One of my angstier/kinkier headcanons for shane (#myshane) is that most of the time he doesn't feel like his body is his. Not in a sense of dissociation or lack of physical control over his movements, but in a sense of ownership. His body is advertising space leased to brands. It's a piece of equipment that must be serviced and maintained in order for Shane to do his job. It's inventory owned by the Metros that can be sold or traded if it's not functioning at an optimal level. It's a symbol of representation for people who don't normally 'see themselves in hockey.'
It's all tangled with his ED and largely unwanted 'role model' status and Shane Hollander TM the product/brand as opposed to Shane the person. But with Ilya he feels grounded in his body. It's not a machine to be maintained, it's a way to give and recieve affection and pleasure. The times it doesn't feel like his body in bed it's because it feels like Ilya's body, like all of Shane is his to do whatever he wants with, and that's so much better. They get into free use in the same ass-backwards undernegotiated way they do all kink because if Shane is going to be an object he wants to be Ilya's cherished object.
He had listened to countless hours of her descriptions of different gods, goddesses, and epics.
He ends up getting really into it. Part of it is seeing his girl get so enthusiastic about something. They way your eyes light up and hands making grand gestures as you recount myths and epics to him.
The other part of him, the part that has always been looking for some sort of higher power, for answers and absolution, latches on to the idea of a religion that you can earn the love of the gods through sacrifices in blood. He can connect with and understand the tales written in blood and sacrifice better than the stories in the Bible that he never fully understood.
It’s late at night when you tell him of the story of Achilles and Patroclus . The two of you are in bed. He has found solace lying on your chest after a long day of dealing with his mother. Your hands threading through his curls as he waits patiently for you to begin your story of the night.
After that first night, if you had no new stories to share, you would tell him the story of Patroclus and Achilles at his request.
He develops a love hate relationship with the story of Achilles and Patroclus. He loves how devoted the two are to each other, as he feels the same about you.
You were also quick to point out how similar he was to Achilles. Soft and loving and desperate to please you, but abrasive and standoffish towards everyone else. Just as Achilles was with Patroclus.
Silently, he agreed with Achilles. If you died, or heaven forbid, came to the realization that you were much too good for him, he would follow in Achilles footsteps and join the afterlife. But he had long since learned that voicing the negative thoughts surrounding his self image towards you only served to make you upset.
However, unlike Patroclus, you were not a warrior. While you were one of the smartest people he knew, you were also soft. You could barely hurt a fly, the type of cup spiders in your hand and walk them back outside.
And he loved that about you, and wouldn’t change it for the world, even if it kept him awake at night.
Which is why he tried his best to keep you away from his business.
No one else needed to know you were his Achilles heel.
You weren’t entirely sure why he had latched onto that particular story. There were others, though few and far between, that had happier endings, but who were you too deny his request.
One day, after he makes you tell the story again, you get an idea, grabbing your phone as you continue to run your hands through his hair as he lays on your chest.
A few days later, you come home with your ankle all wrapped up.
Andrew is immediately on you, demanding to know what happened, who hurt you, who he needs to hurt in return.
You just giggle, pulling him down into a kiss before walking over to the couch.
He is following behind you, because where else would he be.
You sink into the couch, bringing your foot up to press into his chest.
“Why don’t you unwrap your surprise!” You purr.
He looks warily at you, tenderly bringing his hands up to the wrap at your ankle.
Once the wrap is off and he doesn’t immediately see blood or bruising, he lets out a sigh of relief. Then his eyes catch on a hint of black peeking out from the back of your leg, just above the ankle.
Slowly, you sink further into the couch, allowing Andrew to guide your leg up higher so he can see.
Covered in second skin is his name written in delicate font. The A is considerably bigger than the rest of the letters, with a laurel vine wrapped around it.
He doesn’t know how long he started at it, unmoving, before your voice breaks him out of the trance he is in.
“It’s on my Achilles tendon, although you don’t get to go dying on me! If you do, I will bring you back just to…”
But you don’t get to finish, as he is surging up to shut you up with a kiss, trying to convey just how much he loves you, as words seem to be failing him.
When you finally pull away, you find his face shiny with tears. You can’t help the smile that spreads on your face as you close the gap, tongue tracing the salty trails of his tears before you begin peppering his face with kisses.
“Can’t believe you got my name tattooed on you.” His voice is soft, disbelief heavy in his tone.
“You have owned my soul from the second you showed up at my doors with flowers and those stupid puppy dog eyes Andrew Cody. If I could tattoo you on my soul, I would.”
Two days later, Andrew is walking out of your tattoo parlor, with a matching patch of second skin, your initals with angel wings on either side tucked beneath the leg of his jeans.
does anyone have any unhinged tips for powering through a creative block? and i don't mean just going for a walk or listening to music, i mean something bordering insanity
Dustin has a flashback to Eddie’s death and Steve helps him calm down.
OR
Dustin listens to Steve’s heartbeat.
Read on Ao3
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His mom was the one who had suggested he start going for walks and getting fresh air. Dustin wasn’t stupid; he knew why she suggested it. He had seen her research what could relieve symptoms of depression. And since he was refusing to talk to her about how he felt or what he’d been through, she probably thought the next best thing was to get him out of his room for a bit.
He couldn’t deny that it did help get outside and let his thoughts float freely in the wind instead of letting them swirl around in his room, which was far too small to contain the sheer multitude of them.
Dustin had started going on walks through Hawkins a few weeks after the Upside Down was gone for good. After El’s death. After he couldn’t distract himself with some new danger knocking at their door.
Going outside gave him something to do that wasn’t just sitting alone and letting the hurt simmer.
Sometimes his friends would join him, sometimes he would walk alone. But no matter what, he returned home with a clearer head and less gloom following him around.
Today, Steve was with him. They didn’t talk much; they just walked for hours.
They found themselves on the train tracks. It was weird how it had felt less heavy the last time they walked here. That time, they were actively laying out a trap for a flesh-eating monster, opposed to now, where the horrors they’d been fighting were no longer a concern.
Dustin fought back the heaviness and let his mind drift to thoughts of the first time they walked this path together. The beginning of a friendship that Dustin couldn’t be more grateful for.
They walked quietly through the junkyard, a little closer to each other when they passed the old bus. When they spotted an empty Gatorade bottle on top of one of the cars, none of them acknowledged it with more than a look of grief and sorrow in their eyes.
When they walked along the road by the Quarry, Steve positioned himself so that he was between the edge of the cliff and Dustin.
That quiet concern should have made Dustin annoyed, but all it did was fill him with warmth at how much Steve cared.
At the same time, he felt a deep ache in his chest, thinking he was the source of so many of Steve’s worries.
They had lost track of time as they noticed the sun starting to set. Steve hurried them through the forest so they could get home. Dustin appreciated that he didn’t have to voice his need to get out of the approaching darkness. Steve was one step ahead.
Dustin had never really been afraid of the dark, not until every bit of darkness turned into the Upside Down in his mind. He had a feeling Steve was the same as his footsteps got quicker, and he grabbed Dustin’s arm to drag him along.
It happened so fast. One minute, they were speedwalking, and the next, they had gotten too close to a nest of birds, and the mama bird swooped down to ward them off. That’s all it was. She was trying to protect her babies.
But as Dustin ducked when he saw the bird dive for him in the corner of his eye, he suddenly wasn’t in the forest anymore.
The darkness swallowed him whole, ash fell from the sky, and thunder roared in the distance while red lightning lit up the gray clouds. He was back at the trailer park watching demobats circling Eddie and swooping down for the kill.
Dustin was screaming. Pure anguish and pain - no words left his mouth.
His mind was begging him to scream at them to fly away and get the hell away from his friend.
But as he saw Eddie’s lifeless body on the ground, blood trickling from his mouth and eyes void of any life, his mind suddenly switched gears and begged him to scream at the creatures to take him too.
Then he felt someone wrap him in a hug and press his head to their chest. He heard the beating rhythm of a heart. But it was beating too fast, and Dustin’s breathing was picking up. That was until he felt gentle fingers press into the pulse point at his wrist and heard a deep breath being taken. Slowly, the beating heart got steadier, and Dustin found himself calming down and coming back to himself.
He was sitting on the forest floor, wrapped in Steve’s arms. He felt safe - dared any danger to try to come for him in this protective embrace.
He heard Steve’s heartbeat where his head was pressed against his chest, and he knew Steve could feel his pulse from where his fingers wrapped around his wrist. And as they followed each other's breathing, slowly calming down, Dustin didn't doubt that their heartbeats were aligned in the same rhythm.
But it dawned on him why Steve’s heart had been beating so fast, and he felt embers of shame ignite in him.
His own impromptu flashback was because he had been reminded of the time Eddie got attacked by demo-bats. But long before that had happened, Steve had been on the receiving end of their flapping wings and sharp teeth. He had probably been stuck reliving the past too.
And instead of dealing with his own freakout, Steve was forced to help Dustin.
“I’m sorry,” Dustin muttered into Steve’s shirt, “Sorry you had to deal with me being a mess again.”
“Hey, no, don’t apologise, bud,” Steve said, so gently that Dustin wanted to cry, “I’m here for you anytime.”
But wasn’t that the problem? He was so busy picking up the broken pieces of Dustin that he neglected to realize that he needed support too.
“Well, when are you gonna be there for yourself?” Dustin quipped out, and he tried not to let frustration seep into his voice, but old habits die hard.
“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, but Dustin knew him well enough to hear the voice crack that followed, “I’m fine.”
“Don’t lie to me, man,” he said, pulling away from Steve to look him in the eye, “I heard your heartbeat, you were freaking out too”
For a second, Steve looked like a little kid caught in a lie, but then he composed himself and put his hands on Dustin’s shoulders.
“You’re right, it brought back memories, but you don’t have to worry about me, Henderson.”
“But I do worry! I want to be able to help you too.”
“Well, in a way you did,” he said, and Dustin shot him a confused glare, prompting him to explain, “I was able to calm down because I wanted to help you, and really that’s enough for me, okay?”
Steve said it with such finality that it drained Dustin of any energy to fight him on it. But it still wasn’t enough for Dustin, and he silently vowed to find ways to support Steve as much as he supported him.
So that’s what he did. He put his best observational skills to use, and soon enough, he recognized every sign of Steve struggling.
When he started squinting and wincing in pain, Dustin knew to turn down the lights and quiet down to lessen the hurt of an oncoming migraine.
When he started talking down about himself, Dustin subtly reassured him of his usefulness and let him know how much he loved him.
And when he saw a slight tremor in Steve’s hands, he would take them in his and guide his fingers towards his pulse point, and Dustin made sure to take a few deep breaths to make his pulse slow and steady enough to calm Steve down.
But neither of them felt safer than when they were wrapped tightly in an embrace with Dustin’s ear to Steve’s heart and Steve’s fingers on Dustin’s wrist - Hearts beating in sync.
Summary: Quinn broke up with his girlfriend and to get him back on the saddle, Brock and Lizzie try to set him up with Brock’s childhood best friend, who’s known for being trouble thinking that maybe some chaos in Quinn’s life will help him get over his ex. The friendship starts a little rocky, but eventually the fine line of love and hate is crossed when they make a secret bet between the two to get their friends off their backs about dating and trying to change Trouble’s view on love.
Warnings: mentions of cheating, bad past relationships, accusations of being a slut (male/female- we do NOT slut shame here), relationship started as a bet, messy break up, unhealthy coping mechanisms, cursing, suggestive comments and scenes.
A/N 1: heart breaker oc, I will NOT write smut. Inaccurate hockey descriptions (I’m trying, I’m still new to the hockey world)
A/N 2: if you don’t like this fic, I don’t really give a fuck. This is for myself and I won’t be bullied or whatever by some anonymous asshole. If you got something to say, say it with your chest.
{Master-list} {Next Chapter} {Previous Chapter}
Word count: 2k+
I sat on the barstool at the island in the kitchen at the Boeser household.
I held my hand to my head trying to put pressure on the appending headache I was sure to have along with scrapes and bruises from my tumble to the hard concrete.
Liz gave me a friendly smile as she handed over an ice pack and pain meds.
The smile quickly turned into a smirk when Brock finally sat down beside me as Elias took the other seat.
“So,” she drags the word out, playful and knowingly, “I heard you met Trouble today.”
“I wouldn’t call it ‘met’, but okay,” I popped my shoulders, moving the ice to my other hand to let the other warm up.
“Well she pranked you, which in Trouble language means she likes you,” laughed Brock, patting me on the shoulder gently.
“Oh so this is playground bullshit, should I pull her pigtail next time I see her? Maybe push her down the slide,” I sassed, brows cocked in question.
“No, but usually she’s really shy when meeting new people or anyone in the league.”
“Why?”
“Trouble knows what she looks like to the community and doesn’t wanna play to that standard.”
Lizzie hands each of us at the island a cup of coffee, turns away and gets creamer and sugar from the fridge and cabinets before placing those on the counter too.
“What standard?”
The trio rolled their eyes at my question. Brock grabs the creamer and pours some into his mug and offers Elias and me the container.
I take it from his hands and pour a little into my own mug, and look at Elias before giving the creamer to him.
Lizzie places out plates and nods to the stove, where she’s prepared a buffet of breakfast foods for us.
She makes her own plate before sitting down on the other side of Brock.
He leans over and kisses her cheek as a ‘thank you.’
“Blonde hair, blue eyes, and hangs out with hockey players… do the math Huggy,” sassed Brock, taking a pull of his coffee.
I popped my brow, opening my mouth to comment when Liz beat me to it.
“Please, Trouble is anything but a puck bunny,” replied Lizzie, shaking her head as she laughs.
Brock stands and makes his own plate, Elias following his lead and doing the same.
“I know that and she does too, but Trouble doesn’t want to get seen as one. Once the media and fans see her with us then the rumors and all that fun shit will start.”
“Is that why we’ve never met her, until today I mean,” asked Elias as he scooped up some eggs and put them on his plate.
Brock nods, taking the spoon from him and adding eggs to his already hefty plate.
“I keep telling Trouble that the team would love her, but she just doesn’t want the drama and ridicule that comes with being a friend of someone famous.”
Brock sits back down after grabbing forks and lays two on the counter, one for Elias and the other for me.
Elias takes the silverware and sits in his spot at the island again.
“I thought she said that she’s been to games before? How’d she sneak up to the family box without being seen,” I questioned with my brows popped.
“Trouble doesn’t go up there, she’s in the crowd with Lizzie,” Brock pops a shoulder as he takes a bite of his eggs.
Liz nods, takes a pull of her coffee before speaking, “Yeah, when I can convince her to come to the games she’s right by my side in the crowd with either a funny sign or a fathead of him to get Brock’s attention.”
“We see him skate over to you and always thought that the woman next to you was a fan,” laughed Elias.
“Hiding under plain sight,” nods Brock as he takes another bite.
I stand and make my way over to the plates and silverware to grab some breakfast.
“Plus we don’t really post with her and we respect her wish on being left out of pictures and tags.”
I settle back into my barstool and take a bite, nodding my head in understanding. Elias hums his agreement as he drinks his coffee.
The couple share a smirk before Lizzie turns to face me as best she can given the wall her husband is.
“Maybe if a certain someone, I don’t know, say a Captain of a hockey team were to ask her, she’d go support him from the family box?”
The blond idiots laugh at her blunt proposal.
I popped a brow, “No, she’s your guys’ friend, you ask her.”
Lizzie sighs loudly, “C’mon Quinn, you're her type! She’d have a really hard time saying no to you!”
“Yeah, she would, Trouble can’t say no to guys that look like you,” added Brock with a laugh.
I laugh as I shake my head, “Absolutely not. I don't see that happening you guys. Can we talk about something else now?”
The couple sighs loudly, as if disappointed, but lets us change the conversation to anything other than Trouble. I saw the look exchanged between Brock and Lizzie and knew that it would come up again.
But I was determined to shut the idea down. There was no need to hurry and find a new girlfriend, not after how badly the last one ended.
I wasn’t looking, I didn’t want another relationship either. At this point it would just be a rebound, a mistake that can only end in heartbreak.
Even if I really did like her, it's just too soon anyway. Trouble’s a nice girl, someone I can maybe see something starting with, but it’s not gonna happen.
And if something did and it ended badly, then Brock and Lizzie would have to pick sides, something that I don’t want to happen and I’m sure neither does she.
I shake my head to clear those thoughts.
I need to focus on the season, that’s what’s important right now, not my disastrous love life.
After we ate, Brock, Elias, and I helped Lizzie clean the leftovers and put away dishes before we sat in the living room and watched film of a recent game.
Hours passed and it was lunch time, Lizzie offered to make us something but Elias and I declined.
I had things to do back at my apartment before the day was over, so I said my goodbyes and left.
When I arrived back home, I put my duffle away and threw myself on the couch.
I thought back to this morning when I met Trouble and what Brock and Lizzie said, about me being her type.
I’m not saying Trouble’s not unattractive, but I’m the wrong guy if she wants to stay out of the spotlight and the puck bunny image.
I mean, really, I’m the absolute worst guy for that.
I’m captain of the team, my brothers and I are always in the media.
She’d have to be a ghost not to be seen with us and that’s not fair on either of our parts.
Why am I even worried about this, nothings gonna happen. I think, rolling my eyes.
The whole night is spent trying to come up with ways to make her hate me. I know this will put a crack in my friendship with Brock and Lizzie, but so will Trouble and I dating.
If we end up together and break up, they’ll have to choose and I don’t wanna be the reason for that.
And if that bonehead Brock can see the obvious attraction we have for each other, then everyone else can too.
Damn it!
The next morning was Hell to say the least. I got maybe an hour or two of sleep while my mind ran scenarios on several different things. The most of which were of her and this morning.
Looking back now, I can’t help but laugh. It was a good prank, I’ll give her that. Jack and Luke would be on the ground rolling if they saw or heard about it.
As I get ready to go to the arena, I’m hoping that Brock or Elias hasn’t told the team about my meeting Trouble. I can take the chirps from both of them, but the team will be on my ass for months.
Or until they badger Brock enough and meet her themselves. Which could take a while the way he tells it. Trouble isn’t willing to be in the limelight yet, or at all.
When I get in the locker room, I can tell by the smirks on their faces that they know. Rolling my eyes as Brock jogs to me, slapping a hand to my back and laughs.
“So I told the team about the little prank Troubs pulled yesterday,” he pointed out.
“Couldn’t tell,” I sassed, nodding my head as he laughed again.
“Oh don’t be like that Huggy! It’s just a harmless prank,” he jested. Patting my back playfully as he went back to his own cubby to get ready for practice.
I rolled my eyes, setting down my duffle roughly and started getting ready myself. As soon as my skates hit the ice, my mind focuses on what coach wants us to work on before our next game.
It only lasts a few minutes as we’re all gathered around Tocchet as he explains what drills we’re doing and breaking off into groups to run them that the chirps start.
At first it’s just Brock and Elias, but the others join in too when they see that I’m getting frustrated and getting me out of my game.
All through the rest of practice anytime any of the guys were beside me they would let a chirp out.
‘Ooo, you missed that easy shot, mind somewhere else Huggy?’
‘What’s going on in that head of yours? Thinking about someone special?’
And a lot of other things that distracted me from being my best. At the end of practice, Tocchet took me aside to talk about my performance today.
Tocchet has his arms folded against his chest, brows furrowed as a disappointed look crosses his features.
“Hughes, what was that? I’ve seen you hit that pass perfectly a thousand or more times, what’s going on in that head of yours that's causing you to miss the easiest plays? You better clean up your act before our next game, otherwise you’ll be on the bench watching,” coach sighs heavily, patting my back and ushering me to the locker room.
As soon as I entered the guys had smirks on their faces, I glared at each one of them. When I’m at my locker I start taking off my equipment, throwing them roughly into my duffle bag.
My anger clouds my eyes, making me jump a little bit in surprise as an arm settles onto my shoulder. Glancing to my side to see the man that caused this chaos in the first place.
Brock’s lips are pulled into a smirk, brows raised in humor as he watches for my reaction. I rolled my eyes, shrugging off his arm and continued to shove my gear into the bag.
The blond chuckles, patting me on the back in good nature. When I’m done packing up my things, storming out and to my car, throwing my bag in the backseat and taking off in a rush.
Losing my focus over a girl isn’t something I do and getting my ass handed to me by Tocchet wasn’t a habit I wanted to get used to. The radio blares as I drive, trying to get my mind off of her.
I wish Brock never introduced us. Then I wouldn’t be so distracted and could keep my head in the game.
The chirps from the team getting to me more than they should’ve. Before I know it, I’m parking in my apartment complex, running a frustrated hand through my hair and down my face, letting a heavy groan pass my lips.
I changed gears to park, got out and grabbed my bag, walked to the elevator and pressed the button to my floor. As the elevator dings as it passes each floor, I rest my head against the back wall, looking up as if an answer is there on what to do about this situation.
The elevator stops, opening and leads to the hallway. I absentmindedly walk to my apartment, unlock the door and head in. A plan brewing to get them off my back about everything, my ex, Trouble, playing like shit at practice today.
I need to get her to hate me, or at least dislike me. Brock and Lizzie will stop trying to push us together if they see that there’s nothing between us. I’ll be rude and distant, avoiding her and ignoring Brock’s not so subtle ways to get us closer.
The next time I see Trouble, which will most likely be a setup by Brock’s hand, I’ll put on a show, teaching him to stop meddling in my life.
I don’t need this, what I do need is to stay focused. Which is difficult with those two scheming up plans for Trouble and me.
Brock makes me feel like I have to constantly be watching behind my back, ready for anything they might try and throw at me while I’m not looking.
I’m already tense from the pressure of being Captain and having to guide the team to get better in hopes to get a place in the playoffs this season.
This added stress doesn’t help, it makes things worse. My mind keeps switching from thoughts about the game, Trouble, and my ex so much I feel like I’m getting whiplash.
Throwing my bag somewhere near the door as I walk to the couch and plop on the cold cushions, running a hand through my disheveled hair, groaning.
My phone dings from a text, sitting up and turning on the screen to read the preview.
Brock: Hey man, I was just poking fun earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you’d get a kick outta it and give us shit back…
I think for a moment, not really angry about the chirps, but the situation at hand. Taking the time to read the message again before opening the app and answering him.
Brock: Hey man, I was just poking fun earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you. I thought you’d get a kick outta it and give us shit back. No hard feelings? Some of the guys are going out for drinks later, you in? It’s the usual place.
Quinn: I’m not mad, just have a lot on my plate right now. The only thing keeping my mind off of everything that happened with my ex is hockey.
A night out might help clear my head a little, help me relax and get ready for tomorrow. I get off the couch and make my way to my bedroom, walking to the bathroom attached and starting the shower.
Before jumping in the stream of water, I reply to Brock then set my phone on the counter.
Quinn: drinks sound good, what time?
I turn on some music on Alexa and open the curtains, stepping in. The hot water almost immediately relaxes my tense muscles. The shower isn’t long, maybe ten minutes before I get out and wrap a towel over myself.
I’m halfway dressed when my phone lights up with a text from Brock.
Brock: Cool see you around eight.
Drying my hair with one hand as I thumbs up the message, finishing getting ready for the night.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Ravi: genuinely im still so shocked that you guys arent part of the mob
like it made so much sense in my head
next ur gonna tell me that Buck and Eddie arent divorced smh
Eddie: WE ARENT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!
Buck: ADKJADHFLA WHAT
Ravi: what else was i supposed to think?!?!?!?!
Buck: CAN A MAN NOT HAVE A BEST FRIEND AROUND HERE?!?!!
OR: What happens when you put Pining Idiot #1, Pining Idiot #2, and the rest of the 118 in a group chat?
Surely nothing weird, right?
...right???
Because my last Hawks headcanons post got some attention, I decided to do some more 🥰
This one will have NSFW headcanons, and I'll try to put those under a read more.
SFW
I wasn't sure to put this in NSFW or SFW due to the fact that a lot of the "his wings being sensitive" headcanons are NSFW, but I feel like this is safe enough.
His wings aren't as sensitive as fanon writes. He's been seen letting people touch his wings. (Manga panel below.)
I think, if anything, it's more like touching his arm. Context matters a lot. So, an unexpected flirtatious touch will undoubtedly be different than a fan touching them.
(Sidenote: I'm unsure if his wings being written this way is an actual thing people believe of Hawks, or if it is simply for fanfic works, but at the end of the day, it isn't that serious.)
Hawks survives on coffee. There's just no argument. He's a top hero, so how much sleep can he get? And he's seen drinking cans of coffee in canon, so my headcanon is that he is 75% coffee.
Has a fish tank?? I dont know. I feel like he would really enjoy going home and watching some fish swim around. It relaxes him. He hires someone to care for the tank when he's too busy, though.
Bird man needs big bed for wings. He will sprawl them out. Prepare for him to starfish.
NSFW and CW under the read more!
NSFW
Cw: bruising; praise kink; not just descriptions. I'm using quotes. Prepare for smut. (F!reader - "girl" used in praise.)
This man absolutely loves being on top so he can throw your legs over his shoulders. He loves how your face contorts when he's able to get deeper than you expect. However, after patrol, he is undoubtedly exhausted. Hawks is zooming throughout the city all day, running on nothing but coffee and fumes. You might have to ride him if you want it done, but that's okay because the way he gazes up at you so adoring while his hands grip your hips and he pants praises makes your legs shaking worth it.
He's a mixture of soft and rough. He'll lovingly whisper in your ear how beautiful you sound when he fucks you, but God damn, he's pounding you to oblivion and he isn't stopping until you're begging for mercy.
"You sound so beautiful when I fuck you like this, such a good girl for me. God, listen to you."
"Use your words for me, baby. Moaning and squirming isn't telling me what you want."
All while one of his hands is gently caressing your face and the other, you're sure, is making bruises on your hip.
He does enjoy doggy style because of the amount of control it gives him, but not seeing your face makes him have to savor the noises and he wants *all* of you. He wants to see how much he's pleasuring you and be able to lean down and give you kisses as he desperately tries to keep moving his hips.
