#so it would be weirdly formatted | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daywoutmoon · 2 years ago

Text

RITSU SHOULD BE IN THE ALIEN HUNTING a silly analysis (?)

Before starting I just wanted to say that: This post is for the most part a joke! While I really would love have more Ritsu in this arc for all the reasons in this post, this is not really a serious critique or anything like "oh this arc sucked cause of little Ritsu screentime" lol. I do enjoy that arc as it is, the only part I really hate is the fucking Inukawa omakes (that I will not mention again in this post), aside of that very cool arc.

Also a warning: This contains spoilers for the entire season 3,ok?!

Anyway let's go gamers!!!

1. HE WANTED TO GO BRO.

Now if you are anime-only or read the manga but forgor let me explain why he didn't go: The Shiratori brothers say they're leaving after Takenaka accept join the alien hunting, and then-

(BY THE WAY INUKAWA JUST LIKE "OK THANKS BYE" CIGJFDIXJSI NOT EVEN TRYING LIKE "OH NO YOU GUYS CAN STAY" LMAO)

So as we can see... Ritsu was interested in joining in or... I mean what else could be ? Does he wanted to stay not because he wanted to join the fun but just like...idk... see Tome reaction to the news cause he would love some gossip and drama? I don't think so. ALTHOUGH IT IS FUNNY THAT THEY ONLY FOUND TELEPATHS CAUSE RITSU WAS JUST STANDING THERE LISTENING MOB TALK WITH HIS FRIENDS,AND THEN HE LIKE "OH I KNOW SOME". So maybe he truly just want the gossip who knows lol. But I'm more willing to bet he wanted to check out the alien thing.

2.BUT SPEAKING OF TOME AND RITSU

we been so so robbed. like so robbed. Tome and Ritsu interactions... Are very little. We technically had one non-canon one. And when I mean non-canon is because was in this omake that Ritsu killed One.

So all things considered I don't think Tome calling out how Ritsu was out of the plot at that moment followed by him killing One is canon, but... The point is she just gets there and calling him creppy. Just beating him down,judging him... And we don't have more interactions between them? BULLSHIT, I WANT MORE OF IT.

We do have another interaction that was in the last chapter/episode with Ritsu and Tome gossiping about Mob life,what is great content!!! Also is it me or this post is slowing turning into Ritsu gossip propaganda? Anyway glad to see at least a little of interaction in canon.

But I wanted more of them in canon,wahh. Lot's of people point out how Tome is like mini Reigen sometimes but I don't think Ritsu would have lot of beef with her cause she is not like being a big fraud like Reigen you know? Big part of Ritsu issues with Reigen is the whole lying to and using his brother, not being loud. And while we are at those two-

3.RITSU AND REIGEN BONDING

now. I say bonding cause both would have a very common thing in this trip: they have nothing to do with it. So like while Tome is complaining and being salty they both would be like 🧍 🧍 and I think that had lot of comedic potential. AND RITSU BEING ABLE TO THROW SHADE IN REIGEN DRIVING SKILLS??!?!

4.the rest of the club i guess lol

I talked about Tome and Reigen but honestly I would enjoy more interactions with the other telephaty club members with Ritsu lol

5.AND MOB OPSS

Now I said this post was mostly a joke, but not totally a joke and in one point is just like... Again I would love more Ritsu lol, but other point is when it comes with Mob and Ritsu I do think maybe would be more interesting for the plot if Ritsu was in this trip!

I'm not the most passionate over this arc,I adore it, I just never been intensely plagued with thoughts about this arc in specific, but over the time I did read some analysis there and there about it, and when the arc was adapted there was even more analysis of it. And seeing people observations I can see the importance of the arc not only to be a breathe between two intense arcs, but also to see the growth of Mob. Obvious there is even more to it, but focusing on Mob in this arc is like... He takes initiative, even the telepathy club members are impressed by him and he doing his best to help his friends. And he likes... Choose to use his powers?! And even convinces Takenaka to use his powers too.

And like. RITSU WAS THERE W HILE MOB SAID ALL THAT,WHAT I THINK IT IS VERY IMPORTANT. But like...What Ritsu missed was seeing Mob there, really exausthing himself with powers and all but not like...Over some big battle or anything like before but. Just for something "stupid". Something silly. And like, post finale I have no doubts that they will have many opportunities to share moments using psychic powers in a more mundane way, just like Mob used before The Accident. But I still wonder how it would be in the story if Ritsu had seen this, because in the confession arc there is an "out of nowhere" moment: That being Ritsu being the first to conclude that ???/Shigeo and Mob are the same.

Now I say out of nowhere, but I think that's kinda unfair. Rather is more unclear, what is not a bad thing, people can come up with their own interpretations and stuff. Like this can be just the result of lot of self reflection, it doesn't need have a clear A-HA EUREKA moment.

There is also how in the manga it goes like this the moment he says it:

And in my own interpretation one of the biggest things made he realize this is just another part of his brother is he seeing how ??? still just want to give flowers to his crush.

In the anime too part of this realization happened before he even saw Mob, so it does not work out but like. Personally I love the anime as much as the manga,but speaking about Confession arc in specific I LOVE THE MANGA VERSION 10 TIMES MORE AND I HAVE 89839895 NITPICKS WITH THE ANIME VERSION SO… Ok Ritsu concludes that this was a opressed part before coming face to face with Mob,ok. So I feel in that version is even more unclear.

But with all this in mind I wonder if that conclusion would work better with Ritsu seeing Mob use his powers to the max in a non life threatening situation. And… I have no idea. Maybe it would, or maybe it would ocupy too much of the alien arc. Maybe it would make less compelling if was super clear. I do not have a definitive answer. Idk if One didnt included Ritsu in the trip for a big reason or if he just didnt want him in and then made Shiratori brothers throw shade to Ritsu leave lol.

But. I do ask for you consider a what if. What if Ritsu was there ?~~

#MP100 #mp100 analysis #mp100 spoilers #dayse falando #idk what else to tag lol huh this is very silly idk how to make posts but i do have so many thoughts and i want share even if #its formated a lil weirdly lol #i like how the post is basically ´he should been there cause it would be funnier to me and i love more characters interacting`#and ritsu fofoqueiro i guess lol #huh anyway yeah yoo hooo

27 notes · View notes

swampjawn · 7 months ago

Text

Dungeon Meshi Episode 18 is the second episode of the season to rely heavily on outsourcing, and it bears a resemblance to the other one (6) in that it adapts the source material economically, allowing the comedy of the source material to speak for itself, before suddenly going fucking batshit out of nowhere in the second half with high quality animation and strong stylistic choices.

But weirdly, the moment that stood out to me the most was this innocuous bit from the first half; Leviathan Laios turning his head back and forth:

This is 30 frames of animation, animated FULLY ON ONES, a treatment that would often be reserved for only the most important action moments, but for this bit of simple character acting, the sheer number of frames are used to make this version of Laios look uncomfortably real, like he's out of place within the very medium of the scene.

In fact, it would have saved some time to take at least a few of the frames from the head turn to the right and reuse them on the return journey, but if you look closely, you can see that they didn't even do that, each frame is unique to preserve the natural, subtle arc of his gaze.

This is such a wild production decision to allow so much energy to be put into this tiny character acting moment, and it's super jarring right after the very simple scenes that lead up to it! And it's thanks to smart scheduling and resource management from series director Yoshihiro Miyajima and his producers that they're able to make such wacky decisions like this and play with the very format of animation for what amounts to a little background gag.

But of course the true stand-out bit of the episode is Laios going doggy-mode, which the animators also went insane with, and which I also broke down, along with the rest of the episode in this video here!

Thanks for reading.

youtube

#dungeon meshi #laios touden #animation analysis #mini essay #video #izutsumi #Youtube

2K notes · View notes

saltinesinsoup · 2 years ago

Text

(guy who’s overthinking voice): what haha nooo i’m not overthinking

#jayventing #lol!#kauf formations i will Not get weirdly anxious and paranoid about my friends #the them in real life would be nice to me so the them in my head are going to be nice!!!!! saying that now!!!!!!#and also euch. school soon #this break was better than last year’s (didn’t end with me sobbing because of feeling lonely) but i still didn’t do anything.#mannn i hate being sick because that fucked me so bad #also the paranoias gone. remembering things i Did do with my friends over break. slight spiral but i’m okay now #sometimes you just gotta talk to yourself in the tags of a tumblr vent post yknow how it is #also jayffirmations* not kauf formations??#AND ALSO. i need to drive more but a license is in my future soon #god all i want to do. is fun things with my friends and hang out with them. but also i want people to ask me to do things sometimes #i don’t know what i’m saying that literally happens. but iiiii just want more. the incessant yearning and craving for relationships i also #have to cultivate etc etc you know how it is #i should be in chat more. i should hop on the server every now and then. i can’t wait to drive holy fuck #god i just want to be able to do silly goofy things with my friends on a whim so fucking bad. hoooly shit

0 notes

anastasiabowe · 11 months ago

Text

𝗢𝗡𝗟𝗬 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗬𝗢𝗨 — how your boyfriend is and how he acts with you, only you bring out a new him!

note: I saw this format on a couple of posts and wanted to try it out! I would tag people but there is so many people that use this format, so, sorry!

Content warnings: nsfw (17+), swearing, masturbation,(Kagami), overstimulation, bondage (Kise), pussy eating (Teppei),dacryphilia, degradation if you squint (Aomine), riding (Midorima), stand fuck? (Murasakibara), and anything else I forgot!

★ — 𝗞𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗜

Kagami is a big baby when it comes to you. He always misses you! Even though with his teammates and friends he seems stable and intense, he falls to his knees for you, he cries for you at night, wanting to feel you in every place imaginable. Can’t hold it against him, you’re literally perfect!

You had arrived home from work with Riko, and the apartment you and Kagami share, you only part-time, was weirdly quiet. You dropped off your stuff, and called out to Kagami. You walked slowly to the bedroom, and muffled noises were becoming more and more clear.

Kagami whined and groaned as he worked his cock with his hand. Frustration pinning a furious red on his face and his shirt was in between his teeth. His abs defined from him tending his abdomen and you couldn’t help but get weak in the knees hearing him cry out, not only crying out profanities, but crying out your name.

“Hah, w-wish you were here baby!” He moaned again, trying his hardest to relieve the burn of the blood flowing his dick. He pinched his nipple, and groaned out to that. You pushed open the door, and Kagami flinched, but didn’t stop. Your face was in complete shock and awe and he couldn’t help but nearly come right then and there from simply seeing your face.

You approach the bed, and crawl towards him. “Move your hand.” You command to the red haired man.

“B-but-“ you smacked his thigh, and he removed his hand.

“I wanna help!” Your dominant demeanor no longer evident. You smile, and he nodded aggressively, jerking his hips up when you firmly grabbed his dick.

“T-thank you!” He moaned as you You kiss his heated lips. “Love you so-so much-much!”

★ — 𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗘

Kise, kise, kise. A kind man at first appearance, a strict man at heart. Don’t get me wrong, kise is a great guy, thoughtful, loving, respectful, but he also wants to be in control. He wants to do things his way, that being where you both go to for a date, or where you lay while he fucks the last brain cells out of your head’s.

Kise sat on the sofa in your shared home. His jaw clenched and legs crossed. His arms draped over the back of the sofa and he watched the show in the screen.

You on the other hand were upstairs, on the king sized bed, hands and legs tied and a vibrator in and on your cunt. You cry as your cunt was overworked and pain was starting to course through your cunt. You could t fee anything but the uncomfortable pain from the vibrations, yet orgasms after orgasms instinctively rip from you.

“K-kise! P-please!” You scream out again, his teeth clenching harder against each other. “I-I’m sorry!” You cried when another orgasm scraped its way out of you.

Kise sighed and stood up. He walked upstairs and into the master bedroom. Your body was limp against the bindings, and your face was completely wet from the tears in your face. You did this to yourself. Even though you couldn’t stand this punishment, you never used your safe word. Kise wanted to pity you, but again you did this to yourself.

He got on the bed, and turned off the vibrators. As he did so, your body convulsed, and then he felt a little bad.

“Have you learned your lesson?” He grabbed your cheeks and moved your head towards him.

“Y-yes.” Your weak voice spoke out. She smiled, and kissed your lip’s softly.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?” Kise took off the cuffs, he cleaned your hypersensitive cunt as gently as he could. He rubbed ointment on your wrists and ankles, and he stripped himself of his shirt and pants, and laid with you.

“Don’t fuck with me again, y/n.” He help you tighter in his arms. You nodded, and he smiled.

★ — 𝗧𝗘𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗜

Can Teppei ever just not be himself? Teppei is the sweetest man known to mankind. Whenever you both hang out, it never feels awkward or unnatural to be around him, he is just so easy to love!

Teppei prepared a warm bath with bath soaps and candles, no rose petals though, he’s allergic, but he did put in rubber duckies, just to be funny! You were exhausted from doing your afterschool job, and he knew exactly what you needed. So when you entered the bath, him behind you, his heart fluttered seeing the face he wanted to see, satisfaction.

He washed your back, and hair. He laid with you, hummed a song that put your mind at ease. He even helped dry you off and carried you back into your shared room.

“Just let me help you relax, baby.” His comforting tone made you follow his command. He spread your pussy lips and began to suck on your clit. His tongue circling it at the same time. You grabbed the pillows as you felt even more amazing with how he was eating you out.

“Mhm, feel good?” He looked up, still eating you out.

“Mhm, very good!” You moan out making him chuckle.

He continued to eat you out until you quickly grabbed his head and pushed him farther into your cunt.

“So close! Please don’t stop!” Teppei pushed your thighs even farther apart, enhancing the pleasure, and also to stop you from crushing his head.

You came while pulling his hair. He groaned at the feeling, and rutted his dick into the mattress from the feeling.

Once you came down from your orgasm, Teppei climbed up to you and hovered over you. you looked up at the brunette who was smiling. You chuckle and said,

“Guess you like hair pulling more than I do!” He laughed and kissed you.

“I guess so!”

★ — 𝗔𝗢𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘

Aomine is a bitch. He knows it, I know it, now you know it. And, when I say bitch, I mean he is meeeean! But you’re into that, so who is really complaining? Aomine does everything in his power to make you upset, not like genuinely upset, but more so a “stop being so mean!” Upset. He doesn’t hurt you, call you names or pick at insecurities, he says things like “you can do way better.” In a blunt tone.

Aomine also is distant in a trashy boyfriend way. He is a good boyfriend most times, but a lot of times he just ghosts you, ignores you, and he also sometimes has the audacity to talk to other girls! He doesn’t indulge in any physical contact, but he wants to see you upset or crying.

Aomine is a dacryphiliac. He strives to see you cry. But, it isn’t hard to get you too, because your a baby. A big cry baby while we’re at it. Your dress is too short, you cry. Your shoes aren’t tying right, you cry. If you can’t fall asleep when you want to, you cry! But Aomine loves it.

“Please put it in!” Tears stream down your face as Aomine rubs his tip anywhere and thrusts it everywhere but your cunt. You just wanted to indulge in an intimate session with your boyfriend but he isn’t doing very much.

“Quit your crying, I do what I fucking want.” He slips inside but quickly pulls out. Aomine has good stamina and self control when he wants to, and this is the time where his self control is at its peak. He can just tease and tease until he’s ready.

You ball up your fists and hit the mattress. Your forehead also hirs it as if you were throwing a tantrum.

“Fine.” He said annoyed, and he started to pound into you.

“Y-you- aha! You b-bitch!” You moan out as he rolled his eyes.

“What else is new?” His voice sounded so controlled despite the rapid and aggressive thrusting he was doing.

“Wouldn’t say that shit if I wasn’t fucking my pussy. I’d be grateful if I were you, not many girls get this opportunity.” He said straight into your ear.

“I- aha! I’m gonna c-“

“Shut the fuck up- shit.” He interrupted as he repositioned himself, and pulled you onto him as if you were some sex doll or fleshlight.

“Aominichi!” You squeal as he continued to fuck you through your orgasm.

“Fuck!” He slowed down his thrusts and pulled out of you.

“What are you-“

He flipped you on top of him, and laid back.

“If you want my cum, work for it.”

★ — 𝗠𝗜𝗗𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗔

A literal Aomine opposite. He comes off cold and a know it all, but he is really a great listener and man of advice. You kind of find his whole lucky item thing a bit weird, and how he revolves his whole day around his zodiac and lucky item, but he’s still cute!

He always gets a duplicate of his lucky item, knowing it might not matter to you or have as much luck as for him, but he wants to share as much of his luck with you as he can. He always wants you to be where he is, that being games, school, and even work.

He treats you like his own lucky item, accept he doesn’t need a website or paper to tell him that. He also likes when you take control. He loves when you use him. He’s always so tired of having to worry about this and that, and doesn’t like always being the leader of something since he’s apart of the GOM.

“Mmm, Shintarō!” You moan as you rode him. His large hands gripped your his tightly, and his usually neat green hair was messy and half wet from the multiple rounds you’ve put him through.

“Ha- wha-what’s got you so worked up today?” He was out of breath, and all you could do was smile.

“Having a hot boyfriend comes wit-with perks.” You continued to hop on his long dick, despite the burn of your thighs.

“I see.” He smirked. And he felt another orgasm approach. You rolled your hips, trying to cum one more time.

“I’m so close! Please, Shin, h-help me!” Your legs got the best of you, and you needed his help.

“Alright, but beware, I’m not holding back.” He flipped you both over, and he grabbed your waist. He quickly fucked you both, his hot moans and your pitchy ones filled the room, as this was going to be the last round of many.

“I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna cum!” You repeated over and over, and Midorima leaned down and kissed you.

“Cum for me.” His voice was deeper and that done it for you.

You screamed, and he continued to rut into you until he groaned and came inside of you. He laid on top of you, and you both laid there and caught your breaths.

“Knew that damn coin was going to give me extra fortune today.”

You hit his back, and he chuckled.

★ — 𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔𝗦𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗕𝗔𝗥𝗔

This man is LAZY! And I’m not just saying that either. He literally doesn’t want to do anything around the house, he doesn’t want to help with groceries, he just wants to eat and maybe, just maybe, play a small game of basketball, but unlikely.

He usually prefers to sit around the house and watch tv, but when you’ve made it very clear that in order for y’all to fuck, he has to do the work, he was basically a man who worked his whole life.

Since he was a big man, he couldn’t get away with doing nothing. If you need him to get a bug on the ceiling, he’s getting that bug. If you need him to get a kitten out of a tree, he’s getting the kitten, or he won’t get your sweet, delicious cunt.

“No.” You said, even more pissed of than before.

“Why not!” The big ass man whined. His dick laying on his lower abdomen as you sat rught next to him with your arms crossed.

“At your grown age, if you want something done, you’d work to get it done.”

He frowned, and you stood your ground.

“Fine, whatever.” He crossed his arms and looked away. After maybe 5 seconds, he got up and put you over his shoulders.

After many fake attempts of being mad and asking him to put you down, you lost your clothes and was now being moved on his dick like a sex doll. His tall stature and your much shorter one almost made you seem like a doll.

You wrapped your arms and legs around him as he bounced you up and down his dick.

“Is this enough work for ya?” The spite in his voice thick like honey.

“M-m-hm!” The broken noises from the bouncing were the only things you could muster as his dick reached the deepest parts of your body.

“Always whining about how lazy I am, sorry I like to rest!” He is talking to himself more at this point.

You quietly came in his cock, he didn’t even notice from all the yapping he was doing.

“Just tryna make you happy, but no, always gotta be mad at so-“ his words froze, and you were gone.

“Already dumb on my dick? Had so much shit left to say.” He brought you over to the bed, and just continued to fuck you there

“Lazy!” He laughed to himself. “I’ll show you lazy.” This, my friend, is going to be a long night for you!

2K notes · View notes

arrimorr · 22 days ago

Text

I am one step away from submerging into a complete brainrot which I suffered since I was 14, which is thinking about the meaning of white flags in Pottsfield.

It just seems weirdly specific to me, you know. It would have been one thing, if they were a decor element of the maypole, and it would have been one thing if they only gave the white flag to that lone citizen at the border, but no, its a repeating element. The flag even goes BEFORE Enoch in their formation in Aardman's short. So, what does it represent? For the town, for its celebration.

#I understand that I'm digging too deep but:#1) its animation #these flags didn't appear out of thin air #a whole group of people designed this #2) even if it did mean nothing during production #we still can think what small details like this can mean through in universe stand point #otgw #over the garden wall

454 notes · View notes

randombush3 · 6 months ago

Text

love's gonna get you killed

alexia putellas x reader

summary: alexia is older, wiser, and trying to make you the best. in doing so, she loses sight of more important things.

words: 5.4k

warnings: it’s a little bit toxic and there’s an age gap

notes: the request for this can be found here. genuinely never flinched more when writing something and this is only the beginning... NEW TRILOGY TIMEEEE

p.s. it's set in two timelines and i hope you clock otherwise this will not make sense

then again, this could've been a fever dream over the past few days soooo

Morning.

Like dawn; like the freshness of dew on the grass and a light breeze. A thousand suns and the bluest of skies.

How do you even begin to describe it?

A spark?

Yes. It starts with a spark.

Barcelona play Levante. An away match for the former, but hardly a challenge. Tough games are increasingly difficult to come by with the depth of their squad (and the failings of their league), but Alexia doesn’t mind too much. The break is welcomed with open arms, and she loves nothing more than to crush her opponent.

She is merciless, but she is never unkind.

The goals come flowing like an unstoppable river; white-water rapids tearing up the shitty pitch and obliterating the Levante players. Alexia runs to stay afloat, to further prove the excellence of the club she adores, and her buoyancy is mimicked by those of equal skill.

Weirdly, an intruder survives the flood.

What was struck off as a clean sheet is flipped on its head; tainted, stained.

One goal.

One magic boot, one hero.

One player saves Levante from losing four to nil.

The small-ish crowd wildly shouts your name, well-acquainted with screaming those syllables after seeing the swoosh of the white net and the step towards victory.

Alexia’s eyebrows furrow, although she knows they are not going to lose. It’s frustrating for her, having failed to apprehend a pass somewhere down the line that had connected and connected until it found your feet and soared home. In her head, clouded with pride, it makes no sense.

Who the fuck thinks they can score against the greatest club in the world?

(Maybe, thinking about it now, Alexia is a little unkind.)

The rallying war-cry that she roars catches your smug attention. You’re glad she thinks you’re a threat, even if your team is technically being thrashed.

Somehow, Alexia assigns herself to mark you. The fluidity of Barcelona’s formation allows for the defence to press higher than their manager’s instructions, and, as you are clearly the best Levante has, you are all over the ball; drawn deeper into the action. You almost forget the definition of ‘striker’, too engaged in the midfield.

You’ll be bollocked for it later, you think when there’s a brief reprieve, the ball rolling out of play for a Barcelona throw-in. You look at the gap you have left in the front line and the chaos you have caused in the midfield, and you try to convince yourself to return to the game-plan. But then there’s Alexia Putellas, her hand pressed against your back, fingers gripping your shirt to stop you from intercepting the bouncing ball as it hurtles towards one of her own.

Alexia Putellas has a decisive grip on you. She pulls you back, and she makes it seem easy.

You take one look at her expression, jaw clenched as she concentrates on ripping your team to shreds, and feel the need to roll your eyes.

Her determination to embarrass you is admirable enough. It’s clear that Alexia can’t handle losing in any capacity. It’s clear that she cares.

She is worried, and that is obvious too.

She doesn’t let you get very far from her, despite the shouts for extra coverage down the middle. Alexia is clever when it comes to football, and she can smell talent like a blood-thirsty shark. Preoccupying herself with defending meaningless passes that only wind the clock down would be useless; it will always be useless when you are on the pitch.

Because you’re good. Really good. Young, fresh, talented, and just what the Barcelona squad might need.

The ball comes to your feet and she is ready to quell the threat. She faces you, her closed defending designed to make you feel caged. However, when the ball slips between her open legs, she is left to catch smoke in the wind, and, though it’s at her own expense, she is impressed.

Just like that, something ignites.

...

Alexia wakes up with a low, determined groan. Her alarm is loud and you begin to move in your sleep, distressed by its intense, relentless mission to rouse the entire world. Alexia doesn’t care if you want to sleep in. She thinks you should be foaming at the mouth to train with her today.

It’s the day after the latest league match.

Together, Alexia and you scored three shared goals. The connection on the pitch is undeniable, and has been since Barcelona leapt at the chance to sign you at the start of last season.

She’s an impactful player and is lethal when her passes are fired towards you.

Days like these are tests. You hear the alarm and know you are waking up beside your captain, not your girlfriend.

The alarm might as well signify the start of another trial; another exam. Do you want to be good, or the best? Do you know that talent is not everything?

Whenever the questions appear, more in her eyes than on her sharp tongue, you hold back your remark. It’s the same every time.

Maybe I don’t want to be the best, Alexia.

Maybe I have more talent than you, Alexia.

Captain Alexia Putellas is easier to shout at than the woman you love.

...

Levante loses but you do not seem disheartened; you’re only twenty, and there will be many more matches to win in the future.

You wipe the sweat from your brow, laughing at how some of the Barcelona players grimace as you hold out the same hand for them to shake. They are mostly the younger ones; those you know from the national team.

They ask you whether you’re going to celebrate your goal later. There’s no real reputation of partying attached to your name, but there is a certain standard that comes with being a young and bright star. Kick-off was early, and it would be a good day to explore Valencia’s nightlife.

“I’m going home tonight,” you explain pointedly, just to stop them from further taking the piss.

“No way.”

“Yeah, we’re having dinner.”

“You and your family are–?”

“I’m trying to move past it,” you reply. It’s curt and a clear end to the conversation. The crowd of players disperses soon after and you are following the victors back to Barcelona before you know it.

A sleek, black car picks you up from the station with more than the necessary fanfare. The driver’s window rolls down, revealing an unfamiliar face; dark sunglasses, starch-ironed shirt.

“You’re new,” you mutter to the driver as you slide into the backseat. He remains silent. “Where did the last one go? It hasn’t been that long.” He couldn’t have died or anything, you’re sure of it.

It has only been, what, four years since you were last here?

Your parents divorced when you were seven. Like most cases, you were caught in the crossfire, but that was hardly traumatic enough.

They were liberal and believed in your emotional capacity with slightly more vigour than it deserved. They told you all the gory details: who slept with whom; who should go to Hell.

The most gruesome part was the debate about who should keep you. It was a bloody battle, but not a choice a seven-year-old was able to make. And your father, the pathetic man he had become, bowed out after a month, fucking right off to Munich with a new job and bitterness in his heart that led him to vow to never, ever be in contact with you again. He lost and he chose to keep on losing.

Fatherless, it was easy to attach yourself to the man your mother began to rebuild her life with. He was caring and he made your spiralling mother happier, funding lavish shopping trips and holidays.

You moved into his house in the most affluent part of Barcelona – that was home, even if it didn’t quite feel like it.

But you grew older, and so did the wonderfully in-love couple. Your father’s nose moulded itself onto your face, and his eyes grew more prominent whenever your mother tried to converse with you. It haunted her, your likeness, and it was unsettling to the man who wanted a family of his own.

There was an easy route to rid themselves of you: boarding school in the US. You cried, riddled with homesickness, every night for months, while they procreated as though they had no pre-existing child. Soon came twins; a mix of their own, a family of their own.

So they became four, and, at sixteen, you became one; emancipated and ready to train in the Wolfsburg academy, having progressed quite well through the years at school (earning your call-up to Spain’s youth teams, winning a few medals, showing off what you considered the talent that made your existence worthwhile – the usual).

“Hi,” you say as the door to the mansion swings open. The marble floors are vaguely familiar, but the two boys peering at you behind the housekeeper are not. “Is, um, dinner ready yet?”

...

With the alarm still blaring, Alexia runs a warm hand down your bare back, calloused fingers pressing into the divot of your spine. It is always like this with her: one thing said by her actions, another by her mouth. The nature of the message flips and switches as she pleases, but she never seems to be entirely able to make up her mind.

You sigh into the pillow, burnt by the flames left in the wake of her touch. “I’m tired.” The sound is muffled but clear enough to slowly tick down the seconds until the bomb explodes. “I’m tired from last night, Ale. From the match and, you know…”

She shuts the alarm off. It’s an hour earlier than what it needs to be, but once upon a time, there was a reason for that.

You catch a glimpse of the past behind your closed eyes as you feel her weight shift on the bed, legs straddling your hips as the sheets are pulled down to expose more of your bare skin. Her hands traverse your body, pressing into the muscles of your back with too much pressure and none at all. She is a lead weight and she is a ghost.

She is full of contradictions.

“You need to come with me today.” She grazes over a purpling bruise, inflicted by her own ravenous mouth. You hiss in pain, but it is forgotten the minute her lips kiss the crime scene with something almost apologetic.

“Baby, I’m too tired to train.”

“Your passes were sloppy.” Kisses trail across the backs of your shoulders, the base of your neck, the middle of a canvas she wants nothing more than to wreck over and over again. “And you were lucky to scrape your goal.” Her teeth sink into your flesh experimentally; the sharp pain gone before you begin to process it. “It was a beautiful goal, though. You looked beautiful scoring it.”

You groan, your body arching involuntarily into her touch, pulled in by something stronger than your will. Alexia is intoxicating; Alexia clouds your mind. “I missed that shot,” she continues, dangerously close to anger. “Your fault.”

“How was it–” You whimper as she targets the knots in your back. “How was it my… my fault?”

Her fingers dig into the tightness of your muscles, unaffected by how you tense beneath her. They are sore, but it is more than that.

Alexia has trapped you, and you are at her mercy.

It sends shivers down your spine.

“Because,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear, “I was too busy watching you. You’re such a fucking distraction, you know.”

“Ale…”

Her laughter is musical but plays a haunting melody that prickles the hairs at the back of your neck. “Don’t be so desperate,” she purrs, her hands roaming lower with a searing heat behind them. “I missed a hattrick because of you, and it was pathetic.”

You whine.

“Tell me what you need, and maybe I’ll give it to you.”

Your breath hitches, the words caught in your throat. She knows exactly what she’s doing, how to unravel you piece by piece until you’re begging for her.

She loves it when you beg.

“I…” You’re not a stranger to demanding things. You’re not pathetic, you’re not. “You. I need you.”

“Good girl,” she murmurs, rewarding you with a kiss that sears your skin. Her hand slips lower, teasing the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, making you gasp. “But you have to earn it. You can’t afford to make the mistakes you made yesterday again.”

You’re no longer listening. It’s not what you want to hear.

...

Unwelcome is the word that first springs to mind.

There is a long, mahogany trench table set, looking unnatural with the five places that throw the balance off. As though to emphasise your differences, you are ushered to the head of the table by the housekeeper, your half-brothers hesitating at the open doorway of the dining room, almost afraid to be alone with you.

You remember being told your mother had given birth by the housemistress at school. She’d offered to see if you could get on a flight home, but no request for your presence had come; the hint had been received loud and clear.

If they didn’t want you, you didn’t want them.

But you don’t miss the shirt one of the boys is wearing.

“Where’d you get that?” you ask curiously, encouraging them to approach with a tight-lipped smile. The one dressed in a Levante shirt looks at the other.

“It’s his,” they say at the same time. It’s a little creepy.

“Papa wouldn’t let us get your name, but that’s what we wanted.”

“You guys like football?” you ask, forcing a casual tone.

They nod enthusiastically, thumbs poking into their chests as they state their positions and opinionated ranking on the local team. “We get our teammates to watch your highlights. We’re gonna see you at Barça next season!”

“How do you know I’m going to Barça next season?” you tease. “Because I didn’t even know that.”

“Papi’s friends with Sr. Laporta, tonta.” Frowning, you grow less amused of the tidbit. Maybe your stepfather feels guilty. Maybe he wants to give your career an unnecessary helping hand. But you’d rather be sent into the Queen’s League than sign because of your connections.

Despite the tension hanging in the air, you lean back in the chair, trying to ease the stiffness in your shoulders. The eyes of your half-brothers flicker between you and the table. You’re a stranger to them, and their apprehension is understandable. It stings, but it isn’t your fault.

The housekeeper returns, clearing her throat to interrupt the stilted silence. “Dinner will be served shortly,” she announces, her eyes avoiding yours. You scrutinise her, trying to remember whether she was there when you were first sent away. Is she new? “Boys, why don’t you fetch your father from his study?”

Emboldened by the prospect of their escape, the one in a Levante shirt steps forward. “Can we play after dinner?”

Before you can answer, a familiar voice interrupts. "Boys, give your sister some space." They are scurrying away in an instant.

You look up to see your mother standing in the doorway, her expression stern. There's an awkward pause as she takes a seat at the other end of the table, her eyes never meeting yours.

"Good to see you," she says, her tone clipped. You nod, acknowledging her presence without offering a response. “I was surprised to hear you were coming. Have you run out of money?”

“I have money.”

"Then why now?" she presses, her eyes still avoiding yours. The question hangs in the air as you take your time to answer it. Past arguments seep into the room, and, despite the large windows and high ceilings, you feel trapped.

You take a deep breath, trying to maintain your composure. "I wanted to see my family," you say, the words feeling foreign on your tongue.

Your mother's lips press into a thin line, and for a moment, you think she might actually say something kind. But instead, she shifts her gaze to the polished surface of the table. "Well, here we are," she says, her tone flat.

...

There is something about the soft way Alexia cares for you that keeps you by her side. She’s not a bad person, and she is sorry when she is mean. You can be worse, so, really whose fault is it? Sometimes you provoke her.

None of that matters now, though. Not in the airy space after sex and before the world begins to turn again. The sun is beginning to rise now, bathing the room in fresh light that must unsettle your girlfriend. She is trying to calm herself down, lying beside you to regain her strength before she will haul you both up.

If you hadn’t wanted to train, you should never have spoken this morning.

Your fingers draw lazy patterns on her stomach, nails grazing up and down tanned skin as you trace out words you cannot bring yourself to say. In this moment, everything feels perfect. You’re not sure whether your mind is still clouded with desire, but you have to close your eyes to stop tears from falling.

“I love you,” you whisper, voice barely audible.

“I love you too,” she replies.

It’s easy to say it because it’s true.

It’s true because Alexia has been there for you like no one else.

Your whole life has felt like a terminal at an airport. Everyone around you has their own emotions about their own adventures, and the crowd rushes to various gates – various destinations – with urgency you have never sought, nor found. You often stand in the middle of the bustling, bumbling mass of people, head in your hands, wondering why they seem to know where life is taking them.

When you signed for Barcelona, it was a surprise. You hadn’t believed your little brothers when they had let it slip, and you were certain your worth was going to be exploited in another league – maybe you’d go back to Wolfsburg, maybe you’d explore abroad. Maybe your mother sending you away was a good thing, because it proved that Spain wasn’t your home.

Sure, you held the passport and spoke the languages, but… but maybe you didn’t belong.

Then came Alexia, who told you the opposite of what you were starting to live by.

Alexia – older, wiser, with a clear head on her shoulders and a drive like no other – wanted you to stay, wished you’d see yourself for what was so clearly in front of her eyes. You knew you were talented, but she knew you could be the best.

Just like she was.

Because Alexia was aware of the intricacies of ageing, of how experience was not going to be her saviour in the very end. She was focused on a legacy: her brilliance would live on in you.

She loved you for it.

She loves you still.

You can feel her heartbeat, steady and reassuring. Dawn casts shadows across Alexia’s features, hiding the dark circles under her eyes in a bath of dim grey. She smiles, and the tenderness in her gaze is reserved for you, reserved for moments like these. She reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek gently.

“We should get up,” she murmurs.

You nod, knowing she’s right. Alexia is always right; you’ve learnt that over the years you have been together. “Just a few more minutes,” you mumble back anyway.

Hands slide over your waist, pulling you into her body. Her laugh is quiet and giggly, full of love and fondness for a sentence she had predicted you’d say. “Okay,” she agrees. “So we’ll do three hours today, not two. Yeah?”

...

The dinner doesn’t last very long for you, although that may be because you make it painfully clear you want to leave after the first course. Your stepfather catches on – you question if he had been hoping for this – and jumps at the chance to drive you to a high-end restaurant in central Barcelona that he is sure you will enjoy.

He knows the chef, he says. He’ll wave money in your face and pretend that it makes these things forgivable.

You’re hardly arguing though, so there’s not much room for complaint.

The restaurant welcomes you into the cocktail bar, having awaited your arrival after being enticed by the name of the credit card attached to the tab. Your stepfather is well-known around these parts, and although the notion of a fifth member of his perfect family has been obscured for a long time, there is a shared surname between you and your little brothers that offers you half a place in this small shroud of gente rica.

Sitting alone at the bar, you order a martini. The glass is cold against your fingertips, and a shiver runs down your spine despite the warmth of the busy restaurant. It’s loud here, with every table full of happy, wealthy patrons who do both business and pleasure all at once, but you feel distant, disconnected.

You don’t belong here.

It’s a struggle of yours.

You never seem to belong anywhere; always an afterthought, always an add-on.

There is no space that is moulded to fit your body, no path that has been carved out solely for you. (Or, if there is, it is really fucking hard to find.)

Football is sort of your thing, but the whole nature of professional sport is to fight hard so you don’t get replaced – therefore implying that no one is inherently one-of-a-kind.

Sometimes, you convince yourself that that isn’t what you want, but that is a lie. Everyone wants to be unique. Everyone wants to be loved for who they are.

A tap on your shoulder pulls you out of your self-damning thoughts.

“Are you alone?”

You turn to find Alexia Putellas standing beside you, her eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and something else you can’t quite place. It seems she is more surprised to see you here than you are to see her, but she swallows her comment to look you up and down.

Her scrutiny is intimidating. Maybe that is how you are supposed to feel, maybe that is what she wants. After all, the intensity of the match still lingers in your aching muscles, and seeing her now, out of the context of football kits and harsh tackles, is almost surreal.

“Alexia, hi,” you say, forcing a smile.

She repeats her question firmly, concern knitting her brows together. She’s wearing makeup, but you decide she doesn’t need it.

Alexia is really pretty. You get lost on your way to answer her.

She places a hand on the same shoulder she tapped, unaware of how your skin sizzles because of her touch, fearing you will run away from her. You have a skittish look about you, she’s noticed, and, for some reason, she wants you to stay put.

“Come, sit.” Her hand waves in the direction of her table, filled with women around her age who must be her friends. A part of you finds it unfair that Alexia appears to have friends because someone once said sacrifices are the bricks that pave the way to success, but you put it out of mind to deal with politely declining her invitation.

Your hesitation only seems to spur her on, however.

“You remind me of me, you know.” Your martini glass is empty, and her nose wrinkles with disapproval.

“I do?” you ask, interested in what similarity she is going to draw between you.

She holds up two fingers to the bartender, mouthing her order with a small smirk, before looking down at you from where she stands and you sit, inspecting your face. Her fingers gently wrap around your chin, and she tilts your head upwards. “You have that look in your eyes.”

Laughter rings out from her table, followed quickly by calls for her to return to her meal. She ignores the noise, focused entirely on you.

Alexia tries to suppress her thoughts of how beautiful you look – how ruggedly captivating, how… enticing – and she is sure she is successful.

Until you lick your lips and ask her to elaborate.

She is silent for a moment.

It’s the first time someone has made you feel like nothing and everything all at once; like the brightest star in the galaxy, like an unused lump of clay. Like you are both wondrous and plain. Exceptional and just like everyone else.

Alexia’s and… not.

You are completely at her mercy.

You agree to join her and her friends for dinner.

As you approach the table, the group welcomes you with warm smiles and a polite interest in who you are. Alexia’s introduction makes you blush as she details your goal and the success attributed to you at such a young age (she emphasises that part for her own conscience), and it is only a moment before you settle into an empty seat beside her, somehow put at ease.

The conversation resumes its flow, light and lively, but Alexia is distracted from the discussion of their next holiday. She has questions, many of them, and she figures you are detached from the Catalan they speak in and are silently begging for a language you do understand.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Alexia murmurs in Spanish, leaning in a bit closer. “Figured you’d, you know, be licking your wounds in Valencia.”

Two drinks are delivered to your table; one for you, one for Alexia. She watches your lips as they part to take a sip, pinching her own thigh when she catches herself.

“I used to play for Levante,” she continues as you stoically nurse your drink. “When I was younger, Barça sent me off to get some experience. They called me back soon enough.”

“I never played for Barça.” She raises her eyebrows in surprise, more so for your assumption of her assumption than anything else. You notice her expression. You laugh and Alexia finds she’s quite a fan of that sound. “I’m from Barcelona, Alexia. I speak Catalan and everything.”

“You don’t sound–”

“My stepfather has a house in Sarrià and told me to fuck off to boarding school when I was younger. So I went to America and I had to do Spanish classes, and ‘cause I’d renounced my family, it was like learning Castellano all over again.”

“Like a madrileña,” Alexia finishes off, amused. “Boarding school, eh?”

“Lost my parents, lost my accent. Childhood of dreams,” you respond sarcastically. “I’ve just come from a family dinner, actually. I left after the starter because… well, it fucking sucked seeing my mother pretend–” You hold your tongue, embarrassed. “Sorry, I don’t mean to dump it all on you. The martini’s loosened my lips.”

Your laugh this time is self-deprecating and a little painful to hear. Alexia shakes her head and is about to encourage you to carry on, when she catches the heat rising to your cheeks and wonders whether that would be for the best. Instead, she thinks you might prefer to hear something else. “How about another drink after you’re done with that?”

The rest of the night is a blur.

Alexia is torn between wanting to impress you and wanting to protect you. She doesn’t know which to follow: the reasonable responsibility drilled into her head, captain of Barcelona, captain of Spain… or the pulse between her legs that grows stronger every time her gaze falls to the low-cut top you’re wearing. It’s this desire that must destroy her judgement, and, after you have insisted on paying for the meal with your stepfather’s credit card, Alexia finds herself having to text the younger girls at Barça to see if any of them can come get you.

Pina’s busy, Cata’s out with her friends, and Jana claims she’s emetophobic.

Briefly, Alexia wonders if she imagined you being friends with any of them, but, at the end of the day (or beginning – as it is rapidly approaching tomorrow), she really does have to take you somewhere. She won’t let your half-catatonic body lie on the streets of Barcelona, and so she hauls you into a taxi and waves goodbye to her friends.

“Interesting recruitment method for the B team,” jokes one of them as they disperse. “Wait, sorry. You waxed lyrical about her tonight enough for me to know that she’d be on the first team with you.”

“Her contract must be in the works,” Alexia agrees, choosing to ignore the saccharine tone such a compliment was voiced with. “I swear, she’s going to be the best.”

You’re not paying attention to any of this, of course, too busy pressing your hand against the glass of the taxi’s window, giggling every time you imprint the shape of your palm. “Alexia!” you call out, wanting her to share your enjoyment. “Alexia, look!”

She turns to look at you, her stern expression softening when she sees how your eyes have lit up. She can’t help but smile at the innocence of your little game, and if the taxi driver raises his eyebrows in the rearview mirror, Alexia chooses not to notice.

“Very impressive,” she says, cringing at how she sounds like she is soothing a child. You seem even younger now, especially when your ears perk up as she speaks in Catalan, a picture of something you confessed to have lost years ago.

It’s a horrible conflict to have brewing inside of her, and she shakes her head, trying to clear it. Her composure becomes harder to maintain with you being pressed up against her in the backseat, but all thoughts she has are thrown into a deep, dark ditch that she decides to deal with at a later date.

“Where are we going?” you ask, your voice slurred and eyes wide with curiosity.

“My place,” comes the simple reply. It’s the only option left. She knows she can make sure you’re safe, and, besides, the idea of you at her place feels comforting, as though it were not supposed to be any other way.

When the taxi finally pulls up outside her apartment building, Alexia pays the driver and helps you out of the car. You falter like a newborn foal learning to walk, and she encourages you to lean heavily on her so that the journey inside will be quicker. The walk to her door feels longer, and each step is tentative as she continues to debate her decision.

But she’s going to care for you. That’s all.

You marvel at her apartment, which shocks her after she has learnt about your childhood, but she takes the compliment and guides you to her bedroom under the guise of giving you a ‘tour’. The spare bedroom is unusable, seeing as the bed has become the latest storage cupboard for her boxes of awards and PR packages, so, again, this is the only option.

You collapse unceremoniously onto her mattress with a loud sigh.

Alexia stands there for a moment, watching as you settle into her bed. As much as responsibility and protectiveness hangs over her head, she also feels something much deeper inside of her beginning to swirl into a storm. She’s not ready to acknowledge it yet.

Taking a deep breath, she glances at you once more. “You need to rest.” Her voice carries the authority of the woman she is; a woman who is much older and wiser and who has more power than ethical to be feeling any kind of attraction towards you. Her hand hovers over you, brushing a stray hair from your forehead. The warmth of your skin under her fingertips sends a jolt through her, but she quickly pulls her hand back, focusing on her current task.

“Thanks, Alexia,” you mumble, already half-asleep.

After that close-call, she rights herself, looking around her room for a moment before heading to the kitchen to fetch you a glass of water. She places it on the bedside table, knowing you'll need it in the morning, not wanting to wake you up to drink it now. She then finds a spare blanket and a pillow, setting up a makeshift bed for herself on the sofa in the living room.

Exhausted from the day, she expects to fall asleep quickly, but she is tortured by the same question, over and over again.

How the fuck did she get here?

#this one might be build up #it may get worse #woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #barca femeni #woso imagines #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas

865 notes · View notes

yammpi3 · 2 months ago

Text

𝙇𝘼𝙏𝙀 𝙉𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙏 𝙀𝙉𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙍 𝙆𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙤 𝙏𝙖𝙠𝙖𝙢𝙞 [𝙃𝙖𝙬𝙠𝙨]

synopsis. You were a former hero commission hero but when you made a simple mistake in a mission the commission sent you on they deemed you unfit and fired you, hence made you out to be a villain to the public. A few years later you meet your old partner Hawks out on his nightly patrol then you guys make up….made out .. :3

— content warnings. sorta plot with smut, eating out, p to v, kissing, sex sex sex, not really coordinated well? i think? dom/sub hawks

— W.C 2.3k

— authors note. This has been rotting in my drafts for like a year now but i thought i should post something…so..heres this!! Im rlly sorry if it’s formatted kinda weirdly, imo the smut is also written sorta weird but i think thats just me..overthinking it ANYWAYS enjoy reading <33 also Thank you FOR 100 FOLLOWERS?? i didn’t expect my blog would reach that much so TYTY.

Hawks sighed heavily, leaning back in his office desk chair, elbows propping on the armrests. He rubbed his tired eyes, tilting his head back, attempting to avoid eye contact with the stack of paperwork that lay out before him.

Every muscle in his body ached with exhaustion. It felt like he had been sitting in this same spot for days, poring over reports and documents in an endless cycle of busy work. As the number-two hero, the public demanded nothing but his very best. They expected him to always be alert and swift in responding to any crisis, dealing with volatile situations and dangerous villains with calm precision.

But they didn't see this part. They didn't witness the countless late nights spent filling out forms, compiling statistics, and attending meetings after meetings. No cameras captured the headaches induced by mind-numbing bureaucracy or the frustration of dealing with petty politics. This was the hidden cost of his elevated rank—an incessant paper-pushing grindstone that wore him down more than any actual fight ever could.

Slowly dragging his hands down his face, Hawks sighed again as the aches and knots of tension complained loudly in his neck and shoulders. For a brief moment, he considered using his feathers to shred just a few stray documents, to do less work.

He stretched his arms over his head and rolled his tense muscles, his wings fluttering restlessly behind him. All he wanted at that moment was to forget. To spread his wings and fly through open skies, feeling the wind ruffle through his feathers as he left his troubles far below.

Tilting his chair back as far as it would go, he gave a long-suffering look at the piles of work that towered precariously around him, silently pleading with it all to spontaneously catch fire or simply vanish into thin air. With a resigned sigh, Hawks dropped all four chair legs back to the floor and reluctantly pulled the topmost file towards him once more, bracing himself for another grind of the ever-turning wheel.

Hawks rubbed his tired eyes once more, feeling his motivation drain away with each mundane paragraph he read. At this rate, he'd be here all night and well into the morning. With a groan, he tossed the file back onto the pile, temporarily defeated. Maybe a quick break was what he needed to recharge his focus.

Pushing away from his desk, Hawks stood and stretched out his cramped body to its full height, his wings unfolding to their full span. A midnight flight around the city was just what he needed. The cool night air and darkened streets would do wonders for clearing his cluttered mind.

Stepping out onto his office balcony, Hawks took a few steps back, then launched himself into the sky with his wings. He flew high, circling up towards the crowning heights of the skyscrapers that shone below. Closing his eyes briefly, he took a deep breath of the fresher air, feeling tensions beginning to melt away already.

As he glided back down towards street level, Hawks scanned the sidewalks lazily while lost in thought. He was mulling over the options when movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

Your shadow slipped between alleyways, scanning for any civilians in the area. Suddenly flashes of red nearing a rooftop drew your eye—a familiar winged silhouette.

Going on a nearby rooftop, you spotted Hawks looking down, trying to find who or what he saw.

You and Hawks used to know each other pretty well in your teen years when you dreamed of being a great hero. So when you were selected by the Commission to become one, you were ecstatic. But from day one, Keigo Takami made things... complicated.

You two went way back to your training days, though you mostly kept your head down back then. Once in the pro scene though, Takami always found ways to rile you up during sessions, whether with sly taunts or risky stunts that pushed protocol to the limit.

Part of you wanted to throttle that arrogant asshole, but another part couldn't deny the thrill he made you feel.

Late nights spent training turned into more..private scenarios. For a time, it was nice to find solace in each other. But then came the ruling—you'd been deemed "not hero material" after one mistake, ruining your future. That's when Takami tried to connect with you again, but the hero commission wouldn't even allow him to be close to you to not damage the reputation he already made with the public.

"You're up rather late for a hero," you whispered directly into his ear, barely suppressing a chuckle at his startled flinch. Golden eyes met yours warily, yet he made no move to escape our intimate embrace.

"I'm off duty," was his measured reply. "And you?" Smoke clung thick to the memories in his eyes.

Your fingers, carefully gloved, traced the proud arch of his wings, feeling tension bleed away slowly. "Care for some company, Keigo?"

He held your gaze steadily, considering. At last he nodded, extending a hand. “Not that I can shake you off anyway,” he replied, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

You sat together on the secluded rooftop, settling close against one another. As you caught up, you both couldn't help but feel deprived of each other's touch; it had been far too long since you'd seen one another face to face. Sure, he'd heard about you through others in the commission, but being here together was different somehow.

When your voices at last fell silent, a gentle touch turned your chin to meet Hawks' searching eyes. "Y/N…" he murmured, leaning in so your faces were mere inches apart. One of his wings stretched out to block any view from the street below, enveloping you both in its feathery embrace.

Hawks closed the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a soft yet insistent kiss.

One hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair, as the other wrapped around your waist to draw you flush against his body. You felt even better than he remembered.

When your lips parted under him, Hawks held back a groan as he rested his forehead against yours as you both panted for air. Wisps of steam rose between the two of you in the chill night.

If he tasted you fully, it would undo his last shred of willpower.

“You're going to be the end of me.." Hawks murmured thickly. Already, he ached to have more, but taking you here against the railing would be too brazen, even for his recklessness.

"Then take me somewhere more...private then," you shot back in a sinful whisper.

With a sly smile, Hawks swept you into his arms in a bridal carry, wings already prepared for launch. "Hold on tight.”

Hawks kicked off from the roof of the building and took flight, relishing your tight grip around his shoulders. The thrill of having you in his arms sent adrenaline surging through his veins.

He landed lightly on the balcony of his high-rise apartment, still holding you securely against his chest. Your masked face was turned up to meet his gaze.

"I.. I really missed you," Hawks murmured, pressing you back against the wall with his body. He caged you in with outspread wings, feathers gently ghosting your skin.

"Me too.." you replied. Your hands came up to roam his body just as eagerly.

Hawks captured your lips in a searing kiss, conveying all his pent-up needs and desires without restraint. This was wrong on so many levels, and yet he'd never felt more alive.

Kicking open the balcony doors, he swept you inside and laid you down on his plush sofa. His hands worked busily to remove your mask, wanting nothing between you and him; clothing fell piece by piece until nothing was left.

"Say you want this," Hawks pleaded roughly, desperate for your answer.

Your intoxicating laughter rang out as you pulled him against your body. "I want all of you, Keigo."

Hawks' hands roamed your body eagerly, relearning every curve as his lips traveled along your jawline. You sighed contentedly, arching into his touch while undoing the fastenings of his hero costume with practiced expertise.

Slowly, methodically, he kissed his way down the delicate column of your throat. Hawks lingered there to suckle your rapid pulse, eliciting breathy moans. His name falling from your lips in such a manner sent fresh spikes of arousal through him.

As you lay bare under him, Hawks paused to simply take in the sublime vision of your naked form, illuminated by the moonlight. "You're so..beautiful," he whispered in awe, tracing idle patterns upon your sensitized flesh.

Your hands delved into the downy feathers at his wings' bases, eliciting a guttural groan. The way you caressed his most sensitive areas, teasing but not quite enough, tested Hawks' faltering control. He nipped lightly at the swell of your breast in retaliation.

Tracing a tortuous path down your torso with wet kisses and love bites, Hawks' fingers dipped between your thighs. He chuckled at discovering your slick arousal, already swollen and desperate for friction. Slowly, he circled your clit, gathering your arousal onto his fingers.

"Please..." you begged wantonly, bucking your hips to chase more contact. But Hawks would loathe to grant your unspoken request so easily. He continued his maddening ministrations, coaxing you higher and higher with expert precision. Only when your keening cries bordered on anguish did he finally decide to sink two fingers deep inside.

The powerful rhythm he set drove you swiftly towards the peak. Hawks swallowed your hoarse screams of completion, savoring your intimate essence on his tongue.

"I've missed this..," he murmured, pressing a tender kiss on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Then his tongue delved into your slick arousal with deft, practiced strokes. Your responsive sighs and the way you grabbed Takami's hair only spurred him onward in his devotions.

He alternated between broad, flat licks and focused flicks directly over your clit. When Keigo very lightly grazed his teeth along your folds, you keened and bucked again into his ministrations wildly. He hummed his approval, sending vibrations through your core.

It did not take long for you to climb once more towards the precipice, unraveling beautifully beneath his skilled mouth. Hawks drank deeply from your release, prolonging each aftershock with slow caresses of his tongue. Only when your quivering stopped did he withdraw, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he cleaned his glistening chin.

As he swirled his tongue around his lips, savoring the last hints of you, you gazed up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. Your chest still heaved in languid aftershocks of pleasure, your limbs boneless and slack upon the plush cushions.

"Come here," you beckoned hoarsely, crooking a finger. Your body cried out to be filled after such thorough worship, muscles reflexively clenching around nothing inside.

Hawks obeyed without hesitation, crawling up to drape himself over your welcoming form once more. You gripped his shoulders firmly, flipping your positions with a playful show of wiry strength, and smiled down at him wickedly.

Grasping his aching length and rubbing the tip of his cock had him seeing stars. Hawks groaned unabashedly.

Slowly, you let him inside, savoring each velvet glide. Hawks bucked helplessly, claws scrabbling for purchase against the cushions as your sensual walls milked his length.

The pleasure you drew from Hawks was exquisite torture. Each roll of your hips sent fresh shockwaves through his twitching member, shattering his composure. He was reduced to begging, his nails scratched weakly at your thighs as you rode him to the brink.

"Please...I need to come," Hawks gasped, moving his hips upward in frantic little thrusts. His cock throbbed painfully with the desperate need for release.

You smiled down at him cruelly. "Beg for it." Your lips formed the words deliciously slowly, knowing their effect.

Hawks keened, wings fluttering uselessly. "Please let me cum p-please I wanna cum, I need..to please..”

Suddenly, you bore down on him, grinding your pelvis against his in brutal circles. The new angle sent Hawks reaching his high with a raw cry.

You quickly let him pull out as his cock pulsed and thick ropes of seed spilled forth, splattering his taut stomach in pearly ribbons. Hawks shuddered through wave after wave; your continued help milking every last drop from him.

Breathless and spent, he could only lay pliantly as you leaned down to collect his essence on your fingers. Your wicked tongue flicked out to taste, making Hawks twitch anew in oversensitivity.

You smiled softly, your expression gentling as you gazed upon Hawks' flushed, panting form. His chest still heaved mightily in the aftermath of his climax.

Reverently, you traced light patterns on his ribs and pecs with delicate fingers, soothing away any last tremors. Hawks hummed appreciatively at your tender touch, grasping one of your hands to press a lingering kiss to the palm.

"Come here, Birdie," you murmured, beckoning him into your open embrace. Hawks complied readily, nuzzling into the crook of your neck with a contented sigh. Your legs tangled together comfortably as his wings folded around you both like a feathery blanket.

No threats of capture or duty rules could penetrate the sanctity of that moment. There, held securely within your arms, Hawks felt at once protected yet free—freed from the shackles of self-doubt and expectation. He belonged, body and soul, to one who accepted him fully without judgment or demand.

Drowsiness began to take hold as your rhythmic caresses through soft-down lulled Hawks towards slumber. "Stay?" he mumbled into your skin, his voice blurred by oncoming sleep yet filled with gentle hope.

You kissed his forehead, followed by a whisper, "I’ll stay, promise." was the sweetest assurance Hawks could wish for.

333 notes · View notes