year when in Kansas, after being mostly confined during winter, he itched to get out.

The fact he lived in the tropics and there were no seasons was obviously ridiculously irrelevant.

So, today, rather than biting heads off brothers, he hiked up to the top of Tracy Peak and stood in the ocean breeze staring south.

He couldn’t get more ‘out’ than that.

Even in the tropics, up this high, the wind was brisk, cold, and biting through his flannel shirt.

It was invigorating.

The little Gordon at the back of his brain shook his head and facepalmed.

He owed his little brother an apology.

Cloud was skittering along the distant horizon to the south. Down that way lay the island chain of the Kermadecs eventually culminating in Aotearoa.

Now there was a temperate zone that knew how to throw a blossoming spring. He would admit to having visited Hawkes Bay just last year for that exact reason.

Fields of blossom in spring and fruit in the summer.

He must have lost himself in the moment, because he was suddenly startled by a roar.

Spinning on the spot, he looked down to see his ‘bird lift off her runway and take to the air. If his heart hadn’t emergency responded in reflex, it would have been a magic moment. It was rare to see her launch without him.

He grabbed his collar. “Thunderbird Five, what’s the situation?”

“Hold your horses, grumpy bear, no situation. I’m coming to you.” Gordon’s voice was light and cheerful and not Thunderbird Five.

“Gordon!”

But as he watched, his ‘bird arced out over the ocean in a perfect turn and headed back towards Tracy Peak…where Virgil was standing.

“Gordon, what are you doing?”

Before his brother could answer, Two came to a hover above him, her VTOL washing away the cold wind and replacing it with roaring warmth.

Her belly opened and the rescue rig lowered down towards Virgil. “Hop aboard, bear boy.”

Virgil’s eyebrows collided and crumpled up. But he stepped onto the rig without saying another word. He triggered the return signal and watched as Tracy Peak drifted away below.

The hatch swallowed him up and before the rig settled, he was off and moving, running towards the cockpit.

He was greeted with a Gordon holding his hands up like Virgil was holding a gun. “It’s cool, bear bro, I’m just taking you for a little ride.” Virgil managed to frown even more. Gordon rolled his eyes. “In style, I must say. Sit back and we’ll be there momentarily.” He sat back down in the pilot’s seat and place his hand on the yoke.

“Where? And why are you flying my ‘bird.”

“Orders from on high, Thunderbird Two. Courtesy of ‘too busy’ Scott and ‘rolling his eyes’ Johnny. You did it this time and the leadership team declared you on downtime.” Virgil opened his mouth, but was cut off by Gordon holding up a finger. “Under orders, growly bear. I’m taking you south so you can go find a fruit tree and hug it.”

Virgil flopped onto the co-pilot’s seat. “Gordon-“

“Yes, that be my name, don’t bear it out.”

Two accelerated and Virgil was forced to sit back and strap in. Both Scott and John were going to get feedback on the matter.

“We really don’t have time for this.”

Gordon snorted. “Hence the Thunderbird, grumble-butt. Be there in no time, respond just as fast if we need to.”

Virgil found his arm crossed tight across his chest.

He forced them to uncross and his shoulders to relax.

Aotearoa crept over the horizon and within moments they were circling in above what appeared to be a farm.

“Where are we?”

“Aotearoa, der.”

“Whose farm, Fish-brain?”

“Friend of Johnny’s, source of those honeyed almonds he threatens fratricide over.”

“Ben and Jules?”

“That would be them. He said there was a cafe and everything.” Gordon smirked at Virgil. “And they have a field of almond trees in full blossom. I’ve been directed to lock you in the orchard until you regain sanity.”

Virgil glared at him as the Fish expertly landed Virgil’s Thunderbird in the mostly empty parking lot. Even though Virgil felt like complaining, he couldn’t find anything to complain about. His little brother’s flying was perfect.

Drat it.

Yes, apparently Virgil did need to go hug a tree or something.

Scott and John were so dead.

“Off you go, butter-bear. Johnny called ahead. Ben is going to meet us out front. He’s been warned about the bear.”

“For goodness sake!”

“Eh, you shouldn’t have pissed off Johnny, yesterday, I’m just sayin’. Stew in your own pot”

Virgil watched his brother expertly go through post-flight. Again, flawlessly.

“Off you go, bear-brows, before you strain one of those eyebrow muscles of yours. Then where would we be?”

“Gordon.” But it was said without steam this time, and with a sigh, he gave in, climbing out of the co-pilot’s seat - the view from there just wasn’t right - and walking over to the hatch.

The moment he was settled, the hatch began to lower. “May the bear be with you! Or perhaps, let it go, let it go!” Gordon devolved into the Frozen soundtrack and Virgil found himself fleeing without a second thought.

His boots hit the grass and he was assailed by the scent of greenery, the buzzing of bees, and a warmth to the air that just could not be replicated in the tropics.

The farm had a central building, but off to his left was a wide gate leading into a field of blossoming almond trees.

He was drawn to it like a magnet.

Somewhere off to his right, an older man was grinning and waving him on. Virgil smiled, just a little, in his direction, and he was waved on even more eagerly.

Yes, Scott and John were very dead. Bear or no bear.

But the old man was laughing, and as Virgil made it to the gate, he vaguely registered Gordon leaping from Two’s hatchway and joining the man laughing.

Scott and John…so dead.

But the field beckoned.

The wooden gate opened with a creak, disturbing bees and butterflies. The wind that had been ruffling Virgil’s hair on Tracy Peak, was now little more than a breeze rustling flower petals. Every now and again, a single petal would break loose and flutter to the vivid green grass below.

Birds darted about in bare branches, shaking more petals loose.

It gave the field the surrealism of another world.

The bees hummed and buzzed in their bazillions.

Virgil took a deep breath, as if he could breathe it all in.

Yes, maybe he would hug a tree, and then fall asleep under it in the sun.

He could kill his brothers later.

-o-o-o-

[psychologicalwarclaire]

Are there any nods, secrets, or easter eggs in your story that you don’t think people caught??

Y'all continuously surprise me with what you're able to pick up on, but here are just a few that I'm not totally sure people noticed.

Spoilers below the cut

Donnie's death was foreshadowed since chapter one

I literally put Tony Hawk in chapter twelve (and fourteen) and I haven't seen a single person comment on it. I was running out of ideas for Yokai, okay?

Besso the bear bellhop from chapter five is based off of an NPC @drsmer made when they DM'ed a rescent DnD campaign. The real Besso is a very sweet, mild mannered bear who one day gained sentience and now has to pay taxes.

The "Jack the Rabbit" book that haunts Donnie's conscience is from Ninjago.

The dragon Mordica's name is an inside joke between me and @bubbles-and-puddles based on a typo someone made in Sunday School spelling the word Mordecai as Mordecal.

This moment in chapter fifteen has two easter eggs. Scythes because, you know, Donnie just died. And Leo quoted the Krang.

During the flashbacks in chapter sixteen, I snuck in a reference to one of my favorite Rise fics of all time, Error 404 (if anyone knows the fic or knows the author, please tag them to give them credit)

And of course this shameless Like Father Like Son easter egg that I think everyone probably saw coming

I've said this before, but Donnie and Leo's cells were right next to each other. They both thought they were hallucinating but they could hear everything.

I saw my chance to say @purplepixel in the fic so I did.

I feel like there are probably more? These are just a few of them that I slipped in. I know I at least THOUGHT about putting a Hide and Seek by @phoebepheebsphibs reference in there at one point, but I don't know where it would be.

Next chapter I had to name the physical therapist, so I named her Dr. Fib after @daboyau (hope that's okay with you, nervous laugh)