#hawk’s reaction is pretty golden then too.

[frenchoravocadotoast]

Hytham headcanons

Hytham (AC Valhalla) x GN!reader

Word count: 1078

A/N's note: I've been meaning to write about Hytham these past few weeks! Have some headcanons while I finish reading The Golden City :) (it got a bit angsty at the end)

Hytham’s love languages are gift giving and quality time. Hear me out.

He's pretty quiet (compared to the rowdy Vikings, at least), but true to his creed, he watches everything and everyone like a hawk. This applies to you too.

Hytham is willing to wait when he starts to grow interested in someone. He’d much rather approach them only once he feels like he’s gotten to know them both from the inside and the outside. I don’t see him seeking his crush out from the very beginning – he prefers bonding with them over time and seeing where things go.

Do not be fooled by his acting. Whether he’s cackling at a joke, dining at the longhouse or target practicing, Hytham is sure to be eavesdropping on your conversation. If you’re nearby, that is. This doesn’t mean that he’s spying on you specifically – he tends to strain his ears (like all Hidden Ones do, really), and sometimes, if he’s lucky, he might just hear your voice.

When he does, he smiles to himself.

You’re good friends with Eivor, and often accompany her on her errands around the village. This has led you to the bureau multiple times, and Hytham is always caught off guard by the unexpected visit.

“🧍🏾‍♂️Oh. Good evening.”

You like the place, it’s cozy and the man isn’t bad company either. So you stay, and even if there’s other parchments he needs to finish before sunset, Hytham perks up at the chance to answer any question you might have (grinning and kicking his feet when you show interest in the creed).

So that’s where you spend time together. Celebrations in Ravensthorpe are also guaranteed to lure him out of his cove – you’ll be sure to find him letting loose and coming out of his shell more. His favorite game is apple bobbing, and he’s determined to win everytime – but despite his competitive streak, he might pretend to lose if he’s going up against you.

As for gift giving, it doesn’t evolve into actual physical gifts until later on (he thinks that’d be way too obvious). Instead, his first ‘gifts’ are things you might need.

Whether you have experience in fighting/self-defense or not, Hytham hints at the training yard he and Basim use. He invites you to use it whenever you please (you can pummel the dummies for a bit, as long as you put them back in their place); and if you have no experience whatsoever, he’ll gladly teach you some things.

You don’t get to have your own hidden blade though. Sorry (ask Basim for one)

But you can try his! Just don’t die.

If you do somehow get injured, you can have the medicine he’s made. It’s all yours.

Interested in a particular topic? He probably has a book about it at the bureau (or he’ll find it somehow, don’t ask) and will gladly let you take it.

Teaches you how to do the leap of faith. If you pull his leg just like Eivor did and don’t leave the haystack, I think he’d have a similar reaction.

“Very funny. You can come out now.”

“We are so not doing this rn.”

“Please.”

“Please, Basim will kill me.”

Things start to shift when you see the signs. You crack a joke with your friends and notice Hytham’s already looking at you with a soft smile. You tell him your pouch is broken, and remember the beautiful purse you’d once seen at a market in Lunden. Days later, coincidentally, Eivor brings you a beautiful leather pouch from the same city (hint: it wasn’t Eivor’s idea). You also find him playing hide and seek with the Norse children outside, and he urges you to join.

You start testing out your theories. When spring comes, you comment on the beauty of the blooming flowers and he’s immediately crouched down, going through every plant in your vicinity to tell you everything he knows about them. By the end, you have a large bouquet of flowers in your hands.

Eivor sees this, and jokingly tells Hytham he should get some purple ones and smack you in the face with them (a courting tradition amongst Vikings). Needless to say he’s mortified.

Random secret: he knows how to make flower crowns – his mother taught him when he was younger.

He’s giving you instructions as you weave the stems together, and you can’t help but feel his eyes glancing repeatedly between your hands and face.

It’s not until Ravensthorpe is attacked that you’re forced to face your feelings. The ambush is bad – there is no escape as the docks are on fire, and arrows are whizzing past you no matter where you run. Whether you’re a villager, a sage, or a warrior doesn’t really matter. It’s the kind of attack where you’re certain your next stop is going to be Valhalla.

But then the clashing of swords stop. The last enemy falls to their knees, and through the smoke and the ringing in your ears, you hear the roaring victory of your people.

Sigurd and Basim are looting the bodies. Eivor is opening the longhouse where the villagers have barricaded themselves. But you don’t catch sight of Hytham, not until you see him emerge from the woods along with the other Drengr. His white robes are flapping in the wind, his sword dripping with blood, and he’s holding his side as he grimaces. So you run to him.

He sheathes his weapon when he sees you alive and well, eyes darting all over your face as if scanning for injuries; and before you can say anything, he cups your face and locks his lips with yours.

Congrats! You’re now dating.

Basim tells you and Eivor something enigmatic months before his sudden betrayal. Hytham’s happiness is clearly reason for his gratitude, and no matter how much you insist that Ravensthrope is Basim’s home too, you’re only rewarded with a wry smile from the assassin.

It’s months later, when you’re sitting in the empty bureau with Hytham, that you reason Basim must have known. You watch as Hytham grips the table and rakes his hands through his hair, how he paces the room when he’s not squeezing your hand. He questions everything when you realize Basim must have known all this time – must have known that he wasn’t going to stay, that his apprentice would be alright. That Hytham would be happy in Ravensthorpe. And thus, you make sure it stays that way.

[ominous-faechild]

What would the cast of Faerie's Dawn be like as Starbucks customers?

Oh, god, now that Faerie's Dawn is actually out, I'mma have to answer this...

This is horrifying and hilarious.

LET'S GO!

NOVA “ME” FAE

Depending on when and where in the story, Nova would have a different attitude and reaction! So I'll list early and late story lol.

Early in the story, Nova would have a mildly complex order and watch the barista like a hawk as they made her order... but not say a word if or when they made any mistakes.

She was just watching to make sure they didn't poison it or something.

Later in the story, Nova would have an incredibly complex order. He'd be annoyed with the barista "taking too long" to understand it all/put it down, but at most talk shit to whoever he came to Starbucks with...

... until they started making the drink.

Then, Nova would once again watch them like a hawk... and, if and WHEN the barista made a mistake? They'd literally reach over the counter-divider to grab the barista's hand—to stop them—or the forgotten ingredient!

I mean, how DARE the barista do that, right???

(Tho if they were avoiding getting kicked out, they'd instead raise their voice and correct them verbally lmao)

No matter what, their tip is almost as much as their drink.

Unless the barista made it perfect. Then it's double.

SCAMALL “CLOUD” FAE

She'd have a surprisingly complex order, but be very friendly and understanding if and when the barista made a mistake.

... only be quietly sad as she drank it and wasn't all that great.

Man. If only she had the money to buy stuff to make it at home.

Wait... she doesn't even have a home! 🥺😭

She doesn't tip because she could barely even afford her drink.

SPÉIR “SKY” FAE

Black coffee. That's it.

He'd be impatient and barely speak to the barista unless he needed to. It's hard to mess up a black coffee, but if they managed to? Unless it was full of grounds, bro would still just knock it back and never come back lmao.

He also tips terribly. It's by choice.

CRAOBH “BRANCH” FAE

Coffee with honey and creamer.

Scrolls Facebook while he waits for his order.

Pretty chill customer, all things considered... though he also doesn't really tip. Unless you count the dirt his shoes left behind. Is he cheap, or just broke?

Hard to tell.

EVE PRIMAVERA

She'd order just a black coffee—not because she likes it, but because she feels like she'd be inconveniencing everyone around her by getting anything more complex.

She also apologizes up and down that she can't tip better. She's flat broke.

ASA PRIMAVERA

Coffee with sugar and extra cream. Tried to convince Eve to get what she wanted, but ordered that when she didn't.

... before she can do anything, he trades drinks with her when their drinks come out.

Then he drinks her black coffee. And suffers.

But that's okay.

At least Eve was happier getting the drink she actually wanted.

He'd be confused at tipping culture tho.

Faerie's Dawn fanclub:

@honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @thecomfywriter @an-indecisive-nerd

@seastarblue @rae-butter @teamarine777 @caffeinated-starsailor @oliolioxenfreewrites

@corinneglass (ask and ye shall be added)

[ticklenight]

Chase

The sun had just begun to set, casting a warm, golden glow through the windows of the small house Dabi and Hawks now shared. It was a rare quiet evening for them, free from the chaos and responsibilities that usually filled their days. Dabi leaned casually against the kitchen counter, watching as Hawks fluttered about the room with effortless grace.

But tonight, Dabi had other plans.

Hawks had been cheeky earlier, playfully teasing Dabi about something trivial—nothing that would warrant payback, but Dabi was never one to let a fun opportunity slip. The idea had struck him the moment Hawks’ back turned; his wings stretched lazily behind him as he reached for something on a high shelf.

Dabi smirked, taking a slow step toward him, his voice low and almost playful. "You know, birdie, I’ve been thinking..."

Hawks turned his head, his golden eyes flashing with curiosity. "About what?" he asked, his tone light and innocent.

Dabi stepped closer, reaching out to run a single finger down the length of Hawks' spine, right between his wings. The reaction was immediate—Hawks jolted, his wings twitching at the ticklish sensation.

Dabi grinned. "That spot between your wings... it’s just *so* sensitive, isn’t it?"

Hawks' cheeks flushed, and his wings instinctively folded in, protecting the vulnerable area. He laughed it off, but Dabi could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he subtly shifted away from him.

"Oh no you don’t," Dabi teased, his voice a dark purr. "You’re not getting away that easily."

Before Hawks could react, Dabi lunged, his fingers aiming right for that soft, sensitive spot on his back. But Hawks was fast—faster than Dabi had anticipated. With a flutter of wings and a rush of air, Hawks darted across the room, his laughter filling the space.

"Dabi, come on, don't!" Hawks called out, trying to sound composed, but there was a slight edge of nervousness in his voice.

Dabi straightened, his grin widening. "Oh, I’m coming for you, Keigo," he said, his tone dripping with amusement as he began to follow Hawks at a leisurely pace. He wasn’t in a rush—no, he wanted to savour this.

Hawks, now perched on the arm of the couch, watched him warily, his wings half-raised in preparation to fly off again if Dabi got too close.

"You know what I’m going to do, right?" Dabi asked, his voice a low drawl. He took his time walking around the couch, slowly closing the distance between them. "I’m going to pin you down, trap those pretty wings of yours so you can’t get away... And then, I’m going to tickle you so bad you’ll be begging for mercy."

Hawks swallowed hard, a shiver running down his spine at Dabi’s words. He shifted his weight, ready to take off again, but Dabi was in no hurry to end this chase. He was enjoying the way Hawks squirmed, the way his breath hitched in anticipation.

"I’ll start right here," Dabi continued, trailing his fingers in the air, as if imagining the touch. "Right between your wings... you know that spot that makes you melt, that makes you all soft and squirmy under my fingers."

Hawks’ face was burning now, the vivid blush spreading from his cheeks down his neck. His wings twitched, half-open as if ready to take flight again, but he stayed perched, listening, caught in the web of Dabi’s teasing.

"Can you feel it already?" Dabi asked, his voice soft but wicked. "Just the thought of it... you want it, don’t you?"

Hawks inhaled sharply, biting his lip to keep from giving Dabi the satisfaction of a response, but Dabi knew. He always knew.

"You’ll laugh," Dabi went on, inching closer, "and squirm, trying to get away, but it won’t work. You’ll be trapped, and I’ll just keep tickling you, right... here." He pointed lazily to Hawks’ back, and Hawks’ wings quivered in response.

It was driving him crazy—the anticipation, the teasing. Hawks knew Dabi could be relentless when he wanted to be, and right now, Dabi was enjoying dragging this out far more than usual.

Hawks' heartbeat quickened as Dabi stepped closer, his footsteps deliberately slow, like a predator toying with its prey. "Maybe I’ll even take my time," Dabi mused. "Just run my fingers over your back... light little touches at first, just enough to make you squirm, to make you laugh... but not enough to satisfy that itch. Not until you’re desperate for it."

"Dabi," Hawks’ voice came out in a whisper, barely managing to say his name. He was torn between wanting to escape and wanting to give in. The thought of being caught, of being at Dabi’s mercy like that... it made his stomach flip in the best possible way.

"You can run," Dabi said, his eyes glinting with amusement. "But I’m going to catch you, birdie. You know I always do."

And just like that, Hawks' resolve crumbled. With a soft, breathy laugh, he launched himself from the couch, wings flaring as he took off down the hallway, the sound of his heartbeat loud in his ears. But he wasn’t going as fast as he could have. He didn’t really want to get away.

Dabi followed, his pace still slow, still deliberate. "You’re only making this worse for yourself," he called after him, his voice carrying easily through the house. "The longer you run, the worse it’ll be when I finally get my hands on you."

Hawks' laughter echoed down the hall, breathless and nervous, but there was no real fear in it. It was a game—a game where they both knew the outcome.

Dabi reached the bedroom, where Hawks had half-heartedly tried to barricade himself behind the bed. Dabi stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his eyes gleaming with victory.

"So, what’s it going to be?" Dabi asked, his voice soft, taunting. "Are you going to let me catch you? Or do you want to drag this out even longer?"

Hawks was breathing hard, his wings drooping slightly as he leaned against the bedpost. He looked up at Dabi, his blush still burning brightly, and finally, after what felt like an eternity of teasing and anticipation, he gave in. He couldn’t take the phantom tickles anymore. The way Dabi was describing to him how it would feel and what he would do. It was killing Hawks.

He lowered his wings in surrender, his voice barely above a whisper. "Alright... you win."

Dabi’s grin was downright predatory as he approached. "I always do," he murmured, his fingers already reaching out, brushing lightly against the sensitive feathers at the base of Hawks’ wings.

And as soon as Dabi’s fingers touched him, Hawks dissolved into helpless laughter, the tension of the chase finally breaking as Dabi tickled him with ruthless precision.

"I warned you," Dabi teased, his fingers dancing over Hawks’ back, "now you’re going to pay for running."

And Hawks, even through the laughter and the squirming, didn’t mind one bit.

[lividria]

Funny Story: The Thousand-Year Door (Part 2)

Yea, remember the time I made a post about how everyone associates me with this game's Vivian because that's also my name, I'm also trans and my OC persona character looks similar? I have now beaten TTYD and I already wasn't opposed because I liked the character but I used Vivian for literally as much time as possible once I got her so uh

Here's some of the highlights of my playthrough, spoilers obviously

In the chapter 8 Shadow Sirens rematch (I know they're the Three Shadows now but I'm used to the old name, fight me), I had Goombella out to get tattles, tried to switch over to Vivian, and the FUCKING GAME CRASHED? Which I interpreted as Beldam getting so pissed it broke the space-time continuum, thankfully I saved right before and Vivian later dealt the final blow to Beldam to win the fight when I tried again

Shadow Queen kicked my FUCKING ASS HOLY SHIT, it took me 3 tries, I feel like if I were to rematch Prince Mush they would be so much easier than SQ it wouldn't even be funny AND THEY'RE A SUPERBOSS, I WIPED THE FLOOR WITH JUST ABOUT EVERY PRE-CHAPTER 8 BOSS BUT THEN THE FINAL BOSS WRECKED MY ASS LIKE SHE WAS TACO BELL

One of my friends hyped up Bonetail as being even harder when I immediately went to do the Pit after the credits, I JUST beat them without using any items (Though I did eat a couple in the earlier levels of the Pit) and it was so much less intense than what I expected, especially because I got really lucky with bingos and Pretty Lucky (badge) so I was never in any danger

Yes I know about Whacka, yes I know what I have to do to fight them, yes I'm gonna try them, but that's for tomorrow

I was actually trying to get 100% tattles this playthrough but only realized far too late I didn't get the tattles for the scripted Shwwonk Fortress encounters (Not the Golden Fuzzy, though, I got them & their Fuzzy horde) and I don't know if those guys respawn or are anywhere else so uh fucking whoops

I laughed my ass off when the Atomic Boo had it's own battle theme, that was the most unnecessary thing ever

Chapter 3 made me absolutely lose my shit because all I did was do all the Trouble Center side quests before that and I was somehow hilariously overpowered (I actually got a Power Plus from was their name Dazzle or Sparkle? So that's probably why) I destroyed everything and everyone, I knew about the poisoned cake but I didn't know leaving it killed that poor Koopa, I was completely floored by Bowser not having his boss theme (It's used in the Chapter 8 fight don't worry), and laughed for like a half hour straight at Grubba actually just dying at the end of the chapter after confessing to murder, can you actually find him anywhere after that because I never saw him ever again and Jolene said he was out of the picture so I choose to interpret that as Mario just straight up killing the guy

I fucking hate Rawk Hawk, I rematched him a couple times, all of them unintentionally besides for one time I was like 2 points off a level up, he goes down so fast it's so cathartic, I got an e-mail at some point from him that looked like he was saying he's a better fighter now, I'm gonna go beat his ass right now to prove he ain't

I somehow got Vivian into that bucket in the hidden part of Rogueport Harbor, she teleported out before I could screenshot it, I open Tumblr and first thing I see is that one post that's art of bucket Vivian, reality is taunting me I swear

For the several years on Discord I've always made it a thing to exaggerate some personality traits whenever it'd lead to funny jokes, so I have this entire gag persona I'll put on sometimes where I'll act like a narcissistic asshole out of nowhere (which is pretty easy because I'm incredibly easy to anger and thus act like a jerk more than I should), and it's some of the same people I do that with that compare me to TTYD Vivian sometimes, so imagine my reaction when I see the dialogue implying Vivian has a crush on Mario when I always switch out the player character with myself in my head, Vivian has a crush on essentially herself

I never used Zess T. once throughout my entire playthrough so imagine my horror when I check the requirements for 100%ing the game and seeing the recipes are there in the Journal menu, yea fuck no lol, I don't even know if I'll get all the Star Pieces & Shine Sprites but I am definitely not catching up

So uh yeah really good game

[agirlinsearchof]

I've been reading Berserk. It's been enjoyable.

The first arc is pretty short. It ends on a tear-jerking note.

The Golden Age arc is interesting so far! It basically covers Guts' entire backstory. His childhood was dark to say the least. Griffith is also inordinately attached to Guts.

In short, Griffith wants Guts to fight for his mercenary team, the Band of the Hawk. But the language he uses suggests he finds Guts attractive, and Guts reacts accordingly.

Honestly, I don't blame Guts for his strong negative reaction to Griffith's seeming-advances. He's kinda creeping me out too, and he hasn't even gone full evil yet. He is not subtle here.

[niksshitwriting]

Neffarous Files: Chapter 1

“Fun fact for all you kids out there, Getting your face slammed into a police car hurts.”

The burly officer rolled his eyes, shifting his wing.

“You good there Grillz?” his partner asked, grabbing the teenager they were arresting by the back of the neck and tossing him into their car.

“Yeah,” Grillz replied, rubbing at the first joint on his wing as he pulled it forwards some, “Small kid, but he packs one hell of a punch.”

The teen in the car knocked lightly on the window with his forehead, and when the Hawks turned, he gave them a cocky shit-eating grin. The smaller of the two rolled his eyes and walked around the side to the drivers’ seat.

“Yo,” The teenager said from the back as the officer got in.

No response.

The teen huffed and leaned forward, pushing on the back of his own seat with his wings, “Hey, I’m hungry. Do you have any snacks?” he asked. The officer looked back.

“I’m not allowed to feed you, kid.”

“Rude.”

“Rules.”

the teen huffed again and flopped back in the seat. At some point during their conversation the burly officer had climbed in too, slipping his massive wings, the teen guessed a golden eagle’s, into the wing-rests all the Hawks’s cars had for the officers.

Of course the criminals in the back had to deal with leaning on their wings and being slightly uncomfortable. What a travesty.

The teen looked at the roof of the car above him and opted to spend the familiar drive to the NightWatch Holding Facility counting the corrugations.

Again.

Around halfway through, Grillz spoke, breaking the teen’s focus.

“Hey, what’s your name kid?”

“You made me lose count!”

“Long name,” the officer who was driving noted, and the teen could feel his smirk.

“Assholes, the lot of you. And to answer your question, none.”

Grillz grumbled, “Kid, you can’t just not have a name.”

The teen shrugged, “I’ve got plenty of affectionate nicknames, if you want those. ‘little motherfucker’, ‘that brat’, ‘crow kid’, ‘idiotic child’, you know, the works.”

Just another grumble in response.

Wow, the teenager thought, No sense of comedy.

———————

The teenager slumped against the cold metal table, hands cuffed to the bar welded on, legs bouncing absently. He glanced at the mirror he knew was glass on the other side, silently urging whichever detective was on the other side to just get in here.

And as if he was telepathic, a woman walked in. She was short, the teenager noticed immediately, with black hair pulled into a severe bun and peregrine wings on her back. She sat down across from him and tilted her head to the side.

“I’m told you don’t have a name?” she phrased it like a question, though it was more of just a factual statement.

The teenager rolled his eyes, “Nope.”

“Your schooling records have you as one Arlo Jarkonsin.”

“Random name for official purposes, I didn’t think of it. I respond to pretty much anything.” he shrugged in response.

“Is there something you would prefer I call you during this interview?” she asked, leaning onto the table too, now.

The teenager sighed, “You really aren’t going to give this up, are you? Alright, uhhh…” he looked around the room, eyes falling on the drab gray-bricked walls and metal furniture.

The very shiny metal furniture.

“Silver.” he said, it was random, but kind of nice. He pondered what the woman’s reaction would have been if he had said table instead of its color.

He giggled at the notion.

“Is something funny, Mr. Silver?”

He leaned back, adjusting his wings over the back of the chair.

“Just this situation. Now weren’t you gonna ask me some questions or something?”

The woman nodded and straightened up in her chair, “Yes. I’m keeping all of this on record,” she held up a little black box and clicked a button, “Now, my name is Detective Harin Sups, and we know that there was no record of you anywhere until two years ago.”

Silver nodded.

“Where were you before that?”

Silver looked at the ceiling, pondering, “it was a lovely place, really. Always nice and bright, and never too hot. A bunch of people there, all talked to me. Really a great little community we had.”

The detective looked unimpressed, “Does this place have a name?”

“Nope,” Silver replied, popping the ‘p’.

“And why did you come here, if it was so great there?”

Silver’s face darkened for half a second before it returned to the pensive, wistful look, “I got bored, and a couple things went awry.”

“I see.”

She sounded very unimpressed.

Silence.

Silver hated silence.

He started tapping his fingers on the table, first, third, second, fourth, over and over. It was a natural pattern, comforting, even.

“I can’t figure it out,” Detective Harin muttered.

Silver raised his eyebrows in question.

“Why you would choose to commit such horrible crimes. We’ve brought you in on charges of robbery, assault, and arson, and every time you refused to give us your name, and talked your way out of conviction.”

“Yeah, what about it? No one wants to go to jail for shit they don’t do.”

“But you did,” she said, “You’ve said you did. And this time we have video evidence of you breaking into a building by the Edge and attempting to open the safe. And when the NightWatchers arrived, we watched the video of you attacking them.”

“I wanted money, thought the rich guys that weren’t quite rich enough to live in the Posher could spare some change.” Silver replied casually, tilting his head back.

“But why do you do it? Why do you commit the horrible crimes when you could work honestly and get the same amount of money?”

Silver just laughed, leaning forward, he gave the detective a demeaning grin, elbows pressed against the cold metal table.

“Why would I want to be good and honest when I can be morally gray and commit crimes?”

[gaysimpsstuff]

Accidental Turn-Ons; Hawks x Dom! Reader

Genre: angst to fluff to smut

Type: Oneshot

Summary: Hawks returns home from a mission, clearly exhausted, and you take the time to give him a little massage! However, it doesn’t quite have the effects you expected.

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: minor dub-con (Y/n doesn't know that what they're doing is sexual for Hawks), stress, minor injuries, Keigo's adorable bird tendencies, sexual innuendo, dom y/n, wing play, feather play, nicknames, edging, dacryphilia, handjobs, aftercare

Other: Yo this might actually be my best smut yet

Inspiration: This was actually inspired by my own piece of work, MHA Characters + Their Biggest Kinks where I spoke about Hawks’ wing and back kink and how it relates to his avian traits.

Taglist: @smolchildfangirl @mandalorian-baby-bird @waffleareniceandfluffy @catcherisvibin @thesubtlewhore @popcatx0

You paced the living room, glancing between the TV and the door. The news station had cut away from the fight five minutes ago, which meant your boyfriend was either in the hospital getting treated for any injuries he might have sustained, dealing with fans, dealing with paperwork, or on his way home.

Your phone buzzed and you raced to grab it off the couch, fearing an incoming call from the hospital, or a news alert about the well-being of the man you loved.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you realized it was just an email from work, not even marked important. You tossed your phone back onto the couch with a groan.

Wasted build-up. Your mind grumbled

Your eyes flicked back to the TV, watching as the reporter rambled on about yet another stupid thing America had going on as you waited for something, anything to happen. Right when you were getting ready to pick your phone back up from the couch cushions when you heard a light tap tap tappity tap against the thick glass of the sliding glass door that led to your balcony.

You dashed across the living room, accidentally knocking a chair over as you raced to reach the sliding glass door that led to the balcony. You'd recognize his special knock any day, even if he changed it all the time whenever he forgot it. You always had patience with him, you knew he had too many things on his mind with Hero Work to always remember a random knock.

You grabbed the handle, yanking the door open with a wide grin, finally laying eyes on your bird boy. He had a hand stuffed in his pocket, the other rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Hey, Y/n. So sorry I'm late, been flying all day so naturally I'm a little sore. No excuse for missing movie night but-"

"I'm just so glad you're here!" You exclaimed, taking his cheeks in your hands and rubbing at his cheekbones. "I'm so sorry you're hurting, come inside I'll get a heating pack, or a cooling pack, maybe some lotion and I could give you a massage." You babbled, tugging him inside.

"A massage and some cuddles sound great," he sighed, eyes tired. You never liked the fact that Keigo was a hero. He worked too hard, too much, and for so long. He was still young, he should be appreciating life and spending time on himself and with his lover and not with the commission. "Oh I uh, I found this for you."

He took one of your hands off his face, taking his other hand out of his pocket and pressing something cold and smooth into your palm. You opened your fingers, a soft smile growing on your face at the sight of a smooth pretty white rock with grey and black speckles.

"Oh, Kei, this is beautiful. I love it~" you pressed a kiss to Keigo's cheek, loving the way he trilled. He was always so excited to pick up random items he found pretty or interesting, and he'd always give them right to you. It was truly adorable, you loved his gifts. His wings fluttered in happiness for a moment before he winced slightly in pain, happiness vanished in a reminder of his stress from the day.

"Ouch, okay, sitting down time," he muttered, stumbling past you to flop down on the couch. You grabbed the lotion from the kitchen counter (you kept it there for whenever he came home with sore muscles). You set the stone down on the coffee table, tapping it twice in a small show of affection before sitting next to Keigo.

"Shirt off Birdie," you said, squirting some lotion into your palm before rubbing them together.

"Hey, at least buy me a drink first," he chuckled, tugging his jacket off and peeling off his tight hero shirt. You sighed, deciding not to comment on his tacky flirting, knowing you'd been dating for almost a year now.

He turned his back to you, crossing his legs. He folded his wings, lowering them to give you access to his shoulders and shoulder blades. You pressed your fingers against one of his shoulders, finding a large knot almost immediately. You heard him hiss, and your frown increased.

"I know it hurts but it will hurt a lot less when I'm finished," you told him, pressing a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck. The hair there rose against your skin, a shiver shooting down his spine. You blinked, confused at his reaction. Maybe it was uncomfortable for him. You resolved not to kiss there again.

You continued to rub against his tightened muscles, listening to his soft hisses and groans. You pulled away after about six minutes, picking up the lotion bottle and squirted some more into your palms.

"Hey, when you finish with mm~ when you finish with that shoulder could you do around my wing joints? Down my spine, y'know?"

"Are there muscles there?" you asked, most people didn't have muscles down their spines, usually it was just the ridges of said bones.

"Yeah, I do," he explained quickly. You nodded pressing into his knot, slowly working down when it eased up. You moved your fingers downwards, feeling his shoulder blades and spine before reaching his wings joints. He shuddered, similar to when you kissed his neck, but a little larger. You hummed, pressing your fingers down and finding another knot, right where his skin turned to bright red feathers.

"Oh, yeah, yeah right there that's perfect." You glanced back up at him, confused, he didn't usually speak when you massaged him, he'd also never asked for a massage so close to his wings, he was usually very cautious about having his wings touched. Maybe he'd just gotten tired of dealing with wing pains by himself, it was probably a lot different from other knots.

"I'm so sorry you have to deal with this," you cooed. "You really deserve a break, it's not healthy to work this hard all the time."

"I know, Little Feather, but it's nng- n-not my fault. The citizens need me." he panted. You sighed, moving your other hand to work out both wings' knots at the same time.

Keigo's head flopped forward, and his hand flew up to slap over his mouth, holding back a soft whine. You lifted an eyebrow in suspicion, there were only a few times when you heard him make noises like that.

Slowly, you pressed your fingers down closer to the underside, right over a few of his downy feathers.

"Oh fuck~" he hissed.

"Okay, that's it." you lifted your hands away from them, holding them in the air. "What the hell's going on with you?" His head whipped around so fast you were surprised it was still attached to his neck. His golden eyes widened, pupils blowing out, nearly completely covering the honey iris.

"W-what?" he exclaimed, feathers puffing up.

"I'm sorry if I seem mad, I'm not, I'm just- very confused. You're literally moaning. I am giving you a massage and you're moaning. Explain."

His cheeks dusted over in pink, and his eyes fell down to his lap.

"Okay uh- fuck I- this was not how I planned on telling you, erm- I promise I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable-"

"Keigo, it's alright, I'm not uncomfortable, just confused. Take a breath darling,"

"Okay, okay, okay." he took a deep breath. "My wings and back are... sensitive, like- in a sexual way. It's why I never let you touch them, I didn't want you to get uncomfortable with that."

"Oh Keigo, you should have just told me, it's perfectly alright, you know I love you, and I love your bird traits. I'm not uncomfortable with this." you smiled sweetly, pressing a hand to his cheek.

"You're- you're not?" he glanced back up at you, golden eyes filled with hope.

"Not in the slightest. To be honest, I don't see why anyone would be uncomfortable with it. It's just another erogenous zone, like someone's neck, ears, or nipples would be. And lots of people keep those bits on display."

"Thanks," he murmured, rubbing his nose against yours. "That does make me feel better, but uh- there's something else.." he trailed off, nervous.

"Your obvious boner? I was gonna leave you to take care of that yourself, but I'll gladly do it for you if you'd like."

"Oh uh-" his cheeks brightened as if attempting to match the tone of his wings. "I would very much like that," he admitted, offering you a slightly nervous smile.

"Anytime, Birdie~" you stood up, hands landing on either side of his waist as you pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "But I would very much like to experiment with those wings of yours, see what we can do with them. Just how far can we go?" You smirked at him, tongue darting out to moisturize your lips. Keigo let out a soft breath, shifting against the couch to make room for the tent in his pants.

"I- I have thought about using them before- my feathers can move fast, so they can act as a vibrator if I focus, but I could never use it on myself. I know I'd get distracted, then the feather would stop moving, then I'd have to start all over again. I'd basically just be edging myself all night. I know I'd just give up and jerk off."

"I can work with that~" you pressed your lips against his, surprising him. He whined into the kiss, hands flying up to fist your shirt.

Unfair. He thought, he already had his shirt off, and he knew he'd be naked in just a few minutes, but you hadn't taken anything off yet. Knowing you, you would stay clothed just to tease him. The most you would do was lift your shirt a little to show him your stomach before quickly covering it again. That was what you usually did when you dommed. At least for the foreplay.

You pressed the tip of your tongue against his lips, pushing past his defensive barrier of shiny white teeth, perfect for the press, and you licked along the top of his mouth. His whole body shuddered against yours, his hips jerking upwards.

You grabbed his thigh with one hand, squeezing. A warning, he knew, against bucking up again, against disobeying. He tasted your saliva, feeling it pool onto his tongue. His eyes finally drooped closed, enjoying the taste of leftover's from last night's dinner on your tongue.

He whined against the back of your mouth, feeling you move your other hand up towards his back. He already knew what you were going to do. Without pulling away from the kiss, you plucked a feather about the size of his hand from his wings, running a finger down the stem, brushing it against the little red bristles. Soft against your finger, yet forcing Keigo's restrained cock to grow even harder than he ever thought possible.

You slowly pulled back from the kiss, taking his lower lip hostage between your teeth, tugging it as far as it could go before finally releasing it. You felt Keigo's hot breaths fanning out across your face, and your grin only grew. You loved breaking him apart, the strong, well-put-together Hawks was an act only for the cameras, only you could ever know the real him, the horny, whiny, needy baby he truly was.

"Look at you, falling apart already? I've barely done shit to you."

"Fuck- that's just 'cause it's you~" he purred

"Flattery won't get you anywhere, doll." Your shit-eating smirk only grew, and Keigo could feel himself melting into the couch cushions. "C'mon, take 'em off, you're a big boy, I'm sure you can do it yourself."

He nodded, hands flying away from your shirt and grappling with his belt buckle faster than you could say 'Hawks.' He tossed his belt behind the couch, not caring if it hit anything, and quickly shimmied out of his pants and underwear, letting them pool around his ankles. His cock slapped against his stomach, six inches and throbbing.

Looks like his prediction was correct. He was naked. You were not. You didn't look like you were planning on undressing anytime soon, which left Keigo feeling slightly disappointed. However, any negative emotions vanished the second you ran his bright red feather down his nose, over his lips, then under his chin. He knew immediately you were trying to lift his face with the feather, despite the single feather not being strong enough by itself, not unless it was under his control. But he was not in control, you were, and fuck it if that wasn't the best part.

"Good boy~" you praised him, sliding a hand up his bare thigh, brushing it carelessly close to his dick. He bit his lip, eyes flicking between your hand and your eyes.

"Please, please touch me," he whispered, slightly embarrassed by the situation. It had been a long while since you'd last had sex, and an even longer while since you had been the dom. He'd all but forgotten how to properly beg. You could tell.

"Come on, doll, I know you can ask me nicely, or at least better than that." He groaned, hands gripping your hips and attempting to tug you into his lap, a plan formulating in his head that ended in an amazing thighjob. But his plans never worked, not at least with you involved. No, you were too stubborn, one of the many things he loved about you. But not really in this precise situation.

"Nah ah ah~ hands off the merchandise." Your hand squeezed his thigh again, twice this time. That was all he needed to let go. He found purchase in a nearby pillow, moving it behind him and tugging on the little dangly bits on the corners. He forgot what they were called but he was ninety-five percent sure it started with a 'D' or something.

"Fuck, please, I need it, you know I need it, I-I've been nothing but good all day, please touch me, please~" He whined, eyebrows furrowing. That plus his reddened cheeks made just the cutest face. You couldn't wait to make his eyes go crooked and for him to drool.

"That's it, good boy~" You ran the tip of the feather up his cock, circling the tip. He shivered in response, biting back a loud moan. "Come on, don't make me mad, vibrate yourself with your feather~" you cooed, teasing tone making his stomach churn in the best way possible.

He bit his lip, looking down at the feather slowly circling the tip of his dick. It had already nudged his foreskin downwards, leaving the red skin fully exposed. He took a deep breath, trying to block out your presence, and how hard he was, just focusing on the single red feather, twirling around in loops.

He felt it twitch against his skin, before finally starting to shake, then at last it was vibrating. He twitched it away from his dick, slightly nervous about how it might feel. You sighed, pressing it directly onto the little hole at the tip.

"Ghhh- oh fuckkkkk~" he moaned, pressing his head against the couch cushions. It felt better than he ever possibly could have imagined. Feeling the feather on his dick, his dick against his feather, it was double the pleasure. He whined loudly when the vibrations suddenly stopped. "Nooooo I want it, bring it back, please," he begged, looking up at you with wide eyes.

"Doll I didn't even do anything. You lost focus. You gotta try a little harder." you said, tapping the feather against him again. Pre-cum stuck to it, making red glisten with a little bit of white. He cursed at the sight (and feeling) of his own pre on his feather.

Soon enough, it started to buzz again. And you put it back on him. This time, you traced it up and down his base, running it over the tip again. One of his hands flew up to his mouth, knuckles pressing against his lips. His hips bucked up against the vibrating feather.

"Ooooohhhhhh fuckfuckfuckfuck so goooood~" he moaned loudly. Again, the buzzing stopped without warning. "Nooo fuck no! I need it please fuck!" He looked like he was on the verge of tears- no way it was really that good. You'd have to ask him to use his feathers on you sometime.

"I know baby, I know," you ran your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly. His breath hitched, golden eyes filling with tears of pleasure. "But you gotta focus to get it done, okay?" he nodded, wiping his tears, but he only managed to spread the warm, salty liquid over his face, making him appear even more debauched.

How cute

You wrapped your hand around his dick when it started to vibrate again, the feather curled up between your palm and his dick. Slowly, you began to jerk him off, feeling the feather vibrate faster than you'd felt any toy vibrate, and his dick throbbing and pulsing against you left you feeling like you just might cum in your pants.

"FUCK!" he shouted, back arching off the couch. One of his legs flew upwards, toes curling around the air. He was shaking at this point, looking like he was just on the verge of cumming. "Oh, Godddd fuckkkmeeeee~" he wailed, tears overflowing and falling down his flushed cheeks.

"No god's gonna fuck you, darling, only I will because you belong to me. Isn't that right?" You pulled on his hair and his moans grew louder, the vibrations intensifying, which you thought was impossible at the rate it had been buzzing against your skin and his.

"Youuuuu fuck- I- I belong to youuuu~" he moaned, hiccuping a little.

"Fuck, you're so fucking cute like this, so adorable when you fall apart beneath me, gonna break soon?" He sniffed loudly, nodding. His moan broke out into a disappointed wail when the vibrations stopped again. He tried to get it to move but it just wasn't going to. You opened your palm, revealing the feather, the stem bent awkwardly. Hawks sighed, sadness filling his eyes.

"I was just 'bout to cum too..." he whimpered.

"Oh, you'll still cum. We don't need anything else between us anymore~" you tossed the feather aside before spitting into your palm, beginning to jerk him off again. It certainly didn't feel nearly as good as it did with the feather, but at this point, he was so close he just couldn't give two fucks about how good it felt, just that it would get him where he needs.

"Oh yes yes yes fuck yes more more- gonna cum gonna cum ooooh fuck baby you're gonna make me cum!" He cried out, bucking up into your hand, sobbing as pre ran down the sides of his dick and onto your fingers.

You pulled him to you by his hair, loving the loud moan he let out from the pain. You pressed your lips right up against his ear.

"Then fucking cum, my baby boy~" you purred seductively. Moments later, his whole body spasmed, legs shaking violently and wings flaring outwards. He wailed, screaming as he finally came into your hand, white ribbons landing on his legs, stomach, and even a little on the couch. Subconsciously, he knew he'd have to clean that up later, but he was not about to worry about that right now.

"Godamn! If that wasn't the hottest thing I've ever seen!" you exclaimed, truly in awe at just how good his orgasm looked. He had gone limp, flopped back against the couch, and panting. You pulled your hand away from his dick, licking away the bits of cum from your skin before sitting down next to him, tugging his body closer to you.

"Unf, that was the best damn orgasm of my life," he murmured, voice a little hoarse.

"Looked like it, you alright darling? Can I get you anything? Water, blankets, bath?" You worried a little, hoping you didn't completely brain-fuck him.

"Jus' some cuddles." his head flopped down on your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as he yawned.

"Hey birdie, don't fall asleep on me," you chuckled. "We still gotta get you all cleaned up and put in bed."

"Not... a problem..." he whispered, breath tickling your skin as he nodded off.

"Heh, that's a problem," you smiled affectionately. He deserved his rest. You resolved to stay still for a little while, then clean him up as gently as you could before carrying him to bed. He wasn't that heavy, after all. "I love you, my darling Keigo~" you whispered, resting your head on top of his and closing your eyes.

Maybe the mess could be cleaned tomorrow, you were also very tired.

[inkykeiji]

i have the warmth of the sun within me tonight

characters: takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut n fluff

notes: this piece was written with someone specific in mind, but i wanted to share it here, too!! this is, by far, the healthiest and most wholesome piece i’ve ever posted on my blog ehehe | title cred: the warmth of the sun by the beach boys

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, reader is extremely scared of thunderstorms, v romantic, shower sex, minimal prep, slight size difference/size kink

words: 4.6k

synopsis:

“Make it stop, Kei, please, m-make it stop, make it go away,” the words are nearly inaudible, wept into his chest and muffled by his jacket, snarled, snared, snagged on the choked sobs and gagged sniffles that scrabble and tear at your throat with their razored talons.

And even drenched, clothes sopping with rainwater, he’s still so warm, like he has liquid sun flowing through his veins, scalding waves of heat radiating off of his body and seeping into yours, cozy and consoling as it douses you, as it sinks into your skin, your bones, your soul itself and marinates there, twisting and twirling into a small ball of sunshine, of him, that sends pulsing zaps of warmth circulating through your flesh.

It’s dark. It’s so dark it almost looks like night despite the fact that it’s only late afternoon, heavy bloated clouds—charcoal and fluffy and overstuffed with raindrops—obscuring the safety of comforting golden rays from the entire city.

The torrential downpour feels endless, and for a brief second you’re terrified it truly may never stop, streets below having flooded with the rain, cars slowly wading through them, tires spraying out streams of water as they do.

Magnificent strikes of lightning crack through the dreary sky like thick roots snaking through the foggy canopy of smoke and steel, momentarily tainting them in shades of periwinkle and lavender and casting flashes of brilliant silver light across the skyscrapers and condominiums.

Their sudden presence makes you jolt, a rapid shudder working its way through your entire body, skin pebbling with chills in its wake.

But it isn’t the lightning that bothers you—not really, anyway.

It’s what comes after.

Rumbles of thunder so loud, so violent they cause the glass windows of Keigo’s apartment to quiver and the hardwood beneath your feet to tremble, roll through the sky, and you swear you can see the clouds ripple from the force.

Arms squeezing tighter around your body, your fingers curl in the material of your—his—hoodie, desperately attempting to resist the urge to grab your phone, to frantically scroll through social media as worried eyes scan for any mention of his name, for shreds of dreadful news, for things you never want to hear.

You hate it when he has to work in storms such as these. And you know, you know you shouldn’t be watching the sky, shouldn’t be searching the splotches of gunmetal adorning the atmosphere for a glimmer of scarlet and gold, shouldn’t be standing so close to the pristine glass windows that your uneven puffs of nervous breath cloud them, tiny blankets of condensation left by the hot air you exhale fleetingly staining the surface, evaporating into nothing just as quickly as they appear.

But you can’t help it. It’s a compulsion, almost—like some sort of sick obsession, some sort of twisted addiction you can’t control. Because—Because you have to know, unable to stand that feeling of uncertainty that gnaws away at your insides, incapable of handling the ambiguity and vagueness that comes packaged with the not knowing. You have to at least try—try to do everything in your power to stay informed, and if that means facing a vicious thunderstorm head on, with your cheek pressed against the cold glass as your gaze searches the tumultuous sky, then so be it.

You can brave it for him. You swear you can.

“Baby,” he scolds gently, his sudden presence surprising you, causing you to throw a quick glance over your shoulder. Topaz eyes observe you, overflowing with concern, pretty bowed lips turning down, soaked strands of gold hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks and neck. “How many times have I told you not to do this?” And although he’s reprimanding you, his voice is sweet, smooth and syrupy like the finest honey. “You know how much thunder freaks you out,”

You scoff, stiffening almost defensively as you turn your nose up a little, still avoiding his eyes. “It doesn’t freak me out,”

“Oh?” he laughs a little as he kicks off his boots, tension easing from his shoulders with every step towards you, every step further into the warm sanctuary of your shared home, wet sock-clad feet slapping against the hardwood and leaving gleaming footprints.

“Kei,” you whine a little, gesturing his dripping body. “You’re getting water everywhere,”

“Hey now,” a playful smirk spreads across his lips, and a sudden, sharp whoosh slices through the air as his wings spread, spanning nearly half the living room. He gives them one good, thorough shake, crimson feathers trembling and sending tiny droplets of water flying. “I wasn’t done,” he speaks over your squeal of his name, smirk growing into that trademark mischievous grin. “You shouldn’t just stand at the window and stare up at the sky—it only scares you more,”

“I’m not scared,”

Vicious growls of thunder roil through the sky before you’re even finished speaking, almost as if it’s laughing at you, mocking you, your body flinching as the sounds crash over you, curling in on yourself a little, face puckered up in a wince as your words stutter, catching on a gasp in your throat.

Exhaling a soft sigh, Keigo holds his arms open wide, wings still stretched to span them. “Yeah, right. C’mere,” When you don’t begin moving immediately, he sighs again, strong hands gently pulling you towards him.

Your body melts into his touch—an automatic and involuntary reaction, almost instinctual at this point—and you slump against his damp chest, nuzzling your cheek against the firm muscles.

“I’ve got you,” he says softly, arms wrapping around your body as he holds you tightly to his, voice reverberating against your ear. “The Big Bad Scary Thunder can’t get you here,”

Eyes rolling, you scoff at his playful teasing, a tiny smile materializing on your face as you pull away a little to look up at him, greeted with the sight of brilliant eyes—made of sunshine and liquid gold, you’re absolutely sure of it—gazing down at you, lips quirked in a cute little smirk.

His beauty never fails to knock the breath from your chest—it seems you can never be prepared for it; no matter how many times you’ve seen him, how many times you’ve been close enough to count the individual eyelashes lining those orbs, how many times you’ve been close enough to feel the inviting tickle of the short golden hairs decorating his chin—and you’re not sure you’ll never get used to it, either.

A peculiar mix of adoration and concern swirl in his honey irises, though you can see the mirth and amusement dancing just beyond that, thinly veiled by the love and worry.

“Oh, shut up—” another bang of thunder fissures through the sky, so raucous it makes the thick clouds waver and swell, your words morphing into a fearful little squeak, quickly burying your head back against the safety of his chest.

Fingers curl in the wet suede and you hug yourself closer to him, tugging him closer to you, body beginning to shudder.

He’s hushing you now, arms and wings curled around you in a defensive embrace as words of comfort pry past his lips, tender voice sheathing the armor of crimson surrounding you.

“At least they aren’t as bad as the ones back home, yeah?”

“I guess so,” you mumble, unconvinced, eyebrows knitted and mouth sculpted into a deep pout. “I still don’t like them, though,”

“I know, I know,” a warm hand rubs soothing circles into your back, voice only marginally louder than the next bout of thunder as it vibrates against your face, another quiet yelp clawing its way up your throat. “Shh, you’re safe, you’re safe,”

“Kei,”

The nickname escapes in a mangled little whimper, and you can feel it—fright, terror, dread—building in your chest, a strangling type of panic that weaves and winds itself around your windpipe and crushes; because they’re getting worse, they’re getting closer, growls and grumbles following the flashes of lightning almost immediately, roaring loud enough to quake buildings, your heart thudding so violently it’s almost painful. Tears sting your eyes, and you shake your head against him, as if trying to burrow into his chest, to carve out a little space in his ribcage, right next to his steadily beating heart, and live there.

“I-I take it back, they are as bad as the ones back home,”

Or, at least, this one is

Keigo doesn’t argue, all traces of amusement evaporated from his face, replaced by trepidation that mixes with his worry and pinches his features, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned as he cradles you against him. Ferocious tremors course through your form, chest beginning to hitch with swallowed sobs, and he squeezes you.

“Make it stop, Kei, please, m-make it stop, make it go away,” the words are nearly inaudible, wept into his chest and muffled by his jacket, snarled, snared, snagged on the choked sobs and gagged sniffles that scrabble and tear at your throat with their razored talons.

And even drenched, clothes sopping with rainwater, he’s still so warm, like he has liquid sun flowing through his veins, scalding waves of heat radiating off of his body and seeping into yours, cozy and consoling as it douses you, as it sinks into your skin, your bones, your soul itself and marinates there, twisting and twirling into a small ball of sunshine, of him, that sends pulsing zaps of warmth circulating through your flesh.

“Okay, alright,” he’s saying as he rocks you gently, crimson wings wrapped entirely around you both, shielding you from the storm. The scent of freshly mown grass and sticky vanilla ice cream is nearly overwhelming as it washes over your senses, invading your lungs and smothering you in its embrace. It’s a welcomed feeling, the beautiful suffocation it affords you with, vibrant bursts of heat rushing through your veins, whole body flooded and thrumming with a deep-seated comfort—a special type of solace, of reassurance, of contentment unique to him, unfathomable and mystifying on all accounts, that soothes your frayed nerves and calms your irregular heart—because he smells like home; not your home halfway across the world, your real home, your forever home.

“Come,” he instructs a moment later, stern yet tender, keeping an arm draped firmly around your shoulders, one of his wings curving around the limb as he leads you away from the window, scarlet feathers obstructing your vision.

—

The bathroom—comprised of gleaming marble and shining chrome—is enormous, housing a mammoth glass shower that spans the length of the furthest wall, large enough to more-than-comfortably accommodate his wings, and then some.

Steam fogs the glass, and a soft hiss slips from between your teeth as he cages you between his chiseled body and the freezing marble, cold rock stinging your already heated skin, his wings spreading to mimic his arms, providing another layer of protection and entirely immersing you in him.

It’s your favourite when he does this, when he engulfs you in his grasp and creates a tiny universe where it’s just the two of you, whole world having fallen away outside of the barricade his thick wings offer—and you’ve never felt safer.

And it’s amazing, you’re thinking to yourself—or maybe you’re murmuring it, lips moving in a daze—it’s amazing how even after all of the rainwater pouring from the sky, all of the zipping through those dense clouds, all of the vicious wind that whips against him as he soars; none of it could ever manage to wash away, to ever dull, his intoxicating scent, not even for a second.

You’re completely overcome by him, vanquished by his enamoring eyes and his saccharine smile—drunk and high off of it all, addicted to him in the sweetest way—and he hasn’t even done anything yet.

But you’re leaning into him, closer and closer and closer, lips parted as you inhale deeply, filling your lungs, your chest, your heart and veins and blood with his aura, his essence, him. He conquers you, intoxicates you, poisons you in such a beautiful way, and you’re enchanted by it, yearning for more, a greedy and insatiable craving that will never be fulfilled.

And he knows it. He knows the effect he has on you by merely existing near you—his cocky smirk and dazzling gaze tell you so.

But then his eyes soften, glazing over with something else, lidded as they slowly travel across your body bared to him, and his mouth falls open only for his tongue to suck his bottom lip between his teeth, and his fingers reach to trace your features, the curve of your cheek and line of your jaw, the most gentle caress.

“You…Are breathtaking,”

And he really does sound out of breath, as if he’s in awe from your beauty, as if this is his first time seeing you, as if you’re some sort of goddess, having descended right in front of him, and it forces chills to erupt across your bare skin—damp and splattered with tiny droplets of water that gleam like morning dew clinging to grass—despite how boiling it is between him and the steam from the shower.

It’s a feeling you can’t quite explain, a feeling you’ve never really been able to find the appropriate words for, something that makes you feel simultaneously powerful and weak, a swirling concoction of contradictions that invade your bloodstream and travel straight to your brain, infusing the tissues with the potent mix and sending tiny sparks buzzing through your veins, collecting to flutter together in the pit of your stomach.

He kisses you slowly, tonight. He kisses you like it’s his last day to live, kisses you like it’s his first time, unhurried tongue deliberately exploring the concavities of your mouth—every nook and ridge and crevice—as if committing them to memory, as if attempting to leave his stamp, his mark, his claim, on the real estate there.

He kisses you until neither of you can breathe, lungs shriveling as your chests heave, exhaling into each other’s mouths only to suck breath from each other’s mouths a moment later. He kisses you until you’re dizzy from the lack of air and he’s burning and hard and pressed up against your thigh, leaking head rubbing against the supple skin, leaving the prettiest gleaming trails of cream. He kisses you until you’ve gone stupid from his spit alone, fervent in the way you swallow it greedily, in the way you attempt to suck, slurp, steal more from him as it surges to your brain, tissues and nerves vaporizing into nothing more than a dazed mist, spiked with him.

The kiss breaks with a sharp whoosh of air, his lids lifting to reveal glassy pupils outlined with the thinnest ring of amber. Your tongue darts out from your mouth to lick and lap at the stringy, viscous remnants coating your chin; starved, ravenous, and forever unsated.

The chuckle huffed out from between swollen, saliva-soaked lips is nothing short of sinful, makes your vision blur and your stomach swoop, a murmured tease following it.

“Eager, aren’t you,”

And you want to point out that you weren’t the one practically humping someone’s hip, but the words tangle in your throat, catching on a gasp as nimble fingers slip between the apex of your thighs, an involuntary groan spilling from his throat.

“Fuck,” his head falls forward, face buried in your neck, and sucks an inhale through his teeth. “How are you already this wet?”

He’s nearly whining as he dips two fingers into you, soft little sounds that fall from his lips and sop into your skin, his breath scorching—sizzling more than the steam in the shower—against your neck.

And those fingers, now plunging into you, knuckles curling the moment they’re deep enough to press moans from your chest and cries from your throat, feel so familiar as they stretch you open—the same fingers that pet your hair and brush away your tears and feed you pieces of fried chicken; they feel like home.

Yet as comforting as that is, as much as it has your chest swelling with something so large, so dense you’re terrified your ribs may shatter and splinter under the strain, they aren’t enough. Not right now, not today.

Because even with the water hitting the tiles and the exquisite symphony of his pants and your mewls, you can still hear it, menacing blasts encroaching on you, deep and heavy and threatening to split the little world Keigo has created, the small haven his wings and arms provide.

“Please, please, Kei,” you’re nearly wailing out, forcing bleary eyes to open, belated in the way they find his gaze. “I-I want you, I need you,”

“Sweetheart,” he starts—and you know that tone, stitched together with hesitation and concern and embellished with thin ribbons of patronization. “You know you can’t take me without being opened up at least a lil’ first,”

Another clap of thunder rattles the apartment, sounding as if it’s just outside the bathroom door, ranting and raging to get in, and both of your hands claw at his wrist, trying to pull his hand away as words bubble past your lips, high and terrified and desperate.

“No, Kei, not tonight. Please, baby, please, I need you now, right now, Kei, right now, pl-please,” and you’re nearly choking on the pleads as they barrel up your throat and out your mouth, all garbled together and stuffed with spit. “I can handle it, promise,”

A hoarse whine hitches in his throat, the worried knitting of his eyebrows carving creases into his forehead. With pinched features and a scrunched face, it looks almost as if he’s in pain; like it’s pure agony to deny you. And you can see it, can see the internal struggle reflected in his eyes, stare wrought with the tug and pull between desire and care. But that need is growing, spreading, curling around your organs in a tight embrace, suffocating you with its urgency.

A final please, Keigo, croaked out in a broken whimper and thick with the threat of tears, is what breaks him, shatters his resolve to a fine dust and whisks it away in one breath.

“Alright,” he’s murmuring, though his voice is strained, tense and gruff under the combined paradoxical weight of lust and apprehension. “Alright, hush now, I’ve got you,”

Then he’s hoisting you up, and your legs are wrapping around his waist, one hand clutching the top of the glass door, the other digging bruises into his neck as he buries his cock inside of you in one swift movement, a set of relieved gasps escaping you both.

It stings a little, sharp pinpricks shooting through your gut as his thick cock stretches you open, but they’re chased promptly by thorns of pleasure that dissipate the pain.

Because he feels so good, and you feel so full, and everything feels so perfect like this—everything feels right again.

But a boom of thunder explodes through this moment, blowing it to bits and pieces, and you reflexively jump, whole body flinching in his arms.

“Shh,” he’s whispering to you as he pulls you closer, chest pressed flush against yours. “Don’t worry, songbird, I’m gonna make it better, alright? Just focus on me,”

And so you do, eyes slipping shut as his hips begin to pump—slow at first, almost languid in the way they roll forward, each thrust thorough, cock nearly entirely unsheathed before it plunges back in, the head nudging your cervix, and you revel in the delicious cracks rasps—of your name, of curses, and praises—that fall from his lips with each rut.

“S’deep,” you mumble, words already jumbled from the carnal bliss, from the hedonistic decadence that surrounds you, emanating off him and percolating into you, instantly diffusing the tension and panic knotted like thick vines in your chest—even though he’s barely fucking done anything. “S’deep, Kei,”

“Yeah?” the word fans across your face, sweet and fragrant, hazy eyes opening to be met with glittering gold, strands of honeysuckle hair stuck to his forehead and temples, framing the dark gaze watching you, pupils almost voracious in the way they soak up your expressions, almost greedy in the way they scan your face as his hips move, looking for more. His forehead knocks against yours, penetrating stare boring into your face. “Good? My baby like it?”

“So good,” your head nods in small movements with the whimpered affirmation, bumping against his. It’s already beginning to build, smoldering deep in the pit of your stomach, the spark that had been dulled when you had begged him to stop, begged him to give you more—to stretch and fill and form you like your insides were made for him—reigniting, bright and scalding.

“More, please,”

It just slips from your lips, brain already beginning to melt as you allow yourself to be submerged, swallowed and consumed by him; an innate desire that swamps your mind and floods your senses, and you want it all.

But he complies without complaint this time, void of the usual teasing remarks and requests that you beg for it, because he can see how depleted, how drained you are, utterly exhausted from the terror of the storm, his understanding evident in a gentle confirmation tumbling from his lips.

And his groans and grunts are so beautiful, vibrating deep in the recesses of his chest, louder than any thunder as they rumble in your ears. You find solace in them, gulping them in as he pushes them out, letting them vibrate down the column of your throat and collect deep in your belly, kindling with the flickering embers that burn and glow and multiply with each thrust, furling together in a tense ball of churning heat.

The canting of his hips increases, faster and faster and faster with each rock forward, the escalating force resulting in your body to rubbing against the marble and glass, tightly curled fingers readjusting themselves, slipping a little from the foggy condensation coating the surface.

You don’t even realize that your sensitive skin’s been rubbed raw from the action, too tangled up in his noises, his pleasure, his cock, to notice, too tangled up in him to care at all.

“Here,” Keigo pants out, hips suddenly stilling. A low whine catches in your throat, eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to fuck yourself on his cock, a breathless snicker escaping his parted lips. “I know, baby, I know,” he’s telling you as strong arms readjust you, folded wings suddenly spanning, a gentle gust of air bathing your slick body in little goosebumps, before they wrap around him—around you—sheltering you from the glass and marble as they swoop under your ass and thighs, aiding Keigo in supporting your weight. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you, I promise,”

And it’s so much hotter like this, so much more intimate like this, uneven puffs of breath mingling as his forehead rests against yours, florescent lights reflecting off of his thick feathers and tinting everything—his skin, his eyes, his hair—scarlet.

The sudden snap of his hips startles a moan out of you, and he laughs again, carmine-tinged topaz eyes positively glowing. And he looks so gorgeous like this, looks like a fucking god like this, those fine gold hairs that cover his body catching in the soft light and shimmering.

He’s kissing, licking, nipping anywhere he can reach, stamping your flesh with physical manifestations of his love, pace never faltering as skilled, powerful hips continue to pound into you, cockhead dragging against that spot with every buck.

Your legs flex around his waist, muscles coiling as the sphere roiling in your stomach blazes, curled into a concentrated ball of fire. The heat it exudes is nearly unbearable now, heavy as it sinks into your gut, glowing orb spiraling as it coils, tighter and tighter and tighter until—

“Want you to cum for me, baby,” Keigo nearly keens, almost as if he’s begging you instead of commanding, voice cutting through the dense haze your brain has evaporated into. “Can y’do that for me? Be good and cum all over my cock?”

Yes, yes, yes, your head is nodding, emitting affirmatives in the form of high little mewls with each jerk. And it only takes two more sharp pistons of his hips before the fire-filled ball bursts, half of his name escaping your throat in a fractured cry as your entire body stiffens, cunt clenching so vigorously it’s almost painful.

Words start to spill from his mouth, an endless stream of praises, sandwiched between dark groans and broken whines and hitched curses; Y’so good for me, y’know that? Ah, f-fuck—So gorgeous when you gush all over my—my cock, baby, y’feel so good, I love you, I love you, I love you.

Hot, thick cum fills you suddenly, coinciding with his last choked out declaration of love, cock throbbing as it spurts rope after rope, taut stuttering hips pressed flush against your skin.

—

Everything aches as you unwind your limbs from around him, muscles sore and legs trembling as Keigo forces you to stand, propping you up against the shower wall and returning with the fluffiest towel only a moment later. Large hands pull you towards him, dragging you from under the shower head and into his arms, swaddling your shivering body in Egyptian cotton and strong arms and soft feathers.

He leaves the shower running on purpose, steady flow of water hitting the tiled floor and marbled wall, efficiently drowning out any roars or claps of thunder.

And you’re so tired, so pliant and boneless in his arms, barely able to keep your weighted eyelids from fluttering shut. He keeps you in his lap as he sits on the closed toilet, cradling you to his chest as best he can as he gently rocks you back and forth, whispering out praises—you did so well, you always look so gorgeous taking my cock—and avowals of his love, constant words oozing from his lips, sentiments cascading over your body like a stream of thick syrup.

Unconsciousness has you in its clutches, nearly slipping into the familiar embrace that promises the numbing ecstasy that comes with such an intense orgasm, until your tummy growls, and Keigo laughs.

“No, sweetheart,” he chides softly as you nuzzle into his chest, an indignant noise sounding at the back of your throat. “You have to eat at least a little before you can fall asleep,”

“Don’wanna,”

“I know,” he’s saying sympathetically as he stands, placing your feet on the floor a moment later. You wobble a little, eyes still shut, and he chuckles again, murmuring to himself about how fucking cute you are as he begins to dress you, tugging soft fleece that reeks of him over your head.

—

The rain has slowed to a drizzle by the time you’ve been clothed and fed, constant and leaking from the clouds overhead as you snuggle against Keigo in the plush sanctuary of your shared bed, tummy full and happy with roasted chicken and sauteed veggies. A deep contentment settles itself in your bones, weaving itself around the ivory in a protective glaze and imbuing you with a sense of calm, a sense of relaxation, a sense of relief, and you hum, Keigo’s lithe fingers trailing up your spine absentmindedly.

If you’re being honest, you’re not quite sure how he did it, how he slipped, slithered, seeped through the few cracks in your defence without being violent, without being forceful—how he tore down all of the barricades and shields you had built around yourself, hardened and firm from several years of paranoia and distrust, from the perpetual fear of being hurt again. It should scare you, really, how quickly he did it, how easily and inconspicuously he did it. But it doesn’t.

It doesn’t, because he did it with love; stripping those protective walls with genuity and sincerity, dismantling every brick and stone with gentle touches and soft kisses and tender words. He did it with respect, with patience, with passion and affection and devotion.

So it doesn’t, because there’s nothing to fear—because you’ve never felt more safe in your life, here enveloped by his strong arms and cozy wings, resting on his chest, legs tangled in knots together.

And as you drift off to the gentle pat-pat-pat of the raindrops against the windowpane and the steady thumping of Keigo’s heart echoing in your ears, you realize he’s your very own ray of sunshine, forever present to keep those menacing clouds and malicious thunder away, even in the strongest, the harshest, and the scariest of storms.

[epickiya722]

REACTIONS TO EPISODE 5 - THRILL OF DESTRUCTION

It's the usual biz, genuine "at that moment reactions", some jokes here and there and me appreciating Miruko and my other faves.

LAST EPISODE'S REACTIONS!

Onwards!

Just knowing the chapters this episode will possibly cover and I'm ready to freak out!

Staring off with a recap, starring Miruko!

X-Less, it was nice knowing you.

Okay, I'll admit it was a little funny Miruko just laid back down after Endeavor to stay still. Like, queen, you have done enough. LAY DOWN PLEASE!! I'M WORRIED FOR YOU!!!

Oh my gosh, Backdraft?!

That little exchange between Present Mic and Eraserhead.

Maybe it's just me but Eraser Head is pretty here.

X-LESS, YOU SHOULD HAVE RAN WHEN YOU HAD A CHANCE!!!

I'll be honest... I do not like that cape on Shigaraki. He just never felt like a cape guy for me.

On the topic of the cape, why didn't it turn to ash when X-Less did? Shigaraki's quirk can spread now! Oh, what, he can control it like that now?! I NEED ANSWERS!!

"It's cold." Yes, it would be after you spent so long in a large vial of pretty purple liquid.

Fatgum really tried holding Tokoyami down. 🤣🤣

How he just dropped Kaminari, Honenuki and Komori out his fat!!! 🤣🤣🤣

"I WON'T LET YOU STEAL A RIDE OFF FATAXI!!" I LOVE FATGUM SO MUCH!! 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Dark Shadow sounded so sad. I want to hug Dark Shadow.

They... they didn't have to show Twice now. I do not want to cry right now. Unfair.

Mt. Lady just destroying walls while Dabi monologs. Hee hee, that's golden right there.

"Think about it, you BBQ'ed birbs." Oh wow, okay. You got jokes? 🤣

FATGUM RUNNING AWAY FROM MT. LADY'S ASS!!! "A BOTTOM!!" 🤣🤣🤣

Also, thanks, Geten, for unintentionally saving Tokoyami, Dark Shadow and Hawks.

Oh, he's pretty! Like ice prince pretty! Look at his lashes!!! Awww!!!

Look, real quick, I know some of you don't like Hawks, but I swear if I see bad talk about Tokoyami I'll riot. He is just a KID who is unaware of Twice's backstory. He just knows Twice is a villain and right now the villains have to be dealt with for the sake of society. He's going to be concerned for his teacher, alright? You can't fault him for it and I'm so tired of this fandom for not understanding that. The characters are not going to know the other's backstories, alright? It ain't hard to understand. The villains and heroes just see each other as enemies. It is nothing new in the superhero genre. 🙄 So if you're gonna get mad at Tokoyami for being concerned for Hawks, if you're gonna get mad at Tokoyami for being SCARED, then I'm gonna need you to not come this way.

Now back to our scheduled program!

Ah, shit, Gigantomachia is standing up!

"I smell my master. He's... awake." That is actually creepy you know that.

MY GOTH BIRD SON GOT HIS TITLE CARD!! I gotta use those purples.

URARAKA, TOO?!

Okay, Bakugou yelling at the old lady about the chocolate bun IS in the manga. That is not a new scene.

"You just want a chocolate bun, don't you?" Well, one, yes same! Two, the fact that he is aware of that is amusing and cute. 🤣🤣🤣

I will never get tired of Iida's arm chopping motions. So precious!! 💙

Aaaaw, Koda evacuating the kitties!! HE IS JUST TOO CUTE, THAT IS MY BABY!! MY SUNSHINE!!! 😭😭😭😭🧡🧡🧡🧡

Who... who is the airplane head guy?

*Midoriya stops* Ah, shit. It's happening!!!

NOT CRUST!! I ACTUALLY LIKED HIM!!! I knew it was coming... BUT DAMN!!! THE PAIN IS STILL THERE!!! First top hero to die, too. THAT SHIT IS HEARTBREAKING!!! SOMEONE HUG ME!!

Pixie-Bob, you tried.

Garaki, do you ever want to like... NOT TALK?!

ST. LOUIS SMASH AIR FORCE!! I'm sorry, but I love it when my green boy does his moves. He's great.

Okay, I like the evacuation scenes. Todoroki with his ice, Tsu doing her thing, Uraraka doing hers, Bakugou doing that, MIDORIYA PULLING A BUS.

OH HELL NO!! THE FUCK IS AROUND MY GUY'S ANKLES?! I WON'T STAND FOR IT!!

"Overhaul wouldn't be happy to see this." WHO CARES?!

*Shigaraki calls Machia* And the madness really begins!!

Overall, again, I don't have much to say about this episode. I liked it and now I shall go mourn Crust because he deserves it. He was gone too soon. 🥲

[painforcain]

He knew that whatever reaction he'd get, he wouldn't be able to stop laughing. And he was right. The violent exploding of the Ravenclaw was worth every little teasing movement. He hadn't blown up anyone this fast, not even Gryffindors.

Of course, he had blown Gryffindors, but that was an entirely different topic.

The others had paid attention to their own cauldrons because Cain was clever and they were hidden from their views. Every little antic of his was lost in the mist of the others' potions. Except for Raven. Who caused a disaster just a second after he slithered up close and personal like the snake he was.

He couldn't control his giggle. Sure, he did feel bad a bit, especially when he saw the damage Raven accidentally done. But he said nothing when the professor assigned him to detention, along with the pretty boy.

Well, the pretty boy had some problems later, it seemed.

Cain had conjured a basket for himself to carry the stuff he'd recovered. Having a stroll with the cute Ravenclaw would've been a good afternoon activity if the black haired boy didn't look so angry at him. So, for most of the time, the half-veela remained silent. He knew after all that he went a tad too far with his antics.

He did notice, though, that Raven had kept rubbing his eyes. Was he so frustrated that he was crying? That had to be the case. But upon seeing Raven conjuring bandages for his eyes, he became worried. Of course, he'd heard rumours, and of course, he dismissed them. First, a dhampir would have several problems walking in the sun, right? And Raven looked just fine - save for his sight for now. Second, he got his letter to Hogwarts. This meant that the headmaster of Hogwarts probably knew what he was, and he thought it was safe to let him come here. That was all Cain needed, really. Raven wasn't a threat. Not in the sense the bad tongues said. Third, he really did a dance on Raven's nerves today, and he didn't suffer so much as a scratch.

He was chewing on his lower lip as he watched Raven go blindly for the shade. Perhaps the rumours were true. Maybe, just maybe, he was half vampire. But then... who was he to judge? Cain, who happened to be a half-veela? Half human - and a creature that could get anything he wanted through manipulation? If anyone had seen him angry, they would never forget the sight. The feathers, the fire crackling between his fingers, his hawk-like transformation.

Abomination, someone told him ages ago. Monster.

He slowly walked over to Raven, and the other started to speak. Cain half smiled, and he tried to ignore how funny his heartbeat became when Raven said he liked him - and a lot. He hoped the dhampir couldn't hear that. He softly lowered himself beside the Ravenclaw, and looked at the castle over the lake.

"Let's wait for sunset here", he mumbled as a reply before he conjured up a basket for Raven, too. He gently placed the ingredients in it and set it close to Raven's right hand. He leaned a little bit back as he sat in the grass, placing his hands behind himself, smiling at the castle again. Soft breeze tickled his spiky golden hair. "And my powers are not bullshit. They just don't work on you."

The problem was with waiting for sunset that it may be better for Raven, but it would suck for Cain. Unless he used Lumos Maxima, he couldn't see shit. In twilight - and anything darker - he was practically blind.

"Do your eyes hurt?" He mumbled then, after a few minutes of silence. He reached in his inner pocket and fished out one of the three vials he always carried with himself. Just in case he burned himself or someone else out of anger. He rarely lost his temper lately, but accidents still could happen. "Here." He gently slipped it between Raven's fingers. "This will help. I've made them for... burn marks."

Magic in the veins || @the-raven-dhampir

Cain was too bored to even fall asleep. The History of Magic class was the worst; he always had to try and find things to keep himself entertained and awake.

He was scribbling something on the parchment in front of him when a crumpled up parchment fell on his desk. He held back a yawn, and set his quill down to open the parchment with a raised brow.

Stop staring at me, it makes me uncomfortable.

Cain blinked at the note, then he glanced at the back of the Ravenclaw boy who dropped the note on his desk. Raven was sitting up front, three rows of students were between them. Staring at him? He wasn't staring at him, they just made eye contact after they sat down. The Slytherin took a piece of parchment and wrote a message back.

...but you're cute. :(

He folded it in half, then got his wand in his hand and used magic to sneakily make it fly on Raven's desk, beside his hand.

[marisramblings]

“Griffith did Nothing Wrong”

I’m going to need you all to humor me until the eclipse. Tw: SA

Let’s set the stage that spawned this post. I stumbled upon Berserk when I was 9 years old. This was the early days of YouTube (2009) when anime was uploaded with abandon and minimal copyright. Don’t ask me to explain why my 9 year old self was watching gory anime scenes—I also found Umineko no Naku Koro Ni—I was and that’s it. I saw part of the eclipse episode, but I could never find the full show. I’ve known about Berserk for years. With only a passing interest, I learned most of the plot of the Golden Age arc. I’ve known for years what happens during the eclipse, but never the details of the story. I could’ve read the manga, but I decided to wait until it finished. A manga that was in publication for over 30 years does not give me confidence. Authors die and I refuse to start any series that’s been petering along for decades. It’s too disappointing, and I don’t feel like experiencing that again. Well, Kentaro Miura did die and there was a lot of discussion on whether his staff will continue the manga (they are), so I just shelved it.

So, here I am in 2022. I think I just had a passing curiosity, as adhd is apt to do, and looked up Berserk (1997) and found the whole show subbed. Finally, I could watch this show I’ve been curious about for 10+ years. Watch I did, and Griffith became my favorite character.

“But he’s a—“ I know. “He did—“ I promise you, I know. I know what Griffith did, and does, and I love him. After staunchly touting the “Griffith did everything wrong” I am here to say, Griffith is not a bad person. In fact, Griffith didn’t do anything wrong.

Bitch, the fuck?

Hi, if you’re still reading, thank you. I will ignore the pitchforks and hanging rope and quickly explain myself. This post is defending pre-eclipse Griffith. Admittedly, I’m not even mad about the eclipse, though one obvious part will never sit well. Let’s start at the beginning.

Griffith wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t evil. At best, he was a cold, callous, self-centered man. He’s right, Griffith forced no one to join him or forced anyone into battle. Yes, the only reason he created the Band of the Hawk, slept with creepy adults, fought battles, and committed a few assassinations was in service to his dream. No, that doesn’t make him evil. Griffith makes no illusions to his followers, he doesn’t pretend to be their friend or give a damn. He has a goal and he will do what he needs to achieve it. Get in line or fuck off.

Some may argue that objectifying those around him makes him bad. For me, good and bad aren’t the only choices. Griffith is neutral. He’s not a good person by any means, though. Our hawk reads to me as someone incapable of fostering true connection. He’s abnormally pretty, which definitely caused him issues, inquisitive, and quite intelligent. He started forming his mercenary group around 13-15 years old. I do relate this, living in your own world that no one else seems to or wants to understand. There are often two reactions to that, desperately try to fit in or see others as NPCs.

Griffith is a child

If you look into our cast’s ages, most of them are 17-25. Griffith is about 20-21 by the end of the Golden Age arc. What I’m trying to empress upon you all is that he’s young. I’m 22, and while I definitely feel adult, working at a retirement home puts my life in perspective. 22 is fucking young. There are people who have been retired longer than I’ve been alive. Griffith is a fucking child and, in my opinion, the most childish person after Rickert and Charlotte.

Let’s analyze his dream. Little boy Griffith dreamt of having a kingdom. He dreamt of knowing his place in the world, and of being more than a peasant with a run of the mill life. Having a kingdom, living in a castle, these are the dreams of children. Griffith is clinging to something childish. That may seem unrealistic, I mean, Griffith commands thousands of men, he’s a viscount, he sniffed out and snuffed out political subterfuge, he clearly has a real world grasp of the complexities of running a kingdom. He knows how to get his dream, though that requires severe luck or causality, but the dream itself is hollow like a child’s. He wants a kingdom. Do we ever see people in the kingdom? Do we every see anyone standing by Griffith’s side? Do we see culture, holidays, anything but a castle on a tall hill? Griffith has accumulated a mountain of bodies for something so empty. Griffith is a man with the dreams of a child, but his actions have adult consequences and that is something that eats him alive. He feels guilt and regret and buries deep within so he can avoid it. Someone died on his order? That’s fine, they’re just a toy I’m using. We need money and I had to sleep with Gennon? It’s not traumatizing that I was only a few years older than his slaves and that may have been my first sexual experience. I’m not making this point to excuse his actions, just his mindset. Griffith appears adult and in some respects he is, but he’s also a child who’s been in a bit of arrested development.

Yes, he’s an asshole

Turns out when everything goes your way forever and everyone seems to love the act you put on, you become kind of an arrogant prick. Still not the most egregious I’ve seen, but a prick nonetheless. Part of that is due to his controlling nature. Griffith is neurotic levels of control freak, something I also relate to. There’s a script that must be followed and damn anyone who dares step from it (Guts). This is going to be a Griffith is autistic post, isn’t it? He’s also an intj and I’ve gotten intp and intj consistently…

People don’t treat objects well, that’s why objectification is usually bad. You’re not friends with objects and you don’t mourn objects, please ignore the scars on my upper arms and the smile that never reaches my eyes. For the most part, Griffith isn’t an active asshole. He’s not walking up to his men and saying he finds them expendable. He’s not gossiping with them.

He does admit to Charlotte, in an incredibly rare moment of vulnerability, that he only considers people with their own dreams his equal. I can see where that comes from. Everyone worships the ground he walks on. You can’t have an equal and genuine relationship with people who worship you. Think a celebrity dating a fan, not impossible but very unlikely to be successful. There’s also a little glimmer into Griffith, that people without dreams piss him off. An intrinsically and unique facet of who he is. We all have values that shape our opinions of others.

Let’s talk Charlotte (No, I’m not discussing the age gap. It’s the Middle Ages)

I’ve dubbed that sex scene as dubcon. I am using a fanfic term, but that’s how I see it. For some, dubcon is noncon and that’s fine. I’m not here to argue. Griffith was forceful, and he did push, but I feel if Charlotte had said “no” again and continued to resist, he would’ve quit. Charlotte was an ego boost and control freak panic. Griffith lives in a world where everyone loves him and women would jump his bones at a moment’s notice. He needs to reaffirm this “fact”, he needs the world where he gets what he wants and everyone gives happily. Also, raping the fucking princess might get you…killed. Charlotte is a sweet girl and Griffith was thinking about another person while deflowering her, I assume with little prep. This was fucking shitty.

The day of the eclipse

For the longest time, I thought the eclipse was a couple of months after Griffith was rescued. It’s the next day. You know how people decry torture because it can drastically damage a person’s physical and mental health and cause severe trauma? I had to look away during Griffith’s torture, that shit was medieval. Cut tendons, pulled nails, branding, rape, probable castration, tongue cut, bones broken, pierced by thick needles…he went through this for a year.

Trauma like that can change your personality. I’m not surprised that in his pain Griffith blamed Guts. Remember, this man is a child. Children blame others instead of themselves. Guts broke through his mask and was his first true emotional connection. Then, Guts left. He veered off script and threw the laws that govern Griffith’s the world. That can’t do. Of course Griffith had to sleep with Charlotte. The laws needed to be mended. Guts forced his hand and now he’s here practically dead on the cold cobblestone floor smelling like piss and shit and watching the wall swirl into a hallucination of demonic beings in a room out of relativity. I’m not expecting rationality from Griffith. I’m honestly impressed that he could process words.

Did he attempt to rape Casca in the wagon? Kinda? I thought this at first, but then thought that he was really seeking normal physical comfort. We never see Griffith hug people or seek physical comfort. One could say that Charlotte served that purpose as well, though that is straight speculation.

I see the belief for rape, but I also see the same line of thinking with Charlotte. It’s his ego. Women were throwing themselves at him. I feel like rape, in this instance, would only hurt his ego. He’s Griffith, he doesn’t need to force women. They’ll all kill for the chance to be in his godly prescence. So when Casca turns away and rebuffs him, he stops. Casca, his most devoted follower who would’ve jumped at the chance last year, refuses him. I don’t think she even perceived it as assault. Griffith is that pathetic.

Griffith has been free for a day. Let’s list what happens: He’s too weak to even choke Guts. Guts and Judeau, seasoned soldiers, are horrified by his face. A soldier reveals his emaciated body to his men. The group he painstakingly formed, fought for, sold his body for, look at him in pity and rally around the man he blames for his state. His most ardent defender is in love with said man and looks at him with pity. She will stay out of pity, but not love/admiration. The kid he envisions isn’t his because I tell you at least his balls are gone. His one life goal is shattered.

I will be getting a little personal. My dad had a stroke and he’s now disabled. He isn’t handling the change well. His pride is hurt, he feels like a child, he feels weak and pathetic and emasculated. His attitude is less than stellar and he lives in denial that he’ll be working a fast-paced job and being the breadwinner again. That is Griffith, except his denial is shattered when he shatters his elbow. He doesn’t have time to truly process anything. All of this shit hits him at once and he attempts to kill himself. He also fails at that.

Pre-torture Griffith would never kill himself, and now post-torture can’t even manage that. He can’t walk, talk, or do the most basic of things. His life at 21 is fucking over. That brief fantasy was denial. His hair won’t grow back, the skin on his face will never look normal. So, we get the eclipse.

@blood-ember made a great post. The god hand had to wait for an extremely traumatized man, isolate him, and show him strange visions that egged him into sacrificing the Band of the Hawk. Griffith was an amalgamation of emotions, not just negative ones. He still felt love for his group and Guts and Casca. I cannot view a quick decision made in such horrendously manipulative circumstances as valid. Griffith would not have made this decision last year.

Yassified Griffith Femto is not human, he doesn’t feel in the same way and has been imbued with literal evil. I do think raping Casca is in character, but I mostly blame Miura. For some reason, the demons that kill everyone else, instead rip off Casca’s clothes and assault her. Guts is only alive because he’s Guts. Casca was kept alive by Miura, not Griffith, to be raped. Griffith was still in his cocoon when that shit happened. Miura treated Casca in the most sickening and misogynistic manner possible. Griffith is wrong, and this is an action that I will never dismiss or diminish. Kento Miura should’ve killed Casca.

Conclusion

I like Griffith because I like morally bankrupt, intelligent pretty boys. Makishima Shogo is my favorite Pyscho-Pass character next to Akane. Griffith isn’t a bad person for most of the Golden Age arc. He reminds me of myself in some ways. The odd man out, isolated, a little childish, and analytical. He’s a great character and I hold no illusions that he’ll get a good end. He will probably die and I’m not mad. He deserves it. This arc is a good story. I wish they had developed our side cast more because the only ones I cared about at the end were Rickert and Judeau. Pippin, I do love you, but I know shit about you.

After a decade of going off other people’s assumptions, I have seen the full picture and changed my mind. Griffith, at least until the eclipse, really did nothing wrong.

[salemwritesxx]

𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓶𝓮.

𝕋 𝕒 𝕜 𝕒 𝕞 𝕚   𝕂 𝕖 𝕚 𝕘 𝕠 | ℍ 𝕒 𝕨 𝕜 𝕤

     ⇴ male reader      ⇴ all characters are depicted as [18]+

↳ request: Can you do like a super fluffy hawks smut? Like keigo had a really bad day at work and just needs to be loved on

↣ rating: [18]+ ↣ warnings: smut, fluffy smut

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“Welcome back, Kei!”, you greeted your boyfriend, however, he only grunted in response and like that, telling you immediately that something was wrong.

However, before you could ask, the smaller hero just walked past you and into the bathroom, closing the door and leaving you behind. Tilting your head, you were a little worried, but decided to get back into bed again. Since you had come home earlier today, you had already showered and slipped into bed to read, waiting for Hawks. Though now that he was home, you wondered if something happened during the day that killed his mood.

Hawks was not one to cry easily, so when the tears started flowing on their own while under the shower, he couldn’t help but groan in annoyance. He was just so frustrated, it was such a shit and rough day. For him to not even be able to hold in his tears, Hawks was certainly at the peak of frustration and anger at that point.

As he had cried while showering, he did feel a little better once he stepped outside to dry himself, but now, there was something different he craved to distract him from the bitter taste that day left in his mouth; hence why he had used the time in the shower to prepare for his little plan. So, with a mere towel on, he walked from the bathroom into your shared bedroom where you were still sitting on the bed, reading your book.

You didn’t even look up, maybe because he had just grunted at you before, thus, without saying much, he walked over to your side of the bed. And you certainly couldn’t ignore him anymore when he slipped under your blanket, earning your yelp – a second later a moan followed.

“Kei-“, you were only able to groan before grabbing the blanket and pulling it away from him, the view making you gulp heavily.

There he was, head buried between your legs, his pretty lips wrapped around your soft cock and sucking you off. Though, bare moments later, Keigo was getting the anticipated reaction from you, feeling your dick harden and grow as his wet, hot mouth was just too much.

With your hand buried in his blond locks, you didn’t stop him, instead softly massaging his scalp as he sucked on your cock. Teasing your swollen tip with his tongue, Hawks was glad you didn’t reject him, because after all the things that had gone wrong that day, being rejected would have probably made him break down again.

“Baby- nghh, hey…”, you tried getting his attention, though couldn’t you hold back the blissful hiss when he sucked on your balls, making you shudder. Only for him to make his way up your shaft again, finally reacting when you lightly pulled on his hair.

With a whine and groan, Hawks looked up, meeting you eye to eye which only sent a strong, violent jolt down south, that made your cock twitch and grow even harder.  

“Jesus fuckin- I love you!”, with your other hand you grabbed his cheek, pulling him up and Keigo was happily and willingly following your movement until your lips collided.

“I love you, too!”, was finally the first thing he said since he came home, just to openly moan into your hot mouth when your tongues met.

Meanwhile, Hawks’ raised his hips, one hand pumping and guiding your cock to his ass, the other spreading his asscheeks. Thankfully, you also helped him when you grabbed and spread them yourself, exposing him only further as his twitching hole was soon stuffed with your cockhead.

Moaning almost in synch, you pushed him only closer as Keigo was lowering his hips onto your hard dick, swallowing it effortlessly thanks to his preparation in the shower. With one final thrust, he shoved your cock inside balls-deep, your pleasurable growl sent a chill up his spine and made him whimper.

Breaking the deep, sloppy kisses, you were both gasping for a moment, only for Hawks to bury his head in the crook of your neck, his arms tightly wrapped around you. For a few seconds, you were just half-laying, half-sitting in your bed, hugging him closely and trying to process what had just happened.

“Are you okay?”, your hand started to caress his beautiful red wings and back and the other massaging his scalp again, knowing how much he liked those soft touches.

“Hmh. I just… need you.”, he mumbled against your skin, warm lips pressing little kisses against your neck.

Keigo wasn’t even fully erect himself, though, granted, it wasn’t even about the sex right now or even reaching an orgasm. He just needed to feel you, hold you and be held, be connected with you.

“Sorry for jumping you like that…”, Keigo merely whispered again.

“It’s okay. I’m always here for you, Shortcake.”, you said back in a hushed voice, before peppering soft kisses onto the side of his head and shoulder – everywhere you could comfortably reach right now.

After a few moments of silence and both of your breathing calming down, Hawks then started moving a little, barely swaying his hips a bit. Raising his head eventually, you looked into each other’s eyes deeply for a few seconds, your little smile also making a small one flit across his lips, before he leaned in to kiss you. Small, soft kisses turning into deeper ones again as you kept on holding each other, Kei’s and your hips gently moving with one another.

Softly groaning and whining against your lips, you both moved slow and steady, stopping every now and then, just to enjoy the moment of being connected. His warm, wet ass engulfing your throbbing dick was a blissful tease, especially when he tightened here and there. All while you whispered sweet nothings and little “I love you”s. You broke away here and there to peck his lips a few time, before kissing all over his face, your lover finally giggling again.

“You okay, Kei?”, you quietly asked again after a few moments, your hips back to softly moving and lightly thrusting to hear his quickened breathing and cute moans as he cuddled closer. His answer a little whine and his lips back on yours for a kiss.

There was no rush or hard fucking, and that’s what he had needed; just being able to melt against your body and be caught in your arms when everything else was going wrong.

With soft gasps, Takami’s hips were twitching, his soft cock lightly rubbing against your abdomen as he was smushed against your body still. Thankfully, you didn’t let him go, even when he wanted to sit back up, thinking you might want him to start moving properly about now, you pulled him back down.

After a while, Hawks was just laying on top of you, cuddling and still sharing kisses. His lips already red and swollen, yet neither of you wanted to stop, by now, your own cock only semi-hard buried inside his ass. But it didn’t matter. It was more important for you that your lover was feeling loved and his racing mind put at ease.

Your hand was caressing all over of his body, wherever you could reach. Softly massaging his thighs, before rubbing circles on his hips and lower back, your hand always moving. Without realizing it, you were both lulled into sleep, still connected and snuggled together.

.

Once the little rays of sunshine tickled his nose, Hawks’s golden eyes opened, still groggy and disoriented, before the familiar feeling of his ass being filled sank in.

Rubbing his eyes, he glanced down to you who was sleeping soundly, while he was resting on top of you still. With a small smile and chuckle he leaned down to softly kiss your forehead just to snuggle his head back into the nook of your neck.

“Thank you, [Your.name]…”, was the only thing he whispered with his raspy voice, before he rose fully at last.

Grinding his hips against your soft dick, he was adamant to not let you slip out, having to thank you properly for last night. Plus, now that he had basically warmed your cock for the last hours and sleeping while being stuffed, the need to fuck was very prominent. When he heard little groans from you and your hands suddenly grabbed his ass, he knew you didn’t feel much different about it.

With a day starting so pleasantly, there was no doubt Hawks had already forgotten what had angered and made him cry with frustration yesterday. And it was all thanks to you; how did he really deserve such an amazing boyfriend?

“I love you.”

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@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

⇻ salem.talks: psa – hawks is tiny and deserves the world and if he has a shit day he needs all the love! thank you once again for the request anon

[ticklenight]

Roadtrip

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the landscape as Dabi and Hawks set off on their spontaneous road trip. The car hummed softly as it glided down the winding roads, but Hawks was anything but calm. He fidgeted in his seat, tapping his fingers against his thigh and glancing out the window every few seconds.

“Can’t you sit still for just a minute?” Dabi chuckled, his eyes flicking from the road to his boyfriend. The corners of his mouth turned up in an amused smirk, a rare softness shining through his usual aloofness.

Hawks let out a small, playful huff. “I’m trying! It’s just… the scenery is too pretty, and I feel like I need to stretch my wings!”

Dabi raised an eyebrow. “You know you could always just fly, right? You’re the number two hero.”

“Yeah, but I want to enjoy this with you! Just being in the car feels… cozy. But I’ve got all this energy!” Hawks grinned, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief.

With a small sigh, Dabi formulated a plan. “Okay, how about a distraction? Let’s play a game. I’ll ask questions, and you have to answer them without overthinking.”

“Alright! Hit me!” Hawks leaned in, his excitement palpable.

“Okay, first question: If you could have any superpower besides your wings, what would it be?” Dabi glanced over, gauging Hawks' reaction.

“Easy! I’d want the ability to talk to animals. Just imagine all the adventures I could have!” Hawks said, his imagination running wild.

Dabi laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “You’d just end up with a bunch of stray cats following you home.”

“Hey, that sounds like a dream!” Hawks countered, a playful pout forming on his lips.

“Okay, my turn! What’s your favorite way to spend a lazy day?” Dabi asked, genuinely curious.

Hawks’ eyes softened as he thought. “Just cuddling on the couch, maybe watching some cheesy movies. You know, the kind that makes you cringe but you can’t help but love?”

“Sounds perfect,” Dabi replied, his voice lower, almost intimate. “I could get used to that.”

As they drove further, Dabi’s hand found its way to Hawks' thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth from the touch sent a flutter of comfort through Hawks, calming his restless energy just a bit.

“Okay, next question!” Dabi continued. “What’s something you find irresistible?”

“Hmm…” Hawks pretended to think deeply. “I’d have to say someone who knows how to make me blush. Like you do.”

Dabi’s smirk widened, a hint of color creeping onto his cheeks. “You’re smooth, you know that?”

“Only when it comes to you,” Hawks replied, his voice softening as he met Dabi’s gaze.

Just then, a sudden idea struck Dabi. He shifted slightly, leaning closer to Hawks, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You know, I could always tickle you if you can’t sit still…”

Hawks’ eyes widened, and he instantly started giggling. “N-No! Not that! You know how ticklish I am!”

Dabi’s grin turned devilish. “Exactly. So maybe you should focus on answering the next question… or else.”

“No, no! I can do it! Just… don’t you dare!” Hawks laughed, squirming in his seat.

As Dabi launched into another question, the car was filled with laughter and playful banter, the tension of the journey melting away. The road stretched ahead, but for them, time felt infinite.

Eventually, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. Dabi turned on the headlights, and Hawks settled back, feeling the warmth radiating from Dabi beside him.

“Thank you for this,” Hawks said, his voice sincere as he glanced at Dabi. “I love our little adventures, even if I can’t sit still.”

Dabi’s expression softened, a rare vulnerability shining through. “I love them too. As long as you’re with me, I’m happy.”

Hawks beamed, leaning closer until their shoulders touched. The road ahead was long, but with Dabi by his side, it was a journey filled with laughter, warmth, and endless moments of joy.

[alovelyburn]

Rambles about The Golden Age Arc - Part 5

I sometimes say that I’m not sure if the Golden Age Arc is actually my favorite Berserk storyline... and that’s true. But that said, I do think it’s probably the strongest 10ish long stretch of volumes. Because the thing is, the Golden Age is really broken down into several arcs, as well as three acts - and I kind of want to write about the three acts thing at some point but nevermind that. 

The point is, there are several subarcs within the Golden Age, and if I look at the arcs as individual subarcs ala say the Lost Children arc, there are others sub-arcs that I like as much the subarcs that make up the Golden Age. The biggest one that comes to mind is the Ganishka confrontation that culminates in Femto  using Ganishka’s corpse to break reality.

But I don’t think there’s any other area where I can say there’s 10 volumes where almost every individual issue or subarc is made of gold.

Anyway, back to....

Rambles about The Golden Age Arc - Part 5

1. Foss and Griffith’s meeting in the palace halls is pretty amusing because Foss is playing 2D Chess with a 4D chess player and he doesn’t even realize it until it’s too late. And I say 2D chess specifically because I do think he thinks he’s smarter and more subtle than he is. The conversation he has with Griffith here is honestly pretty suspicious, you know? Like if you’re Griffith, even if you didn’t already kind of suspect Foss for reasons of eye movement, wouldn’t you get red flags from the way he’s prodding around to see how you react to things like gosh what if you were actually the target gosh gosh, and wow Adonis he sure was young. It’s suspicious especially since the idea had already been settled in the minds of most people. 

And since Griffith is in fact the person behind that attack, this correction is quite pointed. It’s also appropriate because this is around the time Griffith is realizing that Foss is the orchestrator of the assassination plot, because of course the men in that hallway are the men responsible for that death, in the end. Julius and Guts were just the hands that wielded the weapons. Julius’s death, and Adonis’s as well, are the result of human machinations with a root in human prejudices, and it’s always best not to lose track of that.

I will also note that Griffith correcting the assignment of “evil” actions to demons vs. humanity itself also suits the themes of the series as a whole - the pettiness and pain and frailty of humanity, which ultimately gives rise not only to the Godhand but even to the very concept of evil itself. 

2. The Queen really looks like she walked straight out of a Riyoki Ikeda book doesn’t she? When I was a kid I was obsessed with Rose of Versailles - one of the few manga series that my mother brought with her from Japan - and I used to sit around drawing those ornate dresses and such. Looking at the Queen just brings me right back to things like what I used to call the Number Five ballgown - which was this ornate dress that Marie Antionette wore to court that I was obsessed with. Anyway.

3. Another reason I wondered if the Promrose chapter was around (roughly) the time Miura decided to turn Guts and Casca into a romance is because not only does it mark a change in her reactions to Guts, it also marks a shift in her reactions to Griffith. I don’t think the Promrose speech in itself affected Casca’s view of him, though, it’s more like the narrative starts to prepare her to move away from him. 

I do wonder sometimes how the Hawks saw that relationship, the Griffith/Casca thing. Because on one hand it does seem like the Hawks all knew Griffith was extremely obsessive when it comes to Guts... but on the other hand, when Guts is talking to Judeau about his departure he says something to the effect of ‘everyone knows she and Griffith....” and the discussion proceeds from there into the reasons Casca can’t give him what he needs, which is power. So I wonder if people thought Griffith would have been with Casca if he weren’t kind of bound by his ambition into pursuing Charlotte instead.

I’m going to think on that one!

Anyway back to Casca - when I first read Berserk and got to this whole thing with Casca’s period, I really thought.... wow Miura just shouldn’t write about women’s issues, like he has no idea. A friend of mine who has particularly bad PMDD did eventually read Berserk and tell me that it run true to her, so I’ve stopped lambasting him about it but I do kind of doubt that portrayal was based on research and a thorough understanding of PMDD. I often think Casca really takes the blunt of Miura’s youthful inexperience with writing. Even at this early point in the series the writing is generally quite masterful - in fact to this day a lot of people think it’s the best arc part of the series. But there are some missteps and almost every one of them is focused on Casca. 

4. Also, let’s look at Guts.

It’s interesting because it wasn’t so long ago - just over 100 pages in fact - that Guts referred to himself as just one soldier when talking to Griffith about his... crazy daredevil tactics with Zodd. Not to mention last arc he was up there telling Griffith to just tell him what to do. 

But I think you can draw a line between Griffith’s “Do I need a reason?” and this situation. It goes back to what i was speculating about yesterday regarding the different ways they perceive their friendship - Griffith sees Guts as an equal, Guts sees himself as Griffith’s favorite soldier, and their closeness as being real, yes, but he does still feel the schism of each man’s respective status. But the thing is, when Guts puts that schism to words - why would you risk yourself over just one soldier? - Griffith essentially disagreed with him. “You’re not just a soldier, you’re someone I will put myself at risk for.” The impact of this was pretty powerful - he ends up deciding to stay with the Hawks and dedicate himself to Griffith “for now,” but honestly does anyone think he would have left if he hadn’t overhead the Promrose speech?

Long story less long I’m saying even if he hadn’t fully digested the information in that statement from Griffith about risking himself, it had started to settle into him. His mind was starting to change its path. And he obviously really liked the idea that Griffith truly cared about him and considered him a friend. 

And then the Promrose speech just ends up knocking him back to “just one soldier,” except now he’s no longer satisfied with that. He thought for a moment that he was, or could be, something else and now he’s back where he started but now that place stings. 

And so we end up here, with his growing understanding obscured by a resurgence in his self-esteem issues even though we as readers know...

...that Griffith is still ready to risk everything over this.

5. Okay so going back to Casca and Guts and the epic flashback, which I do think is one of the most important sequences in the story, let alone the Golden Age arc, as it provides the basic foundation for understanding both Griffith and Casca’s basic characters and dynamic, as well as being one of the strongest direct clarifications of what exactly is going on with Griffith and Guts. 

This transition in subject is so funny, like I get it, he’s trying to change the subject from how much she hates him because it’s not like A FUN TOPIC and also probably not that interesting to him. Plus she’s been complaining about being a woman and having to deal with all the bullshit that she does, in fact, have to deal with as a female soldier so I’m sure he’s genuinely curious about what in the world would make someone want to go into soldiering under those circumstances. But it’s still pretty funny how hes like “(FUCK THIS BITCH SHOULD HAVE LET HER DROWN.) So let’s chitchat about your past!”

Anyway it’s kinda tough to break into this flashback stuff but here we go.  

I have seen people suggest that Griffith is an asshole for throwing Casca a sword instead of saving her directly. I disagree. First of all I think its a bit much to assume he would have let her be raped in front of him if she hadnt defended herself, but ultimately I think giving her the choice - and specifically pushing her to decide that she wants to fight back, that her bodily integrity is worth fighting for, worth risking her life for,  - that’s what empowers her to become a hero instead of a damsel. Because when he first comes across her, she’s given up and accepted that this is her life. It’s Griffith’s arrival, his questioning of the noble’s right to do whatever he wants with her, and his pushing her to the decision point that makes her think there is another possibility. 

It reminds me a bit of the scene with Theresia where Guts basically dares her to commit suicide in order to force her to decide if that’s what she really wants, or if she wants to live. 

It’s also entirely in line with the bits of his belief system and what appeals to him that show up and leak out (or are, in some rare cases, stated directly). He is, as we’ve gone over before, drawn to someone who doesn’t just take what comes to them - someone who is willing to fight back, to gamble their life and struggled  against the things that threaten them. 

Also that line - “Does being a noble mean you are chosen by God?” echoes back to his musings way back in the Black Swordsman arc, and also in Promrose - the belief that the world can be changed by people who arent given that power by their birth - not to mention his dislike of nobility that peeks through in certain situations. A disdain for hereditary power, I guess - or at least the hoarding of power in the hands of people who feel entitled simple because of their birth rank.

Anyway the point is - by empowering Casca, Griffith enables her to become the woman she is... but I think in a certain way, by making her decide to be strong, he made himself more of an idol than he would have been if he just made that decision for her. Because now she attributes her strength to him, and that means everything to her.

But there is one quirk. 

I have a lot to say about Griffith’s role as a symbol to nobles, to commoners - and maybe I’ll get into it at some point, but for now I will note that her description of her idolization of him is in past tense - back then I idolized him, he was like a prophet or saint, he was a miracle to me. I think this is important because of the way her perception of him shifts basically during the flashback in this chapter. 

Enter Gennon. The Berserk manual thingie calls him Governor General Shotacon and says he deserves to die, which yes let’s all agree that’s the case. Anyway as of this point in the flashback, Casca still basically sees Griffith as a godlike figure. 

And Griffith, for his part, always seems aware of her and when she needs reassurance, in this case because she’s staring at what could have been her own future - what would have been if he hadn’t come across her in that moment. 

Of course this is possible in part because at this point he is still up close and personal with his troupes. I mean... when he met Guts he was 15 years old, right? So when he was running around doing mercenary work and running into Gennon and all what was he, like 13 or 14? What the hell. At this time he’s fairly fresh out of his alleyways - a few years on sure but they’ve just been a band of thieves or doing minor mercenary work. But then we get the death of the child.

Now... when someone says Griffith doesn’t care about his soldiers, when they say he’s a sociopath who only cares about himself, I want to know what they’re smoking because if that’s the case, what’s going on here? No one noticed this kid. No one cared that he died. Even Casca doesn’t remember his name. The only one who cares, the only one who is affected by that death, is Griffith. Not only does he recognize the child and remember him, he even paid enough attention to this kid to recognize the broken knight toy that marks his passing. 

Griffith is deeply affected by this. Casca even notes that she had never seen him so somber, and the moment itself leaves her speechless. Casca says herself that this is when her perspective on Griffith starts to change - I would say at this point it is her beginning to see that he is not an untouchable marble figure - there is something fragile and rather sensitive under his carefully composed presentation. ...and of course, that presentation is about to crack even farther and irrevocably change the way she sees him.

Which, of course, brings us to this:

...I hate leaving off in the middle of a chapter, but I have to go to the office tomorrow so I can’t be up until 4am talking about Berserk. Since this is a suitably dramatic moment to leave off, I shall away and then tomorrow after work I shall ramble some more.

So uh, bai, good night, later gators, etc etc..

[pleasantanathema]

Invasive Species

Pairing: Hawks x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Yandere, Dubious Non/Con, Stalking, Possessive Actions

Word Count: 7.7k

A/N:This is a part of the bnharem pen pals collab that can be found here! Please check out everyone else’s amazing work for this very unique smutty collaboration.

           The noise was so faint, a gentle peck against the glass, the sound muffled by the mild summer breeze, that you hadn’t heard it. And so, the paper became lifeless, drifting down onto the floor to rest until you found it. You were startled when you saw it—a blood red feather, with a crisp, folded note tied to it, lying in your floor, the feather ruffling in the wind from the open window. Your heart pounded in your chest. You had seen feathers like that before, felt them against your skin and in your hair as a winged hero carried you to safety from a burning building just yesterday. But you’d been one of many, he saved so many people, yet he left a feather for you?

           You’ll always be safe with me around.

                                   –Hawks

           You smiled at his writing, finding it to be much neater and prettier than you expected from a man in his twenties. What a kind, considerate hero to send you such an endearing promise. No wonder he topped the popularity polls, you mused, sitting on your bed and re-reading the little note. You tapped the feather against your lips, twirling it between your fingers. You remembered how he was able to control the nimble things, sending feathers zipping across the sky to pull people by their collars and the back of their shirts to safety. Surely he would want it back, right? You felt it twitch within your hand as if it could read your mind.

           Quickly, you searched your desk, ripping at a piece of paper to create a slip similar to the size of his note. You took a breath before writing, not wanting your handwriting to seem unsteady or nervous. You wondered if anyone ever wrote him back, or if people kept his feathers like trophies.

           Thank you, Hawks. I’m grateful that someone will be watching after me.

           You signed your name in the bottom corner.

           The crimson feather darted away when you placed it on your window sill, jumping like it was alive. It carried your note back to waiting hands and a cheeky smile, to a man only a few rooftops away. Avian eyes narrowed and darkened at your innocent words.

           You didn’t realize it at the time, but your message was an invitation to a very dangerous game.

           The next little letter came about a week later, long after the sun had set and your eyes were heavy. The quill against the glass spooked you, the sound reminiscent of sharp nails tapping to get your attention. You opened the window and the feather fluttered past your cheek, landing perfectly in the middle of your desk like it belonged there. You rubbed your eyes as you sat down to read it, flicking on the dim light that you had just turned off to go to sleep.

           You couldn’t help the way you smiled when you saw that this letter was personally addressed to you.

           Sorry for making you wait so long. I’m not used to writing letters. But your handwriting is so pretty, I thought I could implore you for another? Please tell me something about you.

                                                                                 –Hawks

           You blinked at the paper, thumbs crinkling the edges. There was something about the letter that made your heart thump a little harder in your chest, blood racing in your veins. You realized that you were not one of many to receive an assuring note from the hero; no, you had been sought out by him, plucked and singled out of the crowd. Hawks had remembered you in particular. A small bit of adrenaline kicked into your system as you picked up your pen.

           This is going to sound like I’m trying to be sweet on you, but I’ve actually always loved birds. My favorite are the pretty red song birds that I hear outside my windows in the evening.

           There was a compulsion for you to keep this response letter a little longer. You mulled it over, hoping he wouldn’t get the wrong idea. You weren’t lying, those cute little song birds did bring you joy, but there was a tinge in your heart to impress him, to make him smile as he read your letter.

           And as quick as the feather flew in, it flew away, a red streak across the star speckled sky. You finally curled up in bed, a concoction of excitement and content brewing in your chest. You held your pillow a little closer, dreaming of the brush of soft wings against your skin.

           But those wings were dark, casting shadows in the moonlight, now only a single rooftop away from you. Hawks held your letter in his hand, golden gaze locked onto the color of your curtains. He wondered if you’d ever become privy enough to shut them.

           He read your words over and over again, smiling at how coy you were. He knew you were clever, but he didn’t expect you to be so daring. He brushed his hair behind his ear, pressing the small scrap of paper to his nose, trying to get a hint of the sweetness he had smelled in your hair when he plucked you from that building. You were so darling in his arms; he loved how you clung to him, small hands around his neck like you would collapse without him, even when he had you safe on the ground.

           The letter in his hand felt like the key into your life, and all too quickly he found himself writing back to you. And in the depths of the night, this particular letter and feather were hand delivered by the pretty bird from outside your window, though you’d never know it.

___________________________________________________________

           You found the letter tucked neatly into the corner of your window, the one closest to your bed. It had been the first thing your eyes focused on as you awoke, the crimson barbs of the feather gleaming in the early morning light. You laid in the comfort of your warm bed for a few moments just gazing at the sight, sleepy mind trying to piece together how and why the winged hero had taken an interest in you. He was so handsome, so popular, so tantalizing in a curious way.

           The summer breeze was warm even so early in the day. You left the window open to allow a current of fresh air in, settling back into your pillows as you unfolded the note.

           I suppose liking birds is something we have in common. Those pretty red song birds outside your window are actually cardinals…an invasive species in Japan, but pretty nonetheless.

                                   P.S. Perhaps I could soon become your favorite red bird.

                                                                       –Hawks

           You read it a few times, worrying your lip as your eyes raked over every word. There was something to be read between the lines, only you worried you weren’t finding the hidden meaning. Why mention that the birds were invasive species? It made them sound impish and not as lovely knowing they weren’t really supposed to be there. Yet their morning calls were beautiful, melodic, a comfort to your ears from the open window. And was Hawks…flirting with you? His post script seemed so playful and nonchalant, and reading it had your cheeks turning pink.

           You busied yourself with your morning routine as you debated how to reply. You didn’t know Hawks, you didn’t even know how he found out where you lived, and yet he was flirting with you so offhandedly, like he expected you to return his dalliances. Had he come early this morning before starting his hero work? Or did he work at night, and sent a feather before returning home? There was so little that you knew about him that it made you nervous to be stepping into such an unknown situation, but surely it didn’t mean much to him. You were a little nobody; he was the number two hero.

           Even still, in a way, it felt so romantic, finding hand written letters from him, like you were out of time, floating in a midsummer bliss. But it also felt disquieting, like you were stepping out into a vast, unknown ocean.

           You sat down to write to him before you left to begin your day. The feather in your hand was so light, so soft, and you gently stroked your thumb over the barbs, watching them split apart and then find one another again. The hollow shaft seemed to quake in response. You were reminded of how every feather appeared to be alive, controlled by their far-off master. They were so sensitive to every touch, every gust of wind. You dipped your finger against the edge, watching the alluring color bleed against your skin.

           Can you feel what your feathers feel, Hawks?

           And you set the feather free once again, having to block the sun from your eyes as you watched it dance away, note dangling from a long forgotten ribbon you had found in your drawer.

           But soon, you forgot about it, carried away by the daily musings of your life.

______________________________________________________________

           As for Hawks, he thought about it all day, carried your little note in his pocket as he attended to his heroic duties across the city. The image of your window, of your little home where it was tucked away, always remained in the back of his mind. He was itching to go back to the rooftop from where he watched you; he wanted to see your reaction as you opened his letter, watch you ponder how to respond. He was quickly becoming addicted to you, to watching you when you least expected it.

           He had perfectly crafted his response by the end of his day, broad wings hurrying him to his favorite resting spot. Your city apartment was so high up, no one from below could dream of looking up to see you. But he could see you, he had scouted the best from which to watch you. He was just high enough where you couldn’t peer back at him, the perfect perch for a predator to watch his prey. From the neighboring rooftop he could see the entirety of your bedroom. It was like a painting on the wall of a museum, wonderfully on display for him to admire, especially when you came home.

           He rested his cheek in his palm as he watched you come in your bedroom door. He could practically hear you sigh as you dropped your bag, stretching your arms above your head to rid yourself of the small tensions your day had brought you. And this was his favorite part—you quickly shimmied out of your pants, a little dance as you bounced back and forth on your heels, pulling one leg up and then the other. You then bent over and pulled your favorite pair of soft shorts from the floor, having unceremoniously dropped them there the night before. You looked so good in those, he mused, the cozy fabric stretched so snugly upon your hips, curving just right across your backside.

           He waited for you to get comfortable, then plucked a feather from his wings, tying his note to it with the ribbon you’d sent out this morning. He grinned at how you jumped when the feather flew through the crack in your window. He made a little show of having it swirl around you before landing it on your desk.

           I can feel everything that my feathers touch—the wind, water, sound vibrations, they’re a part of me. You should give this one a kiss before you send it back.

           The name’s Keigo, by the way. Takami Keigo.

           Did you always blush like that when you opened his letters? He watched you stand up and pace around, thumb between your pretty lips, lost in thought. Soon you grabbed the note again, plopping on the edge of your bed to read it over. Your legs crossed and uncrossed, a smile finally pulling at your cheeks. He watched with delight as you picked up the feather, tingles immediately spreading across his skin at the feel of your fingers.

           He groaned as you brushed your fingertips over the barbs. He pulled at his tinted eyewear, bringing them to rest upon his head so he could watch you more closely. A lock of hair twisted around his finger as he anxiously waited for you to do as he asked, to kiss his feather, to let him have a fleeting moment where he felt the ghost of your lips upon his skin.

           But you didn’t, you just kept stroking the long red feather, teasing him. His brows furrowed as you stopped, watching you sit the feather back on your desk, along with his note. How could you…how could you not respond to him right away? Why not give him what he desired?

           Hawks watched in disbelief as you sauntered out of your bedroom into another part of your little home.

           He waited for what felt like hours for you to come back. He should’ve left when the sun went down, he chided himself, bringing his wings closer to his body. Autumn was in the wind. He had almost left, was even picking himself up and shoving his hands into his pockets when your room lit up like a beacon calling him back. So he settled back into his spot, golden eyes watching your every move.

           His breath caught in his throat when you began to shed your clothes—all of them. He’d watched you for over a week now, and finally you were fully naked before him. You looked ethereal with the dim light of your room spilling over your curves, every single line of your body on display. He found himself sitting up straighter, perched on the balls of his feet like at any moment he was going to leap into your arms.

           Were you…? Oh fuck, you were walking to your desk, sitting down and taking a pen into your hand. Instantly he was hard, fingers encircling his cock with a death grip as you picked up the feather, his feather, and admired it for a moment. He could feel your breath blowing against the soft barbs, the warmth spreading over him like a blanket from the breeze. But you sat it down, electing to instead write him back, treating him to the lovely sight of your naked back arched over your desk, the elegant sinews of your shoulders on exhibit.

           And then you were in your window, your naked body so temptingly close. He wanted to reach out and touch you, to feel the weight of your breasts within his palms.

           As soon as he felt the wind blowing against the feather, he pulled it back to him. He always knew when it was your feather returning to him, even when he couldn’t see it. He could sense the heft of the paper tied to it, pulling at the feather like it wanted to sink to the ground. He even recognized the tenderness in your touch, felt how you always twisted the feather between your fingers.

           You’re cheeky, Keigo. A kiss? I hardly know you. Maybe one day.

           He scoffed at your words, folding the note back into its creases. Your light flickered off, the moonlight the only illumination for him to gaze into your little world. He watched you climb onto your bed, expecting you to curl up in your favorite spot and drift away into your dreams.

           He was very happily mistaken.

           Your hands were on your body, one cupping your breast, the other slipping into your mouth. He stroked his cock through his pants at the sight, eyes wide and ravenous as he watched the scene unfold before him. You were slow, thorough, taking your time running your hand over your curves, twisting at your nipples. Your fingers left your mouth and traveled south, to another pair of lips he had yet to see. You spread your legs, teasing yourself as your head dipped back against the pillow.

           Hawks was desperately moving his head, angling his body to try to see what sweetness was waiting for him between your legs. But your thigh was in the way, blocking his view, and he huffed indignantly as he unzipped his cargo pants. His cock was achingly hot as he released it, the night air bringing a refreshing chill to his scorching skin. He wrapped his hand a little too firmly around himself, closing his eyes for only a brief moment to imagine how tight you’d be around his cock.

           Your face was awash with pleasure, lips hanging open. He silently vowed to etch that look upon your face himself.He watched you intently, memorizing every movement, every place that you touched yourself. He could’ve observed you for hours, if it wasn’t for his unrelenting need to orgasm. He pumped himself to the paces you set, alternating between fast and slow, wanting to cum the moment you did. But the moment he saw your back arch, his keen hearing picking up on a high pitched moan through the window, he lost control, spilling himself all over his hand and down the front of his shirt, dripping onto his pants.

           He’d been so caught up in his own ecstasy that he missed yours. He only saw you in the afterglow, your curves sinking into the mattress as sleep overcame you.

           He wrote you a quick letter, leaving it wedged against your window sill. He took a moment to admire you up close, hand pressing to the glass to steady the silent flapping of his wings.

___________________________________________________________

            But I know you.

           There was no signature to the note, only large fingerprints upon your window.

           They were like little specters, ghastly against the morning dew.

           Your stomach dropped at the sight, dread bubbling to the surface. He had hand delivered this note, had been at your window, had seen you at some time in the night. You pulled your sheets to your chest, recalling that you’d fallen asleep on your comforter naked last night, only waking in the early hours of dawn to finally crawl under the covers. Had he seen you? Is that what he meant?

           He reminded you of Hermes, a winged protector of humans, but a trickster god nonetheless, flittering around the country with a bright smile and witty banter, but perhaps something darker in his heart. Maybe he was worse than Hermes, maybe more dreadful, more sinful. For a while there had been something nagging at you, pulling at the strings of your intuition and whispering danger. But now…now that feeling had blossomed into fear.

           You decided you had indulged the winged hero enough. There was no need to reply. Any romance you had felt from the actions withered away, dying out like a flower left in the sun.

           You started to close your curtains when you came home most days, just in case.

           Weeks went by, and autumn came. The cardinals stopped singing, with no other red feathers or letters in sight.

           But sometimes you could hear rustling outside, see familiar shadows pass by.

           He was on your television screen, too, newsfeeds obsessed with the most popular hero. He was always being praised for saving more people, for helping rescue and clean up after a disaster. He was darling on the screen, blonde hair always slightly a mess from flying. He seemed so handsome, so harmless, but you could see the glint in his eyes. He was something wicked, something enticing, and you hated that you had thought about him every day since his last letter.

           The morning you found his note, you had thrown the paper in the trash, and thrown the feather back out the window. But by evening, it had fluttered back, red and sweet like a rose growing against the glass. You’d left it there, hoping the wind would take it away, but days went by and it was still hanging on, a reminder of his presence. A storm was on the horizon when you relented and took the feather in. There was something inside of you that couldn’t bear to see the cherry colored barbs wilt in the rain.

           You tucked it away in your desk drawer, not as a reminder, but to just to get it out of sight. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

           Some of your nights were restless, plagued with thoughts of him, of Keigo Takami peeking into your window, of his plush wings against your skin.

____________________________________________________________

           It was after an especially long, grueling day, that you gave in to your repressed thoughts.

           You stood at the foot of your bed, ready to climb in, when some unknown force had you turning on your heels. It was like your hands had a mind of their own, pulling open the drawer and plucking the crimson feather from its resting place. You twirled it before you, nostalgia creeping across your skin as you remembered how the feathers used to look in the summer sky.

           The feather felt like red silk upon your lips when you kissed it. You wondered if he could still feel it, after all these months.

           You laughed at the inane thought, kicking off your shorts as you finally found your way into bed. You gazed up at the ceiling, counting the moonbeams that had slithered in through the cracks in the curtains. You hadn’t closed them all the way, but you rarely did anymore.

           You sighed, closing your eyes and trying to imagine yourself somewhere else. Your fingers drifted down to the hem of your underwear, toying with the edges. You thought of strong arms around you, thick hands in place of your own. You thought of a new hero you had read about earlier, some young, recently graduated young buck from a hero program. You bit into your lip as you tried to recall his name. All you could remember were wild plumes of purple hair, which looked so luscious and soft in the online videos. You tried to imagine him, or someone like him, at least, pressing themselves between your legs.

           Your fingers rubbed lazy circles on your clit, warming your body up. But you couldn’t stay focused on one thought, the problems of your day tiptoeing back into your conscious as you tried to pleasure yourself. Your other hand slipped under your big t-shirt, tugging rather roughly at your nipple as you tried to bring yourself back into a different headspace. You increased the speed of your fingers, only to find yourself panting in dissatisfaction at your actions.

           “Fuck,” you called in frustration to the darkness.

           “Seems like you need some help, little bird.”

           You had never expected the darkness to call back.

           Your whole body stilled, going completely numb as you opened your eyes.

           Hawks stood near your desk, absentmindedly fiddling with the feather you’d left on its surface. The window was open, curtains billowing and brushing against dark wings that eclipsed the moonlight. You felt like the shadows his wings cast were smothering you, sinking around your lungs like an inky vice, keeping your voice trapped within your chest.

           He had the audacity to smile at you. His hands were deep in his pockets, dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt that looked haphazardly thrown upon his shoulders. You wanted to run away, but you felt glued to the bed, beguiled by smoldering golden eyes as he approached.

           “I know what you like, you know. Watched you do it so many times now.”

           You braced yourself against the bed, the sheets slipping down as you crawled back, gaze transfixed on the predator placing his knees on the downy comforter. He was so quick, grabbing your leg and pulling you towards him. His smile never wavered as he pressed a wet kiss to your ankle, tongue sneaking out to catch a taste of your skin. You whimpered at his words, tongue too heavy in your mouth to form ones of your own.

           “Cat got your tongue? Come on, I want to hear that pretty voice. Say the magic word, and I’ll be happy to help you out.”

           It was like you were engulfed by his presence. The air smelled like him as he spread his wings, gently ruffling them before settling them back down to his sides. He smelled like rain, felt like a raging storm from above you, all dark clouds and lightning as his quick fingers started to move up your calves, keeping your legs spread to accommodate him upon the bed.

           “N-no.”

           Your voice was weak, just a hot gasp of breath into the room.

           “You sure about that, baby? I promise I know exactly how to touch you.”

           To prove his point, a hurried hand wrapped around your hip, thumb slipping under the fabric of your underwear to skim across your hip bone. You shuttered, his touch was too warm, feeling like he was burning his thumbprint into your skin. But it felt good, the pressure behind the digit so firm, making you feel so real against your body’s borders, feel alive at the jolt of pleasure that ran down your spine.

           But with his body hovering above yours, it felt like there was a heavy weight falling onto your chest, pushing you down, down, down, deep into the mattress and holding you hostage. You wanted to push him away, to scream, to pull at his wings until it hurt him. But you were quiet, frozen in place, entranced by golden curls in the moonlight. And he knew it too.

           “I’m going to show you everything I’ve learned by watching you,” his head dipped down, smile hanging just above your face, “and show you a few new things I know you’ll love.”

           “Hawks,” you breathed out, hands finally moving and finding purchase against his chest. You wanted your tone to sound berating, angry, but instead your voice sounded pleading.

           The brush of his lips against yours was so delicate, a penumbra against supple flesh.

           “Keigo,” he corrected, the syllables of his name pressing into your lips.

           He drank you in with a heavy groan, kissing you like a man starved for touch. You couldn’t close your eyes, too shocked at the sudden intrusion. Just moments ago you were dreaming of a man between your legs, and now one was here, he was real, eyes shut as he moved his lips against yours. Your sight was blurred by forming tears, your vision focused on the black lines that adorned his eyes. They were so beautiful, so stark against his soft skin, a reminder of how truly avian he was; a reminder of his primordial instincts.

           The hand on your hip drew your body up into his, fingers now gripping at your ass with bruising strength. Your mouth fell agape at the stinging pain of his roughness, allowing his hot tongue to slip between your lips. You fisted his shirt, trying to push him away, only to be met with lithe muscles straining underneath the fabric. You were reminded that he might be slender, but he was still a trained fighter, the number two hero, and he could do anything he liked to you.

           He was brash, eager, desperate to finally touch you. His kiss was sloppy and wet, full of hearty groans as his hips bucked against your own. Your eyes finally shut, mind trying to picture someone else above you, someone who didn’t stalk you, scare you, but yet you could only imagine him. His presence was suffocating, his smell saccharine, the brush of his fluttering wings addictive.

           “I knew you kept my feather,” he panted against your lips, his head dipping to your neck where he pressed open mouthed kisses to your beating pulse, “I knew you’d call out for me.”

           “Hawks, no, that’s not what I was—”

           He forcefully sucked at your neck, the sharp pain silencing you.

           “Keigo,” he reprimanded against your skin, “come on, you didn’t miss me? Not even a little?”

           “How can I miss you when I know you’re always there?”

           He chuckled, sitting back and plucking your hands from their tight grip against his shirt. He held a wrist in each hand, settling them on either side of your face, pinning you down under his strong arms.

           “I wanted to write you so many more letters, but I was worried that you’d throw them away.”

           “I would have.” You sneered, wiggling in his grip.

           “But why? I told you that you’d always be safe with me around, little bird.”

           “You’re stalking me, Hawks—”

           The grip on your wrists tightened, his thick fingers crushing the delicate bones, a warning.

           “I’m watching over you.”

           He gradually removed his hands from your wrists, the movement slow, steady, his keen eyes watching to see if you would react. Your skin was throbbing, bones aching from his relentless grasp. You didn’t move.

           “And look at how I found you, baby, so desperate for help.”

           His fingers pressed between your legs, rubbing against your clothed sex. Pleasure ran through your veins like a shock wave, your legs instinctively closing around his forearm. He sat back on his knees, marveling over how your body reacted to such a simple touch. He moved a little faster, a little harder, middle finger pressed firmly against your slit. He daringly pressed in, the fabric of your underwear keeling at his actions, sinking inside of you.

           “Fuck, you’re so wet already, is this all for me?”

           You could only shake your head no, too stunned to open your mouth to speak. He smirked, running his other hand through his hair, whistling at the vexing sight before him. For so many nights he’d wanted to be right here, in your bed, your thighs spread across his own as he touched you, toyed with you, proved to you that he could please you.

           He kept his hand on your pussy, using the other to lift up your shirt, fingers searing across your belly. They kept moving upwards, pushing your shirt away to reveal your breasts. He licked his lips at the sight, fingers itching to pull at your nipples.

           “Say the magic word,” his voice was lower now, more sinister, “say it, and I’ll touch you how you like.”

           Did you even have a choice?

           His hands were perfectly still, like he was a man stopped in time. You blinked at him, once, twice, wondering how something so beautiful could be so nefarious. He looked like a fallen angel, like his feathers had been dipped in blood and he was going to paint you with them. Your heart rate slowed, any adrenaline you had to fight beginning to flush from your veins. Your pussy was aching, the tip of his finger stretching you just enough to make you want more.

           “Please.”

           His eyes snapped to you, black pupils narrowed.

           “A little louder,” he commanded, “and say my name.”

           You swallowed, tongue wetting your lips. Your fingers dug into the sheets, still next to your face where he had left them. You were sweating, overcome with the feeling of your naked chest heaving with shaky breaths.

           “Please…Keigo.”

           The dam broke, sensations flooding over you as he moved freely over your body. Your shirt was gone in an instant, your torso thumping back to the bed before you even realized he had ripped the material over your head. His shirt was gone, too, being shimmied over his wings and tossed into the floor. He was so quick, nimble fingers ridding you of your panties in the blink of an eye. And then he was on you, two fingers sunk deep into your pussy before you could even think to breathe.

           You cried out, body arching as he pumped the digits into you at high velocity, your slick walls clenching. You felt his flaxen hair tickle your chest as his warm mouth sucked one of your nipples into the wet cavern, tongue shamelessly flicking over the hardening bud. Fuck, he felt so good, so warm, so real against your body, so much better than your own hands.

           His teeth pulled at your nipple, white hot heat surging through your body in response.

           “Keigo!” You scolded, but your voice was so high pitched, so laden with lust, that he mistook it for praise.  

           He continued to nip at your breast, fingers still plunging in and out of your pussy, the sounds lewd to your ears. His pace was wild and excited, making your skin tingle from all the attention. He sucked at your nipple, releasing the bud with a wet pop, a string of saliva still connecting his flushed lips to your darkening skin. He nuzzled his face to the underside of your breast, leaving you gasping as he sucked and nipped at the sensitive skin, nose pressing into the fleshy mound.

           His fingers slowed as he sat back to look over your writhing body. He smirked, curling his fingers just right, pads brushing against the soft, flat place buried deep inside of you.

           His free hand encircled your jaw, pursing your lips.

           “Watch me, little bird.”

           You nodded in his grip, keeping your eyes on his as he came to lay between your thighs. He draped one leg across his shoulder, allowing him to angle his head as he pressed a kiss to your clit. You moaned wantonly, worrying your lip between your teeth as you watched him. He was smiling at you, warm golden eyes hypnotizing you to keep observing. He was ready to put on a show, to let you see how observant he was, how he knew your body like the back of his hand without ever touching you before now.

           The way he licked at your clit was intoxicating, little hot swirls with the tip, then heavy strokes with a flat tongue, alternating just how you liked. That sizzling coil inside your belly began to tighten. He was moaning against your wet flesh, the vibrations tingling down your pussy lips. He was enjoying himself, savoring you like an expensive meal he’d waited ages to try. His fingers kept in pace with his mouth, stroking you just right, strumming you like the devil would his fiddle within his hands.

           He then employed a trick he learned from watching you. With his other hand, he spread your labia, exposing your sensitive clit even more to his hungry mouth. You shivered at the onslaught of pleasure, body so hot you felt like you could burst into flames, melt into the bed, die a little death. You whimpered, still wholly spellbound by the vision between your legs. Hawks’ wings seemed to shutter with every moan you made, the red plumage highly attuned to every sound, every move of your body.

           Every touch, every lick, was so sinful and wicked. You tried to remind yourself that you didn’t want this, that Hawks was dangerous, that he had stalked you for weeks and could only tempt you so expertly because he watched you through your windows. But he was so beautiful, so devilishly divine between your legs, hot tongue swirling figure eights against your clit, fingers beckoning you to come undone.

           “You like this.” He said it between long licks, fingers beginning a new, more ruthless pace inside of you.

           A string of curses left your lips, your thighs beginning to quiver against his shoulders.

           “No, no, please no,” you said the words to yourself, the pleasure he was creating becoming unbearable between your legs. He continued to lap against your folds, fingers spreading you wider, keeping you open and unprotected for him. He knew you were close, could feel your walls tightening. He added a third finger just to be cruel, to watch you shrink against the sheets as your back arched for him.

           “Cum on my face, baby, I know you’ve thought about it before.”

           To your shame, you absolutely shattered around him at his words, your pussy spasming, your orgasm flooding all of your senses. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like you were blissfully pinned down by his feathers, asphyxiated by his overbearing presence within your room, within your body. He stopped his ministrations, electing to watch you unfold for him from between your legs, eyes brighter than ever before. He could see the muscles within your lower stomach contracting, could feel your orgasm upon his fingers, slick coating them in gentle waves, all for him. The sight was more glorious than he ever imagined, the girl of his dreams cumming all over his fingers, all over his mouth, your sweetness flooding over him.

           He didn’t allow you time to breath, time to bask in the afterglow of your orgasm. He quickly pulled you into his arms, sitting you in his lap, greedily kissing your lips.

           “Keigo,” you whined, pressing against his chest, trying to find a moment to breathe.

           “Fuck, I love the way you say my name,” his lips were relentless, seeking yours out every time you broke away, head following you like a moth would a flame, “keep saying it, baby.”

           “Keigo, get out.” You growled, threading your fingers through his hair and jerking his head away. You kept him at bay, keeping a steady pull on his blonde locks.

           “Oh no, I’m not done with you.”

           His eyes were so dark, his cock so hard between your dripping legs.

           He was the devil, Lucifer himself, the wayward angel staring at you, waiting to devour you. And you, you summoned him.

           There was no incantation that could contain him or send him away. His arms tightened around your back, one hand pulling you into him by your shoulder, the other hastily pulling himself from his pants.

           “See what you do to me, little bird,” he took your hand and wrapped it around his cock, big hand using your smaller one to stroke his length, “I’m always so hard for you.”

           You couldn’t help the shameless moan that tumbled from your mouth. His cock was silky smooth against your fingers, throbbing and hot, far too hot, and slick from his own pre-cum. You didn’t protest as he used your palm for his pleasure, a sly grin upon his cheeks as he felt you become complacent in his lap.

           “Haw—”

           The hand on your shoulder was swiftly upon your face, two fingers that tasted like your pussy invading your mouth to silence you.

           “When you’re with me, you call me by my name.”

           You nodded softly, eyes shifting across the planes of his face, attempting to read his serious expression. He continued to run your hand upon his length, guiding you to squeeze his swollen tip, thumb petting the underside of his cock. His thumb hooked in your cheek, not so gently tugging at the elastic flesh, studying how you let him touch you. He skated his fingers across your tongue, hoping to feel the wet muscle react to him.

           “Keigo,” you mumbled against his fingers, the sound like manna from heaven to his ears.

           “Good girl,” he cooed, feathers ruffling as he pushed you back onto the pillows.

           You laid before him again, limbs heavy and with the ghost of his fingers still in your open mouth. He looked like a god as he towered above you, wings spreading wide as if to parade their otherworldly beauty before you.

           Then you felt the weight of his hips between your legs, the press of his chest against your own, the prickle of his facial hair against your neck as he settled himself there. His hands were on you again, precipitous and heedless against your curves, twisting and pulling at your flesh to bend one leg back, hook the other around his waist.

           His cock nudged at your wet heat, one of his hands guiding him inside of you, the stretch simultaneously delightful and dreadful. Protest was on your tongue, you could taste the words, feel your gut instinct to use your curled leg to kick him away. But your arms welcomed him, encircling his shoulders as you moaned for him. Your head tipped back against the pillow and he took the opportunity to latch on to you again. His tongue lapped at the sore spot he had created earlier with his mouth, tasting the saltiness of sweat upon your skin.

           “You feel so good around my cock,” he groaned, hips beginning to snap into you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, his feathers brushing against your knuckles as he moved within you. You felt so full, so entirely encompassed by him, enraptured by the sweetest devil.

           All your movements felt coerced, like your body was following his lead against your will. Your hips began to match his thrusts, bucking up into him in order to feel his thick cock fall deeper into you. His strong hands encouraged you, gripping into the supple flesh of your thighs as he pressed himself into your wetness, faster and faster with every thrust.

           You kept your eyes open for a moment, entranced by the exquisite scene above you. Keigo felt unhinged, electric against you, golden curls bouncing upon his head, red feathers dancing upon his back. But his face was smooth, pretty, cheeks dusky with a dark blush as he found euphoria from within your body. One of your hands trailed up to the back of his neck, weaving within his hair. His eyes fluttered open to see you, signature grin returning as he felt your touch, his hips rocking a little harder to reward you.

           “Tell me how it feels to have me inside of you.”

           You closed your eyes then, focusing on how effortlessly his cock glided within you. Each thrust was hasty and rough, skin slapping against skin as his cock buried itself deep within your gut. He curved just perfectly inside you, cockhead delightfully brushing against the sensitive flesh of your walls with every plunge of his hips. His hands were splayed across your hips, one dangerously close to your clit, as if teasing you.

           “Fuck,” you hissed, recognizing the buildup to orgasm pooling within your belly, “you feel so good.”

           A bawdy sound left his throat at your words, like he’d died upon hearing them.

           One of his hands slid higher upon your body, fingers lacing around your ribcage, framing the underside of your breast. He began to forcefully pull your body into his, sliding you upon and down the sheets and upon his cock. You cried out, leg tightening at his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, begging him to devour you and take what he wanted.

           “That’s right, little bird, I’m going to make you cum on my cock.”

           Your breasts were bouncing against his chest, your nails leaving indents upon his skin, his mouth back to sucking at your neck.

           “And then I’m going to cum in you, make you mine.”

           You were too lost to care, every nerve under your skin desperate for his touch. His thumb glided wickedly against your clit, fanning the hellish flames of your ecstasy even hotter and higher than before. A shriek of pleasure erupted from your chest, the hand upon his head bringing him closer to you, crashing your lips together as tears gleamed in your lashes. His cock was hammering into you so ruthlessly, your clit feeling abused from his too-quick thumb.

           You were coming undone too quickly and too soon, your body feeling like threads being ripped apart at the seams. He grunted into your mouth, your tongue finally coming to play against his own, battling against him as you wrestled within yourself not to cum for him again so soon. But every stroke of his cock brought a fresh burst of pleasure blooming across your body, and you were so close, so fucking close to falling off the edge.

           “Say my name,” he demanded against your lips, “say my name when you cum.”

           There was no reason for you to comply, you weren’t his, he didn’t own you, but everything inside of you ached to appease him, and your mouth moved on its own accord.

           “K-Keigo,” you stumbled, feeling yourself climbing the orgasmic ladder, every harsh thrust of cock leading you up another rung. His arm wrapped around your back, pressing you up against him in a hectic embrace. Your face settled against his shoulder, your fingers tightening in his hair, the others drawing blood upon his back. He only purred at the pain, so determined to bring you to release that he paid it no mind. His thumb rubbed tirelessly at your swollen clit, moving it in harmony with his cock.

           Suddenly your moans stopped, the air being knocked from your lungs as pure ecstasy approached again.

           And then the world felt too quiet, your mind hazing over as you cried out in melodic moans, your inner walls clenching and unclenching so deliciously tight against his thick cock as you came for him. You could feel the heavy weight of him inside of you, still plunging into your depths as he sought his own release. Your fingers relaxed against his skin, feeling like you were sinking and he was the only thing keeping you safe from the fall.

           “Keigo,” it was a whisper, the barest hint of sound against his ear. But he felt, heard it, and it had him tumbling over the orgasmic edge with a roar of your name. Hot ropes of cum filled your body, his hard cock twitching against your walls.

           “Fuck you’re mine, all mine.”

           He murmured it against your hair, both arms now wrapping around your body. You laid there, motionless in his arms, heart pounding within your ear drums. Reality came crashing down far slower than your orgasm had, but still the consequences of your actions felt weightier against your body than the man above you.

           He fell to his side next to you. But he wasn’t gone, far from it, as his hands were back on your body. One trailed across your cheek, the other dabbled between your legs, toying with his cum that leaked from within you.

           He smirked, eyes catching yours, “and now you’re mine, my perfect little bird.”

           You were too tired to fight back, lids heavy as he held you against his warmth, the fierce wings of an invasive species draped across your naked flesh.

[niksshitwriting]

Eyy part one of my main WIP! Bird people!! Fun!

/1/

“Fun fact for all you kids out there, Getting your face slammed into a police car hurts.”

The burly officer rolled his eyes, shifting his wing.

“You good there Grillz?” his partner asked, grabbing the teenager they were arresting by the back of the neck and tossing him into their car.

“Yeah,” Grillz replied, rubbing at the first joint on his wing as he pulled it forwards some, “Small kid, but he packs one hell of a punch.”

The teen in the car knocked lightly on the window with his forehead, and when the Hawks turned, he gave them a cocky shit-eating grin. The smaller of the two rolled his eyes and walked around the side to the drivers’ seat.

“Yo,” The teenager said from the back as the officer got in.

No response.

The teen huffed and leaned forward, pushing on the back of his own seat with his wings, “Hey, I’m hungry. Do you have any snacks?” he asked. The officer looked back.

“I’m not allowed to feed you, kid.”

“Rude.”

“Rules.”

the teen huffed again and flopped back in the seat. At some point during their conversation the burly officer had climbed in too, slipping his massive wings, the teen guessed a golden eagle’s, into the wing-rests all the Hawks’s cars had for the officers.

Of course the criminals in the back had to deal with leaning on their wings and being slightly uncomfortable. What a travesty.

The teen looked at the roof of the car above him and opted to spend the familiar drive to the NightWatch Holding Facility counting the corrugations.

Again.

Around halfway through, Grillz spoke, breaking the teen’s focus.

“Hey, what’s your name kid?”

“You made me lose count!”

“Long name,” the officer who was driving noted, and the teen could feel his smirk.

“Assholes, the lot of you. And to answer your question, none.”

Grillz grumbled, “Kid, you can’t just not have a name.”

The teen shrugged, “I’ve got plenty of affectionate nicknames, if you want those. ‘little motherfucker’, ‘that brat’, ‘crow kid’, ‘idiotic child’, you know, the works.”

Just another grumble in response.

Wow, the teenager thought, No sense of comedy.

———————

The teenager slumped against the cold metal table, hands cuffed to the bar welded on, legs bouncing absently. He glanced at the mirror he knew was glass on the other side, silently urging whichever detective was on the other side to just get in here.

And as if he was telepathic, a woman walked in. She was short, the teenager noticed immediately, with black hair pulled into a severe bun and peregrine wings on her back. She sat down across from him and tilted her head to the side.

“I’m told you don’t have a name?” she phrased it like a question, though it was more of just a factual statement.

The teenager rolled his eyes, “Nope.”

“Your schooling records have you as one Arlo Jarkonsin.”

“Random name for official purposes, I didn’t think of it. I respond to pretty much anything.” he shrugged in response.

“Is there something you would prefer I call you during this interview?” she asked, leaning onto the table too, now.

The teenager sighed, “You really aren’t going to give this up, are you? Alright, uhhh…” he looked around the room, eyes falling on the drab gray-bricked walls and metal furniture.

The very shiny metal furniture.

“Silver.” he said, it was random, but kind of nice. He pondered what the woman’s reaction would have been if he had said table instead of its color.

He giggled at the notion.

“Is something funny, Mr. Silver?”

He leaned back, adjusting his wings over the back of the chair.

“Just this situation. Now weren’t you gonna ask me some questions or something?”

The woman nodded and straightened up in her chair, “Yes. I’m keeping all of this on record,” she held up a little black box and clicked a button, “Now, my name is Detective Harin Sups, and we know that there was no record of you anywhere until two years ago.”

Silver nodded.

“Where were you before that?”

Silver looked at the ceiling, pondering, “it was a lovely place, really. Always nice and bright, and never too hot. A bunch of people there, all talked to me. Really a great little community we had.”

The detective looked unimpressed, “Does this place have a name?”

“Nope,” Silver replied, popping the ‘p’.

“And why did you come here, if it was so great there?”

Silver’s face darkened for half a second before it returned to the pensive, wistful look, “I got bored, and a couple things went awry.”

“I see.”

She sounded very unimpressed.

Silence.

Silver hated silence.

He started tapping his fingers on the table, first, third, second, fourth, over and over. It was a natural pattern, comforting, even.

“I can’t figure it out,” Detective Harin muttered.

Silver raised his eyebrows in question.

“Why you would choose to commit such horrible crimes. We’ve brought you in on charges of robbery, assault, and arson, and every time you refused to give us your name, and talked your way out of conviction.”

“Yeah, what about it? No one wants to go to jail for shit they don’t do.”

“But you did,” she said, “You’ve said you did. And this time we have video evidence of you breaking into a building by the Edge and attempting to open the safe. And when the NightWatchers arrived, we watched the video of you attacking them.”

“I wanted money, thought the rich guys that weren’t quite rich enough to live in the Posher could spare some change.” Silver replied casually, tilting his head back.

“But why do you do it? Why do you commit the horrible crimes when you could work honestly and get the same amount of money?”

Silver just laughed, leaning forward, he gave the detective a demeaning grin, elbows pressed against the cold metal table.

“Why would I want to be good and honest when I can be morally gray and commit crimes?”