#and the sunrise of the smile that cracks across your face as you realize that he has no power over you

[storiesofsvu]

A Dangerous Game Ch 8

Emily Prentiss x reader warnings: language, alcohol consumption, more detailed BAU case work/in the field/unsub interactions. Smut hinted at.

Emily stirred in her sleep, letting out a little groan as she rolled over, shivering in the heavy air conditioning of the hotel room. She searched for your body for a moment before realizing you weren’t in the bed, she was about to let it slide figuring you were in the bathroom when she heard you swear quietly, swiping your phone off the bedside table and her eyes cracked open.

“Where the fuck are you going?” She asked, taking in your frame, clearly dressed, although in a pair of shorts, a hoodie tugged over your body, flip flops on your feet.

“The beach around the corner.” You muttered back.

“It’s still dark out.” She grumbled, “what happened to you being a late sleeper?”

“Guess there’s something in the air down here.”

“Yeah it’s called fucking humidity.” She dropped back into the pillows, “seriously, why are you up?”

“You ever seen a Florida sunrise?”

“No.” She tugged the blanket tighter around her, burrowing into the pillows, “come back to bed.”

“Or you could come with me.” You laughed softly, “you’re already awake.”

“Give me one good reason.” She cracked open an eye to glare in your general direction and you laughed again.

“Best sunrise you’ll ever see.” You offered, “and I already put in a takeout order, breakfast sandwich and coffee that’s on the way.”

“Yeah, for yourself.”

“I doubled the order, figured I’d bring it back to you after.”

Emily surveyed you for a moment, she knew she’d have to be up for work within the next couple of hours, and without you in the bed she might end up not being able to get back to sleep. She reasoned with herself that she’d be too worried about you being out there on your own before tossing the blankets back and taking a couple of minutes to get herself ready before following you out of the hotel room.

She swore she was still half asleep as she followed you the half block to one of the few places open, quickly picking up coffee and breakfast. It was pure instinct that she took your hand when you reached behind you to guide her in what way to go, gently pulling her across the street in the direction of the ocean. Your eyes swept across the sand, empty aside from a few birds here and there before you spotted a piece of driftwood, kicking your flip flops off before scooping them up and wandering in that direction. You settled in front of the driftwood and Emily did the same, resting back against it before she finally took a sip of coffee and let out a satisfied moan. The beach was still dark, the tiniest glow coming from the sky illuminating the ocean while you unwrapped your sandwich and Emily followed suit, if she was forced to be up this early, she was at least going to indulge.

“Oh my god…” She practically moaned over a full mouth of food and you let out a loud laugh, “this is fucking amazing.”

“Told you.” You glanced her way, a wicked grin on your face, nudging at her shoulder, “you really think I wouldn’t know all the secrets? This was home for a very long time.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had breakfast this good!”

“I miss it at least once a week.” You murmured before leaning into her once again, “and how about that?”

She glanced up towards the skyline, watching the way the sun began to break the horizon, the water sparkling in front of her, colours dancing in the sky and she had never seen something so beautiful. It started off in multiple muted shades of blue as light began to shine its way into a new day, a cloud popping up here or there as oranges and yellows took over the sky. The light glittered through the air and Emily glanced down at you, her breath catching in her throat at the way the beams illuminated your skin, the little happy smile on your cheeks, the way your eyes sparkled in the morning sun. The ocean peacefully rocked against the sand, birds beginning to wake, bringing more noise to the morning as the colours in the sky morphed to a gorgeous pink and purple while the sun broke through the horizon. You let out a happy sigh, fully leaning against her shoulder and you let out a little hum when Emily’s hand tangled with yours.

“It’s gorgeous.” She murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

“The best way to start a day.” You muttered back, your eyes remaining on the horizon until the sun was fully in the sky, golden rays breaking through the air and you let out a little huff, your hand finally dropping Emily’s as you shifted to stand, “we should probably head in.”

“Yeah…” Her voice stuttered as you helped her up to standing, a warm smile on your cheeks, for a moment she thought you were about to slip back into work mode but your hand slid into hers as you walked back to the hotel. And she smiled brightly as the two of you waited for a light to change, her hand cupping your cheek while she kissed you softly, the playful smile echoing on your cheeks as you returned the kiss before crossing the street. It was something new, something nice, to be alone while away from home, without the rest of the team around you didn’t have to sneak around to find Vegas, it simply existed all around you. You didn’t have the usual worry, having to look around before even touching one another, as far as you were concerned the only eyes on you were ones of strangers passing by.

*

Scott Dewald.

You finally had a fucking name. A proper and actual, legal name that matched with your unsub. Getting into the office that day felt like the biggest relief you’d had in weeks.

Though that relief was quickly squashed away when you discovered that another girl had gone missing overnight. Dewald now had two kidnapped victims and you needed to find them as fast as humanly possible.

It was just after lunch that Penelope managed to get back to you with a handful of addresses, relatives and known associates in the area, old work locations and the like. She apologised profusely for how long it took and Emily assured her it was fine, she was spread across multiple cases right now, she was still and always would be the best they had. You split the addresses and contacts across the local crew working the case, scooping up your keys as you and Emily headed off to a body shop Dewald had worked at.

Your first stop was relatively unsuccessful, he’d been fired for missing too many shifts, owner said he got weird vibes from the guy but never had an legal issues while he worked there. Back in the SUV Emily read off the next address while you plugged the numbers into the GPS, it was on the outskirts of town, a rather decrepit looking house at the end of a long gravel road surrounded by forest and swamp land. It was a house an old uncle of Dewald’s owned, one that was off the map enough it was a prime place to keep someone hidden or hide yourself.

“You have your vest?” You asked, slowing the speed of the car as you pulled up in front of the house.

“So it’s not just the fact that it’s Florida that I’m getting a weird vibe?” Emily returned and you let out a scoff, switching the gear into park as you stepped out of it, leaving the drivers door open as you spoke.

“At least it’s not Clearwater.” You half mumbled to yourself, grabbing your vest from the back seat as Emily mirrored your movements. Your statement had her stalling her head tilting as she thought back to the last time you’d been in Florida together.

“Hey…” she started softly and you glanced up from velcroing your vest into place, “why didn’t you ever tell me about your dad?”

“What?” Your brow furrowed for a moment until you saw the all too familiar look hidden deep in her eyes and you rolled your own, “fucking JJ.” Shutting the car door you moved around to the front of the vehicle, shrugging in Emily’s direction, “didn’t seem like it was important. Figured I’d end up explaining enough of it whenever a case took us to Clearwater.” The two of you moved towards the house and up a small set of steps as you spoke, “why bother talking about someone who I don’t talk to?”

Emily was about to reply, watching you step up to the door of the house right before a yell came from inside and the two of you froze, hands flying to the guns on your hips. Silence followed right before quiet cries were coming from inside the house.

“You hear that?” She asked and you nodded.

“Sounds like exigent circumstances.” You replied and with a nod from Emily your hand wrapped around the doorknob right before there was a crash behind the house, followed by another yell that you knew was an adult male. “Fuck.” You muttered and Emily let out a huff.

“Clear the house, meet me out back.”

“You sure?”

“We don’t have time to wait for back up. Go.”

In a flash you’d nudged open the door, calling for back up over the radio and Emily tore off around the corner of the house in the direction of the noise. It took her a minute but she spotted Dewald, racing through the trees in an attempt to get away from the intrusion, he had one of the girls tossed over his shoulder and Emily said a silent thank you to whatever higher power that she was putting up one hell of a fight. It was increasingly difficult to make a run for it with an eight year old on your shoulder who was kicking, screaming and flailing punches as hard as she could.

“FBI! Stop!”

“Son of a bitch!” Scott nearly toppled over as the girl landed a heavy kick into his ribs and she started to make a run for it in the direction of Emily. A high pitched scream left her lips as she rounded a bend and collided into a woman who was only a few paces behind Scott. It was only then that Emily managed to put it together, the other reason Dewald had been so hard to track down was that he hadn’t been working alone. The woman grabbed the girl, tugging her tightly to her as a shield, hunting knife against the skin of her neck.

“Ma’am… put the knife down.” Emily slowed to a stop a few feet away, gun raised in front of her as she tried to keep Scott in her peripheral vision.

“FBI bitch, think you’re so fucking special.” Scott called with a sneer in his voice, not daring to get closer, knowing that how things were laid out right now, Emily would have to make a call in the flash of a second. The further away he stayed, the better chance he had at getting away.

“If you’re smart you’ll get on your knees Dewald!” She called in response, her eyes not leaving the woman and girl in front of her, “and you…” she directed to the woman, “you’re gonna put the knife down, and let the girl come to me.”

“You’re not getting the girl alive.” The woman growled.

Emily was so focussed she barely heard your voice cracking over the radio as you called for a medic, insisting it be asap and you recalled again for backup. The woman’s hand twitched, starting to raise the knife and Emily made the call she knew had been coming, pulling the trigger, watching her crumple with the impact of the bullet, blood smearing into the grass underneath her body. There were two screams, one from the girl as she bolted out of reach from the woman in the direction of Prentiss and one mournful one from Scott.

“You fucking cunt!” He roared, starting to move towards her, “how fucking dare you! You’re gonna regret that! I promise you that, bitch!”

His face suddenly shot up to the direction of the road when sirens blared through the air and his eyes widened in panic, looking between the paling body and Emily, a death glare in his eyes before he took off in the opposite direction. Emily swore under her breath, starting to sprint off after him before the girl cried out in pain,

“Wait! Help!” She shrieked and when Emily glanced back she realized she was bleeding, her eyes darted between the direction Scott had disappeared, the girl and the house, wondering if you’d be able to cover more than one base in the next matter of minutes. In the brief second she had to make a decision she jogged back to the girl, you’d saved at least one of the victims and taken down a surprise unsub, you were at least one step closer in the right direction. She quickly called for a second medic, echoing that they had one perp down, one in the wind heading East off the property.

*

Back inside the house you’d began to think that they’d all made a run for it, the noise you’d heard must’ve been a fluke. That was until you heard a little whimper from the last room you checked and your breath caught in your throat, what you thought had been just a pile of dirty sheets had one of the girls curled up in it. She’d been taken almost a full week ago and it looked like they hadn’t fed her that entire time, bruises littered her skin and there were a couple of cuts on her body that looked fresh, spilling blood onto the sheet beneath her. It seemed like Dewald had simply chosen to take the more viable victim with him when he ran. You quickly called for a medic, holstering your gun and slowly walking up to her as you assured her you were someone safe, that she was safe now and that was when you noticed she was chained to radiator.

Thankfully you managed to get it undone easily, soft kind words spoken to the girl, who now up close you recognized was Kelly. The yelling outside was getting louder, though it seemed like it was further away, voices shouting over each other before the telltale sign of a gunshot rung through the air and you felt your blood run cold, Kelly let out a muffled shriek and jumped onto you, clinging onto your body for dear life as she shivered in your arms despite the hundred degree temperature outside. You heard more yelling, the sound of a siren getting closer before Emily’s voice crackled through your radio and you let out the breath you’d been holding, scooping up Kelly and carefully moving through the house, stepping out the back door.

“Em?” You called, eyes adjusting to the sunlight and you could feel your heart beating a mile a minute as you searched the yard for her, rounding a bend to see her with the other girl. Her head shot up at the sound of your voice and you watched her shoulders sag in relief at the sight of you unharmed and the girl on your hip.

“He’s in the wind.” She called; the frustration evident in her voice as she bandaged up a cut on the other girl’s arm. “Bastard.”

“I heard a shot?” You asked as you got closer.

“Yeah.” She nodded in the direction of the woman, “D.O.A.” It technically wasn’t the right term, but it was the best way to have the conversation considering the tiny humans listening.

“Accomplice or Stockholm?”

“They made us call her Ma.” Kelly’s tiny voice finally broke, her head shifting up to look at you in your arms, tears swimming in her eyes, “she’s not our Ma.”

“I know sweetie.” You gently stroked at her hair, “we’re gonna get both of you back to your parents right away. I promise.”

She nodded before burying her face back into your shoulder and you and Emily had a mere moment to exchange a look. Her hand reached out, the thought was just to squeeze at yours but the second your fingers touched the adrenaline burst through her chest and reality sunk in of just how badly that could have gone. She gently tugged you to her, wrapping an arm around the free side of your body and pressing a kiss to your temple as she held you to her for a minute. A voice called out from the other side of the house and you quickly stepped away from each other, following the sounds of the medic and local pd as they started to sweep the scene.

Jacksonville PD sent out a couple of officers and one of the dogs in the direction Dewald ran off in, but he knew the lay of the land, they didn’t, none of you had high hopes. You left the locals in charge of the crime scene, reuniting the girls with their families before you wrapped up paperwork and Emily made a few phone calls. The woman had been ID’d as Samantha Harrison, an old girlfriend of Dewald’s who he apparently met back up with after she had finished her parole for drug charges. Waiting just long enough for her to be under the radar of the state and able to help him hide out and move around, with some further digging you found out she’d lost her own daughter to child services when she went to prison, her motive to be his accomplice.

You were at a spare desk, flipping through her case file when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder and you glanced up to see Emily rounding your chair, perching on the edge of the desk.

“He’s officially on the FBI wanted list.” She let out a soft sigh, “aside from that, the mess is out of our hands until he pops back up again.”

“How’s the team doing?”

“More successful than us.” She chuckled quietly, “caught their guy, on their way back home right now. The jet will pick us up at eleven tomorrow.”

“Hmm.” You flipped the folder closed, tossing it to the pile of other ones, “you wanna grab a drink? My treat?”

“Yes.” She smiled as you stood from the desk, nudging at your arm, “but you bought breakfast, I’ll pick up the tab.”

“Well in that case we’re going gourmet. I could use some dinner too.” You teased and she laughed, shaking her head at your antics.

*

You ended up at Salt Life Food Shack, a personal favourite of yours for after work food and drinks, the vibe not too upscale while still having a variety of delicious drinks and delectable, fresh food. You’d opted to soak up as much sunshine as possible before heading back to DC, taking a table on the patio, sitting perpendicular to each other so you both had a view of the ocean. It also meant it was more than easy for Emily’s fingers to trace across the bare skin of your leg, while your hand could find its way into her lap without any struggles. You split a jug of sangria and a number of apps and smaller meals, the table covered with calamari, mahi tacos, grilled shrimp, a sushi roll and scallop pasta.

Emily popped a shrimp in her mouth, her gaze drifting out over the beach as she got lost in her thoughts, eyes watching the waves crash into the sand in the same rhythm your thumb rubbed at her leg. You swiped a calamari from the plate, settling back in your chair, drink in hand when you noticed she wasn’t paying any attention.

“Hey.” Your foot nudged at hers under the table and she jolted out of her daydream to look your way, “what?” She bit down on the shrimp, tossing the discarded tail onto her plate with a huff.

“Should I have gone after him?”

“Dewald?” You cocked a brow, “Em, Molly needed your help, and your partner was AWOL, back up wasn’t there yet, you couldn’t exactly leave her.” You leant forward, squeezing at her hand over the top of the table, “and… no offence but you would’ve made it fifteen feet into that brush before running into a territorial gator.”

“Glad you have so much faith in me.” She deadpanned but by the smirk on her lips you knew it was a playful jab. “We were just so fucking close.”

“It’ll be a lot harder for him to hide out without Samantha. PD’s tracking all her bank accounts, cards, vehicles and property. He’ll turn up again and they’ll get him.”

“Mmm.” She swiped another shrimp from the plate, her gaze once again shifting to the beach in front of you. Though this time her free hand stayed curled in yours on the table top, thumb brushing over your knuckles gently.

It felt a little weird, knowing that to anyone passing by or on the beach you looked like a couple, one enjoying the sunshine on a nice vacation and not federal agents. You could tell that Emily was getting lost in her thoughts again, likely replaying the moment in the backyard over and over to see what she could have done differently, how she could’ve been in two places at once, if she’d made all the right calls as the superior agent in the field that day. So you leant forward, taking a hefty swig of your drink before you spoke,

“You really wanna know about my dad?”

“What?” She suddenly glanced up, yup, that had done the trick, “I mean, not if you don’t want to. Everyone’s allowed to keep their past in the past.”

“I mean you already know some of it.” You shrugged, “no harm in all of it. What’d JJ mention?”

“In her defence…” She laughed, raising a hand before picking up her drink, “she only brought it up when we were still playing hot and cold and she thought I should know to make sure you weren’t over working yourself to prove your worth. Wanted to make sure I wasn’t ignoring your good work.”

“Mmm.” You nodded, taking a sip of your drink as Emily watched you for a moment, making sure she wasn’t about to cross any lines, that you were still okay talking about this, moving forward tentatively.

“What happened to your mom?”

“Well, they were never married.” You laughed, “so it made it a hell of a lot easier for her to run off to Salt Lake with her boyfriend when I was twelve.”

“Are you still in touch?”

“She used to send a card every birthday and Christmas, a phone call or email here or there, but that all stopped when my dad kicked me out. Not exactly like I could leave a forwarding address.”

“You know JJ thinks the reason behind that could be a teen pregnancy.” She teased just a little bit, a grin on her lips and you barked out a laugh.

“Oh my god!” You practically snorted, “please, the closest I’ve ever gotten to a man was when you sent me under with Morgan.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You sucked back on your drink, “had a boyfriend in junior high, ya know, the ones who hold your hand and walk you to school and nothing more. Then came the girlfriend in senior year….”

“I take it daddy dearest didn’t like that too much?”

“Nope.” You let out a little sigh, smiling when Emily squeezed at your hand, still tangled with hers on the table top, “girlfriend’s parents were nice enough though, let me stay there while we finished high school. We both wanted out of Florida, I didn’t care where but she wanted Seattle so I went with her.” You shrugged, glancing up toward Emily, “started with local pd while I researched schools in the area, finished my degree, moved up the ranks and got recommended to the feds. I figured it was the best way to tell my dad to shove it, ya know?”

“Yeah.” She smiled warmly, “this girlfriend the lawyer?”

“God no!” You laughed again, sipping at your drink, “we broke up but stayed friends, she’s owns her own hiking tour company. The lawyer and I dated when I lived there though, kinda ruined the city for me, part of why I moved down here when the opportunity came around, I needed a fresh start even if it kinda felt like moving backwards thanks to location.”

“Well I’m glad in the long run it brought you to the BAU.”

“Me too.” You smiled at her over the brim of your glass, a comfortable silence taking over the table for a moment.

“You know, I’m still a little surprised, never would’ve pegged you for someone with family issues.” Emily stated and you chuckled, leaning into the table.

“Really?”

“Yeah.” She nodded and you smirked, your voice lowering when you spoke next.

“I actively call you daddy in the bedroom and you were really out here thinking I didn’t have daddy issues?”

She bit back a howl of a laugh at that, finally dropping your hand to swat at your arm with a shocked smile on her cheeks, shaking her head at you once again. It was only a few minutes later the bill was dropped off at your table and Emily reminded you she was taking care of it and the two of you finally made your way out of the patio. The crowds in the area had died down as the sun sank in the sky, a few smaller groups, couples of solo dog walkers or joggers scattered around the area. You were almost tempted for a beach walk, wandering along the shore line, eyes lingering on the water before Emily’s hand slid into yours once more, her fingers lacing with yours and you glanced to her with a smile.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“I think there’s more than a few ways for you to repay me.” She replied with a wicked grin and your lips curved up into a smile.

“Is that so?” You wandered passed her, pressing the button on the cross walk to wait for the light to change, your breath catching in your throat as you felt her hand slide from yours around your body from behind, her free one moving your hair off your neck before her lips met your skin.

“Mmhmm…” She murmured, kissing up your neck before she turned you in her arms, laying one on your lips, “we’ve got…” she glanced at her watch, “thirteen hours until wheels up and I want to see how many times I can make you scream before then.”

“Oh… gosh… twist my rubber arm, won’t you?”

She chuckled, somehow softly and darkly at the same time, her nose nuzzling yours while her hand slid across your cheek, resting on the side of your neck when she ducked to kiss you. You knew there were eyes on you, you could both feel it but considering you were making out on a street corner it was to be expected, and neither of you gave a care in the world. Her tongue slipped into your mouth and you were putty in her hands, willing to do just about anything she asked. A car honked and the two of you jolted apart in a fit of laughter, glancing to the light before darting across the road.

You had thirteen hours of freedom left and you were going to take advantage of every single second of it. It had only been a few days down in Florida on your own and you both already knew just how much you were going to miss it, how you’d been able to be so free and open with everything, with each other. You knew some of the local cops had picked up on a thing or two and it didn’t matter in the least, even the waitress at dinner had made a comment to Emily about you while you were in the bathroom and Emily didn’t even bother to correct her when she used the term ‘girlfriend’.

After all, when in Vegas….

_____________

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[jaidens]

No words appear before me in the aftermath

pairing [s] : dallas (dally) winston x reader

warning [s] : death | mentions of dallys family and life | addiction

a/n [s] : requests are open

Dallas wasn't a breath of fresh air for most.

The gang was some of the people that allowed him to be around. Darry kept him around because he knew that Pony and Johnny were even more protected when he was around. Dallas never had a nice family. His father was a die-hard drunk and his mother didn't try very hard to help his gambling addiction.

He has been out of jail since he was 10 years old, holding a reputation of not wanting to be around people in case they could be arrested. Socs obviously hated him, alongside all of his friends. Buck was really the only guy who could stand him.

It led him to a dangerous, rocky path of drinking and smoking. Nobody cared about him enough to tell him he was wrong for what he did. That was until he met you. You made sure he relaxed on his black-outs from drinking and parties. You were the light that grew from within his darkness.

His life was slowly being dragged onto the correct road.

You took care of him on his bad days. Brushing his hair and helping him wash up before dinner. You had been the only one that gave enough shits about him to care. Admittedly, he didn't know what to feel every time you helped him out. Love was a hard word for him to say. He felt it in many ways, but he had never been told it himself. Only time he had was whenever he gave more money to his dad to gamble away.

“Dally, hey wake up.” You shook his shoulder slightly, waking him up to the sun that shined on his face. “Doll.. why you’ waking me up? Somethin’ happening?” He sat up, pulling the blankets off the side of the bed. His hands run across his face as he wakes himself up. “Nothin’s happenin’ but do ya’ wanna watch the sunrise with me?” You ask gently, grabbing his hand.

Dallas smiles at you, noticing how you're clad with your favorite dress and Dally’s jean jacket. “Yeah. I'll go.” Dallas had never told anybody about his fascination with the morning and night sky. The sunrises and sunsets in New York always made him feel like a kid again and it took his mind away from the gangs and people that crawled on the street. He knew that Ponyboy, Johnny and Sodapop always went to look at them, and that gave him a sense of happiness. Knowing that people younger than him realized how to be happy.

He got ready as you made his bed. Dallas walked up behind you, arms snaking around your waist as he kissed you. You pulled away and he smiled at you. “C’mon. Let's go watch.” You tell him and pull his hand to get him outside of Buck's house. The air is nipping at your nose and you cross your arms over your chest and you sit down on the steps.

You can see the sun that is peeking through the horizon and you let out a gentle sigh. Your neck twists as Dallas sits down next to you with a cigarette lit in between his fingers. “Real beautiful, ain't it?” The thick New York voice pierces your ears and he hands you the cigarette. You decline quietly and speak up. “My Mama would always sit out on the porch and just watch. I never understood her but I think I do now. It's so calm.”

Dally nods, taking another puff and letting it out. “My dad would yell enough to get my brother outta’ the house and sit on the side of it. I would go out with him and he would just cry. He was older than me too, but he got shot in an accident in New York.” You hear the way his voice cracks, and it makes your heart hurt. Dally was so young and had gone through so much more than everyone else.

You arm wraps around him, pulling him in. “You are so strong. You've gone through so much and you're only seventeen.” It seems like the world wraps around you as Dally pushes his head into your shoulder. “Man..I like the way you're always there for me, man.” It almost feels like nothing could push between the way you and Dallas act. You're his rock and savior, you're always there for everything he needed. He needed the support and the help with his life. Dallas was sure he would be dead and in the ground if you weren't there for him, coaching him to be his best self.

“I’ll always be there for you, Dallas. I love you.” The last words feel like a punch in this face to him. Dallas can't help but feel his hands shake and his leg begins to bounce against the porch. You're staring at him with a sense of hopefulness in your eyes and Dallas can't chalk up the words to say it back. “I love you Dallas, and I'm not gonna force you to say nothing.” He lays his head against your chest whenever you hold your arms open to hug him. Dallas always loved listening to your heartbeat as you held him close to you, gently stroking his thick soft hair after a bad night of his.

“Buck is having a party tonight. Do you wanna go to it with me or are we gonna stay upstairs hoping no drunks go upstairs?” You laugh and Dallas pulls always to look at you. “I don't know babe, I think tonight we can stay upstairs.” You show him your seductive smile he can't help but melt looking at and he kisses you with a relaxed turn to his head and his hand against your waist. “Man, I was hoping you'd say that..” You can't help but push further into Dallas and his lips are a delicious poison you want to drown in.

It ends up with the sunset being cut short and dragged upstairs with feverant kisses and palming of hands. Dallas leaves after a round to go get a pack of cigarettes and a magazine for you, however, he didn't take his wallet which made you a little upset. He comes back with two boxes of cigarettes and two magazines for you to flip through while you would share a smoke with him.

Dallas lights a cigarette on his necklace and takes a big puff which he lets out a moan and he throws his head back. He hands the cigarette to you while you're reading and you smoke alongside him. “I just chose the first broad magazine I saw. Is it good?” You looked at him and nodded. “Yeah, it's mostly stuff about shoes and the new models. It's interesting.” Dallas lays against your shoulder and continues switching the cigarette between your lips and then blowing it into the air.

Eventually your eyes get heavy and you stare at the man lying against you, his cigarette burnt out on the ashtray. Dallas is wrapped around you with his head laying once more on your chest. Your eyes closing end the moment of relaxation and comfort. You wake up whenever Dallas wakes up at Buck screaming Dally’s name above the loud music that plays. “Some kids named Pony and Johnny are here for you. They looked rough.” He says before hitting the door frame and leaving.

“Baby, what's happening?” You ask him as he tugs on a pair of jeans around his hips. “Pony and Johnny man. They're outside. They don't do this type of stuff. Go ahead and get some blankets and clothes for them, maybe they need a place to sleep.” in nod at him and he leaves quickly. You take out some blankets and go and steal some of Buck’s shirts and pants for the boys. You can't help but feel some worry about the life and you're hoping whatever is happening isn't that bad.

Dallas brings them upstairs and Ponyboy is shaking like a leaf while Johnny is sucking in angry tears. “Man, get out of them clothes!” Dallas almost yells when Pony sits down on your bed with wet clothes. Pony pulls off his shirt and Dallas wraps a blanket around his shoulders and he continues shaking even with the warmth of the thick cloth. Johnny is shaking whenever Dallas pulls out his gun and hands them to Johnny.

Your eyes widen and you pull Dallas away from hearing the view of the boys. “What the hell is happening?” Dally ran his hand down his face and put his hands on his hips. “Johnny man, he killed Bob Sheldon.” That makes you cover your mouth and you feel weak before you fall Dallas grabs onto you and tells you to go get money and some things to bring and bag for them. You nod and wipe the tears that start from your eyes and follow your boyfriend’s orders.

Nothing feels real as you think of the boys, people you practically see as your sons, killed someone. You knew about Dallas’ instances that happened in New York, but the boys were smart to go to him. You have the stuff and you set it down and begin to pack it into a small bag that's able to be easily hidden. You're trying to grab your breath before you hand the bag to Ponyboy and he smiles at you.

You shake your hands to come in, and you wrap your arms around Johnny and Ponyboy and let out a sob. “Please— if it's all I ask, be safe. For me, for everyone please boys. I love you two so, so much. Call me if you need anything.” You tell Pony and Johnny and they smile and Pony says: “We love you too. I promise we'll be safe.” Johnny still doesn't understand how you, a complete sweetheart and the nicest person he's ever met is dating Dallas Winston.

Dallas tells you to leave the room for a minute while he tells them something. You're biting at your fingernails as you wait to go back into the room. The loud music and screaming doesn't help you relax until Dallas calls your name. The boys sit there and they look terrified and it hurts you; they're so young. Only sixteen and fourteen years old and had seen so much more than anyone else. You remember when Dallas was like that, a new and scared kid back in New York playgrounds.

You hug Pony and Johnny one more time, giving a soft kiss to their hairlines and you smile at them. “Be safe, and don't be stupid okay? Come home to me, please.” Johnny smiles at you and hugs you tightly in his arms. You remember Dallas telling you how Johnny admitted that he loved you and would protect you at all times. He saw you as his real mother instead of the drunk lady who he lived with.

The boys left and you were left in Dallas’ arms, practically shaking. “Awe, Dal. I'm worried, I'm completely terrified. What if they're not going to be okay?” Dallas hushes you gently and kisses you. “They’ll be okay, they're smart kids.” It calms your worries by a small amount but you can't still but barely get any sleep thinking about them.

Then: it hits the news. Two delinquent Tulsa teens are accused of murdering Bob Sheldon. Every time you pass by the stores, their faces are plastered everywhere. It makes you sad, honestly. Your two boys faces are still so young, and are being accused of such a horrible thing. Even if it was true, it hurt to see.

You get home to your house and call Dallas' name and nobody responds. You rush upstairs and drop your stuff, no sign of Dallas. You're begging and hoping he didn't get back into the cooler again. You call the police station and you ask if Dally was there, and they say no and joke if he needs to be. Okay, at least you know he isn't in jail. Where else could he be? It hits you, he went to go see the boys while you stayed here scared for your boys.

You're left in the dark for a day, nobody has called or even chosen to tell you about anything. You cried the entire day in complete worry about the people you cared about. Until, you get the call, “Is this Mrs. Winston? This is the Windrixville City Hospital calling about an incident including Dallas Winston, Ponyboy Curtis, and Johnathan Cade?” You almost dropped the phone, but you hold it to your heart and let out a yes, this is she.

Whenever the situation gets explained to you, you automatically begin to cry. Ponyboy had some burns and bruises, and Dallas had the same. However, your boy, Johnny was paralyzed from the neck down and was burned horribly. In these conditions, you shouldn't have been driving but you didn't care. You're crying and as soon as you park, you jump out of the car and run into the hospital.

“Dallas Winston, Ponyboy Curtis, and Johnathan Cade?!” You ask the receptionist and she starts looking through the documents slowly whenever you hear your name being called out. “Pony!” You run over to him and hug him tighter than you ever have, hand going behind his head as you cried in his arms. “You’re okay, that's amazing.” You're smiling at him before he tells you he can show you to Johnny.

Ponyboy shows you where Johnny is being cared for, and it's the saddest and most heartbreaking scene you've seen. His back is exposed and it's absolutely horrible and all you do is cry into Pony’s shoulder until Johnny pushes out your name. “Yes– yes I'm here sweet boy.” You say and you stare into the mirror below where Johnny is, eyes barely opened and he's obviously hurting. “I saved the kids today. Their lives were more important than mine, aren't they. I wasn't being dumb— swear.”

His words make you cry. “You are worth so much honey. Soon, you'll get better and I'll take you to a lake where me and Dally used to go. It's beautiful.” You promise and he pushes out an uncomfortable smile. Ponyboy sits there in silence and stares at his best friend, in a position he shouldn't have been in. If only he didn't pick a fight with those Socs, if he didn't choose to sit with Cherry that night — this would have never happened.

“I ain't ever gonna get better, man. I can't feel nothin’ from the neck down.” Johnny says quietly, sobs softly coming out of his mouth and you can tears that drop on the mirror below him. You sit down and pull up a chair right next to him and you gently touch his hair. “You’re gonna be okay, honey.” Pony sits down next to you, sobbing and covering his eyes with hid hand.

“Yeah, Johnny. You'll be okay, you're tough.” Ponyboy says while holding his hands together. Johnny says your name gently, with the rest of the power he has. “Go see Dally, I'll be okay.” You blow Johnny an air kiss and mumble out an ‘I love you, Johnny.’ You kiss your fist and you go find Dallas, praying that he was okay. You walked into a recovery room, a nurse and Dally were in there while Dallas argued about his hospital gown being on.

You cried out his name and ran up to him. “Doll, hey, hello. How's Johnny man?” You kiss him after he speaks, it's long and breathtaking. “God, I missed you so much. Johnny is.. not very good. He's really burnt up, it's heartbreaking.” Dallas frowns and holds you in his arms and groans at the pulled muscle in his back. “Stop arguing with your nurses, please.”

—

You're sitting at the Curtis’ house as you like your fingernails. Sodapop sits on the floor when you hear the door open. There stands Ponyboy, bruised and blond-headed. “Johnny’s dead.” He repeats it a couple more times and you begin to cry into Sodapop’s shoulder and he holds onto you. Steve stands there completely shocked and Two-Bit is gripping onto his jacket in his hands.

The phone rings and Steve picks up the phone. He mumbles to Darry, telling him it's Dallas and he needs to speak to you. Darry picks up the phone and says that the gang will be there. You're worried and biting at your skin around your nails as you follow the gang. You're running with the gang and you can see your boyfriend, running with police sirens and cars behind him. The police get out and you can see the outline of a gun.

You scream out his name and you hear it: gunshots. The young, seventeen-year old falls down on the ground with a scream. Darry yells at the police that he's just a kid. Everything feels silent in your head, you can't hear anything. You recognize that you're crying, and tears are running down your face, but you're completely gone.

You're standing still in the lot, and you're just staring. You're stuck there, left there, alone and numb. He was just a kid, and now he is dead.

[hiswordsarekisses]

My middle of the night ponderings lol… Do you ever feel stuck? Like God has fenced you into one certain place, or situation, and it’s uncomfortable, and it’s not what you want, but it seems like the gate is locked and there’s no way out?

I have been there so many times in my life, and He has shown me some things about these places that I want to share.

Sometimes God is the one Who locked the gate.

And it’s not to hurt you. When God told Paul, on the road to Damascus, to “stop kicking against the goads” (Acts26) He was trying to get him to understand that there is no use fighting God’s will for your life, it only makes you miserable and it takes longer to get to surrender, which results in joy.

Things don’t have to take so long - more times than not our stubbornness, stiff-necked resistance is why we keep circling the mountain. Like the children of Israel, have you finally gotten tired of circling the mountain? Are you ready to head north? (Deut.2:4)

Here is some of what I have found over the years…

Adam and Eve were placed in, and surrounded by beauty. They were put in a more beautiful place than our human minds could ever imagine, yet they doubted God’s love for them. The enemy had deceived Eve by telling her that God was withholding something from them, so now all of that beauty was not enough.

She became so focused on what she could not have, that she could not see the elaborate display of God’s love and provision. They had been given more than they could ever need. And now that was not enough.

The enemy deceives us into thinking that when God gives us our way He loves us, and when He doesn’t it means He does not love us, or He is punishing us.

We can become so tricked into believing that lie that we cannot trust that God truly wants us to have joy and fulfillment, and that when we do not get our way it only means that His way is better. Once we finally believe His Word, we become confident in His love for us, and it becomes easy to trust Him.

(That’s why His Word says that faith comes from hearing the Word. His Words are alive - HE IS the Word made flesh. That’s why He tells us to abide in His Word.)

Something that helps a lot, when I started repeating the sin of Adam and Eve and the children of Israel, of ungratefulness - i began every day to make a habit of listing the proof of God’s love for me and the things that I am grateful for.

What has he provided for me? How has he cared for me? Where would I be if He had not done these things? Every little and big thing I can think of I make note of, and I never end up without tears pouring out of my eyes and a smile on my face, because He has been so so good to me - even on my darkest days.

Personally He has blown my mind by placing me in one of the most beautiful places in the country - a place I should not financially be able to live in, but He made a way and here I am - and He absolutely did carry me here kicking and screaming at first. Then I realized that if this is where He is putting me, that He must have a reason - and boy, to say that I was pleasantly surprised when I realized what He has done is a huge understatement. My eyes get to see so much beauty every day. He is teaching me to look for it everywhere I go.

I live in a tiny apartment across the road from a small lake where huge beautiful Iguanas, Egrets, Ducks, Doves and many other animals live. There are Royal Palm Trees all around. Out my bedroom window I get to wake up to the sunrise over the lake, and out the kitchen window, the sunset - which also splashes across the sky and over the lake as well, so I can see the sunset all around me.

The ocean is all around me too, and it takes less than 5 minutes to get there. My husband sometimes takes me after dinner to go look for shells and I have found so many perfectly formed conch shells, unbroken, and with no cracks or holes. Perfectly designed by God.

This is just a few of the things that make my heart feel like exploding so that I can say to you: please stop fighting God, if you are. He loves you so much and if you will put down everything you are holding on to, He is just waiting, longing to bless you and make you smile again. Everything He does is perfect. Just trust Him. He is so trustworthy, and He absolutely knows what He is doing.

(Dana - His Words Are Kisses)

[lullabee-blue]

tog + food is love fic rec list pt. 1

unfortunately my personal top love language is food and boy does this fandom deliver. part one of my personal favorites in the old guard fandom of stories that celebrate food and food as love. author summaries in regular print, my personal comments in italics :)

Café Alrededor del Mundo series by blacklaces

This entire series is so great. Featuring Quỳnh getting to be angry, Booker-Quỳnh friendship, impact of colonialism on food culture, coffee, tea, and food.

Pistachios and Rose Water by goldsaffron

Had to stop and cry after reading the section on harīsa, thinking about all my feelings re: porridge across cultures.

Nicolò learned how to cook from a bitter and jaded prostitute in 12th-century Cairo.

(Alternatively, Nicolò discovers his love language).

Dignify Our Feast by reginalds

In mid-April, as the trees outside start to bud and bloom, she runs into Joe and Nicky in the kitchen just before sunrise.

Joe is sitting cross-legged on the counter, his hair wild and his eyes half-closed, eating a large bowl of oatmeal with one eye on the clock, and the other on Nicky, who is singing something in what sounds like Latin as he pulls things from the pantry. She cracks eggs into a pan, yawning.

Joe ducks out of the kitchen before Nile is done scrambling her eggs to pray Fajr, placing a lingering kiss on Nicky’s mouth, and a swift one on Nile’s forehead as he goes, and when Nile’s food is done she takes a plate to the table and watches Nicky work.

carrying, and by nicelytousled (dtbird)

Joe gives a slow exhale. “Sometimes,” He begins, and he speaks quietly, like it's a secret only for them, not to be shared with the stove or the sink or the kitchen cabinets. “It’s like I feel too much for my body to contain.”

Nicky invites him with his eyes to continue. He has very inviting eyes.

“For example, sometimes I’m so in love with you that I have to do something about it. I can’t just sit with it,” Joe admits.

Nicky’s face cracks into a hesitant smile. “Yes, I understand that.”

They stand in silence for a moment, Nicky watching the food, Joe watching Nicky.

“I think I like that feeling,” Nicky says. “I like to be overwhelmed with you.”

Filling Your Cup by merle_p

“You do realize that Eid al-Fitr is not until July?” Joe says slowly, taking in the pillows arranged around the blanket, the lit citronella candles, and the string of cheap Christmas lights Nicky must have borrowed from a neighbor to provide additional light.

“I know,” Nicky shrugs, “just felt like doing something different tonight.” His tone is easy, his posture casual, but his gaze is hovering somewhere near Joe’s collarbone, which means Nicky noticed that something is up with him but doesn’t want to come right out and say.

Salt and Harvest by hollybennett123

Shorter (3k) Joe/Nicky slice of life fic, featuring bread as care.

The making and the breaking of bread, throughout the centuries.

come be hungry for me by asifnotbound

short (<1k) and moody

"There’s something in bread, warm, carved or torn open and passed along, slathered with olive oil or butter. Offered. An offering from salted fingertips. There’s something sacred and old, familiar, in the making and preparing of food for the ones he loves."

A rumination on food and love. Or, the Nicky thesis.

Cheese Is Life (Everything Else is Details) by ReaperWriter

When Andy has a bad day, Nicky makes her a favorite food with help from Nile, and gives Nile a small window into food as team history.

l’albatross by TheGoodDoctor

Booker recovery fic ft. learning how to live, which ends up including talking to your neighbors, hanging out with kids, and learning how to cook.

How Booker, having crossed a line, is driven by stormy exile to his home country in France; and how from thence he made his course to some kind of equilibrium; and of the things that befell him; and in what manner Sebastien le Livre came back to his own country.

Booker shoots the albatross, fails to die, and makes his peace.

For Roses, Too by sindirimba

Long (112k), multi-chapter Book of Nile fic with great Nile characterization and a really tender bouillabaisse scene that makes me feel something unnameable.

Every day brings with it a fresh batch of work, and a man throws himself into his bed late at night without having completed what he had expected to do; then in the morning he hurries to the unfinished task of the previous day. Life goes, and there is no time left to think, no time to consider the direction that one's life is taking. - Pyotr Kropotkin, Memoirs of a Revolutionist

Nile and Booker meet up mid-exile, get into productive trouble, and go on a journey (metaphorical and literal).

i knew you before we met (and I don’t even know you yet) by dreamptiwasanarchitect

Primarily an amnesia fic, but features food pretty heavily in the knowing and loving parts of their relationship

The man threads his fingers through Nicky’s, pressing their bloodied palms together. The roar of panic rushing in Nicky’s chest lessens at the touch. Through some instinct, he squeezes the man’s hand.

The melancholy look on the man’s face fades as he squeezes back.

Who are you, Nicky wonders, but in a way it seems unimportant. Just as he knows the word for the acrid smell in the air, he knows that the man is to be trusted.

After being shot in the head, Nicky loses his memories. He doesn’t remember who he is now, or who he was almost 900 years ago. Joe’s not sure which of those things is worse.            

we don’t know why, we just are by ongreenergrasses

the concept (latke family discourse) is lighthearted, but i still feel both big and small each time i read this fic

in which Nile and Andy travel together, the Great Latke Discourse comes to an immortal found family near you, and nothing hurts.

A Primer on Medieval Islamic Food by rhipiduridae 

This one’s not technically a food is love or food is loving fic, nor is it a fic, but I like food history, so.

An introduction to the basics of Islamic food from the medieval period (10th-15th centuries CE). This primer covers the history, context, and characteristics of medieval Islamic cuisine, with the intent of helping early Joe/Nicky writers or anyone else who wants to reference authentic ingredients or meals from this time period.

***

and then fic(s) i wanted to include but cannot re-locate:

fic where the team does thanksgiving for nile and they have to text copley about locating a costco and nile argues with nicky in costco

[kanisema-blog]

The sterile white walls of the hospital room felt like a prison. Each sterile beep of the heart monitor echoed my increasing desperation. "Stage four pancreatic cancer," the oncologist had said, his voice flat, devoid of the empathy I craved. "There's only one chance – a radical surgery developed by Dr. Daniel West."

Dr. West, the name whispered in hushed tones by the medical staff. A prodigy, a maverick, whose unorthodox surgeries defied odds. He was my only hope, a lifeline in a sea of despair.

The rejection came swift and brutal. Dr. West's secretary, a woman with a voice as cold as the starched white uniform she wore, relayed the news. "Dr. West only accepts high-profile cases, Ms. Thompson. Unfortunately, your situation doesn't meet the criteria."

High-profile cases? My status, a struggling freelance writer, meant nothing in the face of this disease. A choked sob escaped my lips, followed by a wave of anger so fierce it momentarily eclipsed my fear. I wouldn't accept defeat.

Days blurred into frantic research. I scoured every medical journal, every article I could find on Dr. West. I delved into his past, piecing together a picture of a brilliant yet complex man driven by a personal tragedy.

One detail sparked a flicker of hope. Dr. West, in his early career, had lost his own mother to a similar cancer. The surgery, deemed too risky then, might have saved her. This wasn't just about status for him; it was personal.

Armed with this knowledge, I camped outside his office. Days turned into weeks, my resolve hardening with each sunrise. I wrote him letters, pouring out my story, my will to fight, my determination to be more than just another statistic.

One day, the door to his office creaked open. A tall man with intense blue eyes and a haunted expression stood before me. "Ms. Thompson," he said, his voice raspy from disuse.

"Dr. West," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "I won't beg. But please, let me tell you my story."

For the next hour, I spoke. I spoke of my dreams, my unfinished projects, the life I wasn't ready to relinquish. As I talked, I saw a flicker of something in his eyes – empathy, perhaps even a reflection of his own loss.

Finally, he spoke. His voice, though gruff, held a hint of grudging respect. "You're persistent," he said. "And you have a fight in you. That's something I respect."

He didn't promise anything, but a sliver of hope, a crack in his previously impenetrable wall, appeared. The surgery itself was a grueling ordeal, pushing me to the very limits of my endurance. But throughout, Dr. West's dedication was unwavering. He treated me not just as a patient, but as a worthy adversary in this fight for my life.

Recovery was slow, painstaking. Every step forward was a victory. Through it all, Dr. West visited regularly, his clinical demeanor softening with each passing day. One day, he surprised me with a worn copy of a book, the same one I'd told him was my favorite during our first meeting.

"You haven't finished your story," he said, a faint smile playing on his lips.

It wasn't a love story in the conventional sense. It bloomed from desperation, defiance, and a shared battle against a merciless opponent. But as I regained my strength, writing again, my fingers flying across the keyboard, I realized that the man who'd refused to operate on me based on status had become my savior in a way he probably never intended. He'd given me back a chance at life, a chance to tell my story, and maybe, just maybe, write a love story unlike any other.

[mrsbrekkers]

Hi! How are you?

Could I get a Kaz Brekker imagine where he opens up to the reader after a job about his past and the next day he tells her it was a mistake and a lapse of judgement, quite harshly. And then the reader gets hurt after a heist and he realises how much he actually needs her.

Thank you <3

i’m doing pretty good! first kaz fic tehe, i’ve been waiting to do kaz brekker one-shots since i read the books. he is v much a comfort character. i understand his aversion to physical touch ( i have panic attacks at times because of so ), his humor, and inner dialogue so he is v dear and near to my heart yeeee

i switched up the next day bit and did it as the same time since it made more sense to me?? i’m not sure how to explain it haha

pairings! kaz x reader / jesper x wylan + nina x matthias ( with inej third wheeling because she’d so do so. ) 

reader is female in this, but i can make it non-gender specific if one would like me too! just let me know i’m very flexible in my writing!

warnings! talking about jordie, ptsd, trauma, talk of death, loss of a brother + mother, swear words, kaz being sad, panic attacks, blood, near death experience, pekka a-hole rollins,

word count; 2610 ( proud again haha )

one-shot under cut!

COMPANIONABLE SILENCE

The Slat had become uncharacteristically quiet. A successful heist on part of the Crows made for easy celebration amongst the Dregs. Most sat gambling at the Crow Club, drinking the night away. Jesper had been having a weirdly lucky night, the money in front of him displaying such. Wylan had been on Jesper’s leg the entire night, and the occasional ‘This is my lucky charm’ could be heard from Jesper. Inej and Nina sat drinking together, Matthias looking like an unwilling bystander to the girls' fun. And yet, Y/N found herself back at the Slat after the long day. Her back screamed at her to call it a night, but instead, she found herself in front of Kaz’s door.

It was a routine the two had when they were the only ones at the Slat. Y/N would sit on the bed, head in a book, and Kaz would sit quietly at his desk planning whatever it was Kaz Brekker decided to plan. It seemed the same tonight, with Y/N quietly reading, until her head lifted to see Kaz rubbing his eyes.

“You need to get more sleep. The amount you manage is minimal. I’m surprised you’re not dead yet,” Y/N commented, her book falling into her lap, the page she’d left off on now folded at the corner. It surprised her how Kaz managed to live off of his, if lucky, two hours of sleep. She’d never understand it. Granted, she slept less than the suggested as well, but she always made up for it with at least a nap during the day.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” 

That might be sooner than you think at this rate. But Y/N wouldn’t take that for an answer. She wasn’t usually a pushy person, especially with Kaz Brekker. She’d learned being pushy with him was never a good idea, considering the amount of people who did were left with a ruined reputation and nothing to live with.

“Sleeping when you’re dead isn’t an option in Ketterdam. Even when you’re dead here, you’re really not. Especially when people know of you. And last time I checked, the entire city knows you, and half of it wants your head on a silver platter. I’m actually sure people outside of the city know you, and may want the same,” Y/N said, standing and moving over to the wooden desk, sitting across from Kaz. Her eyes landed on the work Kaz worked on, seeing another heist plan he was drawing out.

Kaz wasn’t going to give in easily, anyone who knew him knew he was stubborn. One of the most stubborn people who lived in Ketterdam, but he knew what Y/N was saying held some truth in it. One was never truly dead in Ketterdam. He suspected people would dig up his body to hand over to Pekka Rollins - no, he wouldn’t die before Pekka Rollins did, that was a promise he’d made himself after Jordie. Brick by Brick. He couldn’t pull Rollins apart if he was dead. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t dead yet: his vigor to destroy the man who’d killed his brother. But he did suspect that when he, Kaz Brekker, was dead, he’d never truly be dead.

“Even so, I have things to do, plans to make-”

“At 1 in the morning? I’m sure such plans aren’t going to disappear overnight.” Being cut off, Kaz casted Y/N a glare, eyes narrowing. Why she had such influence over him, he’d never know. Or, maybe he did know and wasn’t going to express why. Because why would he? Kaz Brekker didn’t need a reason after all. He always had reasons though.

Finally, Y/N sighed. “I don’t expect you to listen to me, but I’m not going to let you rot away from the lack of sleep you get, Kaz. I am just as stubborn as you, and if I must? I will sit here and bug you about your lack of sleep until sunrise. Or until I inevitably fall asleep.” The smallest glimpse of a smile reached Kaz’s lips, an instinct to roll his eyes almost playfully too. Stubborn about the well-being of her friends was a Y/N special. Kaz had simply thought he’d have time before she got on his ass about his own health.

She’d already gotten on Wylan about his self-destructive habits. His tendency to blame himself for not being good enough. Y/N had practically choked him out once when he’d gone on a rant about how he was a problem for the Crows. A burden. Kaz himself had been somewhat frightened. She’d found ways to help Jesper and his gambling addiction, which usually included them gambling, but in ways that didn’t involve money. She’d gotten on Matthias for his excuses to not kiss Nina.

If Kaz remembered correctly, she’d called it ‘redirecting the issue’.

“You’re avoiding something,” Y/N then spoke, crossing her arms. Weren’t they all avoiding something? Kaz thought, huffing as he sat back into his seat. This was Ketterdam after all. If you weren’t running from some rich merchant, then you were running from their son. Wylan had simply been a lucky break in that usual streak.

“You say that as if we all aren’t running from something,” Kaz finally said out loud, his eyes casted downwards.

“Avoiding, Kaz. Not running, and something tells me the thing you’re avoiding isn’t something, but someone.” Y/N knew the look Kaz had on. She’d worn it herself dozens of times.

“I had a brother.” Kaz couldn’t bring himself to look directly at Y/N. It would make talking about this all too real. Too much. Was this a lapse in his judgement? Why was he telling her this? Had she managed to get so under his skin? 

“We moved to Ketterdam after my father died. My brother . . . Jordie-'' the name came out with a small crack in his voice. He hadn’t said that name out loud since he’d laid on his sick brother’s chest. “Was hopeful about what the city would bring, and it brought peace for some time. We worked with a man for some time, and my brother was in on a deal. One that seemed too good to be true,” Kaz scowled now, his anger seeming to rise as he spoke.

Y/N sighed, knowing where this was going now. “When an offer is too good to be true-”

“It usually is. That man went by a different name then. One to scam people for their money to rise through the ranks of the Barrel.” Kaz finally lifted his eyes, seeing the realization rush over Y/N’s face.

“Pekka Rollins.”

“Pekka Rollins is the reason my brother is dead.”

The room fell silent for a few moments, Y/N contemplating what to say. She had a feeling she was among the few who knew Kaz’s story. She was tempted to ask how Joride died, but she could infer. She’d been around Ketterdam during the time firepox had plagued the city. Her mother had been taken from the disease. She’d been the same age as Kaz. It began clicking in her head too.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N murmured. “I know you probably don’t want my pity, but really, I’m sorry.” It made sense why Kaz felt like he needed to best Pekka Rollins. He wanted revenge. He wanted Rollins to be just as down as him and his brother had been.

Kaz sucked in a deep breath, standing and running a hand through his hair. His regret for telling the woman before him began to consume him. This was a mistake. Why had he told her? A harsh look fell over his face, looking down at the plans he had laid out. “I need to finish these plans, and I’m sure you need some sleep,” his tone was harsh, but it was clear there was hurt underlying it. He wasn’t going to be an outright asshole, but he needed his space now.

“You need sleep too, and I doubt you’re in the right headspace to try and make plans-”

“Y/N, leave.” He internally was begging. And Kaz Brekker never begged . . . but Kaz Rietveld would, and that’s who was begging. 

“Kaz-”

“Leave.” Anger washed over his features, his eyes directing Y/N to the door.

Y/N sighed, walking towards the door. Before she turned the knob, she stopped. “You know being open about your past doesn’t make you weak, right?” But Kaz said nothing, afraid his voice would fail him. With no words spoken for a beat, Y/N opened the door, shutting it as she paced down the steps.

Her book still lied on the bed, the folded paper to the chapter she was on prominent. Kaz took one look at it before sighing and sitting in the chair, one tear making its way down his face.

---

It was supposed to be in and out. Another job. Another however much Kruge. Where is she? Kaz thought. Y/N was never one for being late. Sure she was working with Jesper, who was notoriously late, but she should’ve been out before Jesper was, and she wasn’t.

It’d been a week of no speaking. Kaz couldn’t speak to her after revealing so much. He feared it would become all too real. A common fear he had. Stealing, picking locks, it was all real to him, yes, but he never experienced reality when he was on a job. It was his way of ‘avoiding’ as Y/N would put it. But now, he couldn’t avoid the reality of this job.

The reality was: He’d ignored Y/N for a week in fear, and now she wasn’t at the rondevu point.

She’s Y/N, she isn’t dead. But that may not be true. She could indeed be dead. She could be, She could be, She could be.... Dozens of potential outcomes came to mind.

The world seemed to spin as he paced. Nina and Matthias had already tried to calm him. Nina had even tried to calm his heart rate down. Wylan seemed to be just as worried as Kaz as well, Jesper still out there alongside Y/N and all. Inej was calm, but it was clear she was worried too. They all were, but Kaz was being unusually emotional. 

“At this rate, you’re going to have a heart attack Kaz,” Nina had said.

And if he did, then that’d be a first for the Bastard of The Barrel. 

“And you’re not close to having one?” Wylan asked, shooting a glare over at Nina.

Kaz mentally thanked Wylan. At least he wasn’t the only one close to breaking down. Get in and out. In and out. What had gone wrong?

But then he heard the sound of boots running across the muddy ground, his eyes shooting up to see Jesper carrying a bleeding Y/N.

She’s bleeding. Who had hurt her? Kaz wasn’t sure, but anger filled him. That was until he fully internalized that Y/N was bleeding.

“Jesper, what happened?”

Jesper helped Y/N into the safe house, his breathing heavy as he helped her onto the bed of one of the rooms. “Rollins. He got word of the job. We became overwhelmed and Y/N here took a bullet to the shoulder.” Then Wylan was practically engulfing Jesper in a hug.

How? Was Kaz’s initial thought, but with a huff, he closed his eyes. Moving over to follow Jesper, he took off his coat. Upon entering the room Y/N was sitting in, he nodded towards her good arm, silently asking for her to take off the sleeve of the arm that was hit.

“I thought we weren’t speaking?” Y/N asked, groaning as she pulled the sleeve of her bad shoulder off with some help from Inej who pushed everyone else out of the room. Inej left as well, but gave Kaz a nod to let her know when he would need help.

Kaz didn’t lift his eyes to look at Y/N, his eyes steady on the bullet lodged in her shoulder. He pulled out the medical kit under the bed. Always prepared, Y/N thought.

“How did Rollins find out?” Y/N asked, watching Kaz pick up tweezers from the small medical kit.

“I’m not sure, but I plan on figuring it out. Stay still.” And Y/N did, knowing this was hard enough as it was for Kaz, she didn’t want to make it any harder. Squeezing her eyes shut as she prepared for the pain. She gripped onto the bed, seething as Kaz took the bullet out with the tweezers.

“I hope you know, I didn’t mean any harm last week.” Kaz knew what Y/N was referring too, and he simply nodded for the moment. Picking up the bandages from the kit, Y/N shook her head.

“Get Inej to do it, you’ve already pushed yourself enough.”

“It’s fine,” Kaz spoke, his voice firm.

“Kaz, don’t-”

“I want too.” His eyes lifted to finally look up at Y/N. She looked down as well, silently nodding. She understood Kaz enough to know this was his apology for ignoring her the past week.

“My mother, she died from firepox,” Y/N spoke quietly. She didn’t know how Kaz would take her bringing it up, but she felt that if she didn’t, they’d build up all this anger again. They’d ignore one another again. Kaz stalled. Flashes of Jordie and Reapers Barge consumed him for a few moments. Y/N’s skin turned cold, icy and raw. He flinched away from the feeling.

Then he heard it - Y/N’s heartbeat. She was living. She wasn’t a corpse. The heartbeat and blood were testament to that. She isn’t dead. 

“I never told you how he died,” Kaz spoke quietly. He wasn’t used to talking about such subjects with anyone. It was the reason he’d taken on a different surname. That way he could cut ties with his past.

But for some reason, Y/N was able to make him feel . . . though begrudgingly, open with his past.

“I can infer, Kaz,” Y/N said with a small hiss as Kaz finished with the bandage, his hands shaky. “Now, you can continue ignoring me if you wish, I imagine you enjoy avoiding me.”

“I don’t enjoy it.” Kaz now had someone he connected with on a level he wasn’t used to. He wasn’t going to enjoy being apart from that.

“I know, I was simply making sure,” Y/N teased, her lips quirking in a small smile.

Kaz gave a small shake of his head, his lips pulling into a smile as well for just a moment. Then he picked up his coat he’d taken off. “I imagine you’re cold, here,” he spoke then, watching as Y/N took it and wrapped it around herself.

Then the door swung open, Nina rushing over to give Y/N a hug. “Kaz here almost had a heart attack. Wylan almost did. Jeez, never do that again,” she said, laughing a bit.

“Ouch, ouch, Nina,” Y/N spoke, referencing the still open wound on her shoulder.

“Sorry, sorry. We made food for you,” Nina said, smiling before handing Y/N a tray of food.

Kaz exited the room, allowing the others some time to talk to Y/N. Inej followed him, her arms crossed as she leaned against one of the walls.

“What information do you want me to get on Rollins?”

“Whatever you can find.” You’re not taking her from me Rollins, and you’d better be ready when I do come for you. Brick by Brick.

[likeastarstar]

The Pianist

(A/N: Thanks to @xjoonchildx and the anon who recommended me to her for this prompt! The pieces mentioned in this fic are what I listened to while writing it, they're beautiful and I recommend them. Feedback is appreciated!)

masterlist.

You didn’t sleep very well most nights.

You didn’t really understand how people just laid down and fell asleep instantly, it just didn’t happen for you. You had tried everything but ASMR creeped you out, Melatonin didn’t work, chamomile tea just made you have to get up to pee a million times. Nothing worked for years- until the apartment above yours got a new tenant.

You weren’t sure when exactly they moved in but you were certain of the day they got a piano.

January 12, 2021: The day you were given the gift of sleep.

At this point, it was apart of your routine. Every night, after showering and brushing your teeth, you’d lay down and listen to soft melodies you couldn’t quite place pouring through your walls.

Now, you found yourself rushing back home in the evening just in case they decided to start playing early.

“Hold the elevator, please!” You called, rushing over to the closing doors.

A hand stuck out to block them from shutting at the last minute and you gave a sigh of relief- you’d be on time now. You rushed into the elevator with a pleased smile on your face, your eyes falling on a man who you could only describe as the most interesting person you had ever seen. Dressed in all black with thick rings around the hand that had stopped the elevator, he should’ve been intimidating. If it wasn’t for the soft slope of his nose and pink doll-like lips, you would’ve turned the other way in fear.

“Oh-“ You said awkwardly, staring at him with wide eyes for some reason. He looked at you awkwardly and smile slightly, pulling his lips into a thine line. His dark eyes blinked slowly, molten mocha peering down at you with mild interest. “Thank you- for the elevator.”

“No problem, you seem like you’re in a hurry.” He said politely, his quiet, deep voice rumbling in your ear comfortably. You found yourself leaning towards him and snapped yourself out of it, pressing your floor’s button quickly.

As beautiful as he was, you got distracted from the man quickly, refocusing on trying to guess what the pianist would choose to play tonight. You left the window cracked just to hear more of the classical sonatas, timing your breathing just right to the pacing of the tunes. As time passed, you grew accustomed to the presence of the music, reading the pianist’s mood by their choice of song.

Reverie, for calm evenings in the summer when your apartment was bathed in golden light, warming your skin. A jazzy rendition of Manhattan when you assumed the pianist had an absolutely wonderful day, sending you off to dream of fluffy clouds and creamy skies. Nocturne No. 1, when they were troubled and you physically had to stop yourself from crying upon hearing the emptiness in the notes that flooded into your ears.

As luck would have it, you stumbled across the man in the elevator again too, crossing paths in the mail room, where he held the door open as you lugged out copious amounts of packages from online shopping. You would’ve tried to strike up a conversation, only it was already dusk and the pianist would start practicing soon.

“You’re always rushing, aren’t you?” He quipped, an endearing smile on his face. You admired the way his cheeks fluffed up a little when he smiled.

“I have plans with a friend,” You excused, naming the pianist as a fond companion. You didn’t want to reveal what you were really rushing for. The pianist felt like your own little secret, a world you could immerse yourself in when real life got too overwhelming.

If only you had known you’d soon lose the one consistent relief of tension in your life. You assumed things in his life had gone south, because after a week of music that tore your soul apart- the music stopped. Gone were your nights of angelic tunes, gone were your nights of sleep.

You waited for him, laid in bed with an antsy heart waiting to hear something, an aggravated smash of keys, a simple chord, even a single note would set you at ease. It had been a week since you had a good night of sleep, your companion suddenly stripped away.

You trudged into the elevator one morning sleepily, barely registering a familiar man standing beside you. Your hands met as both of you rushed to press the ‘close door’ button, the button shocking both of you at once. You jumped in surprise, flickering your eyes towards him sheepishly, “Sorry.”

“Not your fault,” He mumbled. It wasn’t until then that you took in his appearance, slightly disheveled with his hair fluffy and messy. It was bleached now, faded with the roots grown out too far.

The pair of you rode the elevator down in a comfortable silence, filtering out together without a passing glance. You walked in different directions, both consumed in your own thoughts. You figured the pianist would be back by now. When nothing came, you decided to do take action, composing your own masterpiece. You tacked the letter you painstakingly rewrote a million times, setting for a simple note of flattery that you hoped would entice whoever it was playing the piano to return the gift you had cherished back to you. You expected nothing, maybe music returning back. Instead, you were greeted two days later with a simple knock at your door.

You answered quickly, shuffling your feet towards the entrance of your apartment. You opened the door to a familiar face, the man from the elevator. This time, his hair was freshly dyed, denim blue with one side sleeked back. His eyes were bright, alert as he looked at you with a surprised expression. You skimmed the length of his body, noting the tailored pants and soft looking sweater, stopping suddenly on a familiar piece of paper between long fingers adorned with rings.

Your note.

“You’re the pianist,” You realized, staring at the note. The paper of the note was faded, fraying at the ends and softened at the creases. It had clearly been folded and unfolded a million times, pulling at your heart.

“You fall asleep to me playing?” He asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I have trouble sleeping- you, your music helps.” You said lamely. “I’ve missed it….I thought, I mean, I noticed that you were playing more sad pieces than normal and then you stopped playing altogether. I figured something was wrong- Are you okay?”

He tapped his foot on the ground and shifted his weight, looking down at the ground awkwardly, “I was going to stop playing. I just…I didn’t see the value anymore.”

You felt panic sweep over your body and widened your eyes, leaning towards him instinctively, “Your music feels like a friend. It’s so beautiful and calming, it’s the only thing I have to look forward to some days. It- It has value. A lot of value, to me.”

He looked up at you and smiled, eyes crinkling slightly, “That makes me feel better- I’m Yoongi. Min Yoongi.”

You smiled back at him, tilting your head slightly.

The music came back after that, new songs playing every evening. You spent the mornings tracking down all of the songs he played the night before, listening to them while you went about your day, melting away time until you could listen to Yoongi practice again. You saw Yoongi a couple times in the elevator, exchanging shy smiles and excited suggestions of what you think he should learn next.

It wasn’t until you awoke one morning to the soft musings of a piano that you realized- you loved Min Yoongi. You recognized the song playing instantly- Dawn from Pride and Prejudice. You had suggested it awhile ago and how romantic you thought the piece was. It had been a slip of the tongue you thought he had forgot about it by now, since he hadn't played it. You remembered the small smile he gave you, nodding slightly when you blushed furiously at even the mention of romance. But now, listening to the music you knew he played for you, you were glad you had said it. It was fitting for the hour, the sunrise pouring cool colored light through your windows, a soft breeze filling your room because you had never gotten out of the habit of cracking your window to hear Yoongi play.

You smiled, laying in bed for a moment and soaking in the light keys. Eventually, you got up and walked to make yourself a cup of tea, stopping when you saw a piece of paper that had been slipped through the bottom of your door.

You picked it up quickly, opening it at once.

Would you like to have dinner with me? - Your Pianist.

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (6)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.7k warnings: PTSD, flashbacks/panic attack, a hint into our girl’s past, the sweetest fluff, another book rec 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“So, you really melted ice man's heart, huh?”  

You pouted, throwing Sam a warning glare as you turned back to the stack of books on the cart.  

It had only been a few days since the night on the park bench and you had seen Bucky nearly every evening since. Most of the time you’d find him waiting by the chairs at the entrance to the library for you to get off shift, hair tucked under a baseball cap and hand brushing down at the thigh of his jeans, like maybe he was nervous enough to find the evidence in his palms. He’d brighten up as you spotted him, a lightness coming over his features. You’d lead him down the residential side streets, through canopied trees and flowerbeds along the sidewalk, to spend a few hours at Luciana’s sipping decaf and nibbling through pastries.  

The crowds didn’t bother him as much lately it seemed, or maybe he was getting used to the hustle of rush hour after spending so much time avoiding it. Part of you wondered whether your hand slipping into his and the constant pressure of a slight squeeze had anything to do with it. You wondered if it grounded him like an anchor when his body was eager to float off into space.

He was so impossibly sweet with you; hesitant, like Mrs. Jefferson had said the first day he wandered into the library, but still, there was a lingering charm in it. It sat in the way he looked at you, like he was trying to memorize the lines on your faces, in the way he listened to your long rambles on the latest book you were assigning him, how he had no interest in cutting you off, like maybe he could have listened to you talk for an eternity if you’d let him.  

Bucky Barnes was a little rough on his edges, with some fraying seams and broken pieces, but he was still whole – still complete and wonderful and beautiful. He was soft in his undertones, glimpses of a subtle charm and confidence slipping through the cracks in the small moments when he let his guard down. You didn’t know the Bucky before the war that Sam and Steve spoke so fondly of, but you knew the man he was now and well, this Bucky was everything.  

“He seems like he’s doing better,” Sam said, a little softer this time as he leaned his back to the book shelf. His arms folded over his chest, a smile resembling a sort of pride pushing up at his cheeks. “Took me months to convince him to leave the apartment long enough to check out the VA and you’ve got him down here visiting you almost every day. He’s walking through rush hour just to see you, Y/n. That’s huge for him! Hell, his face might break from how much he’s been smiling lately...”

You laughed, hushing Sam as an elderly woman shot a pointed stare in his direction. Sam held his arms up in defense.  

“He seems happy, Y/n,” Sam finished as you set another book onto the shelf. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

“I get you’re implying that it’s my doing,” you said unconvinced, “but he’s stronger than you give him credit for, Sam. He would have come around on his own. He just needed time. All of you did when you got back. Clearly some more than others. But Bucky... he suffered an immeasurable loss over there. Imagine what that must be like for him to have to readjust to his own body. Of course, he needed time.”

Sam was still smiling at you, nodding along, like maybe you were only proving his point. You believed so strongly in Bucky that it didn’t even cross your mind that maybe it was because of you that he’d started to find himself again. You hadn’t known Bucky when he was holed up in his apartment, shielding himself from the light and drowning in his own anguish. It broke your heart to imagine him sitting alone in a dark, messy apartment, staring at the walls and wishing he were someone else.  

You couldn’t imagine him like that because the man you knew was sweet beyond measure and he made your stomach twist into knots from a simple look across the room. It didn’t seem possible that the light could be drained from the blue of his eyes.  

“I’m not trying to fix him, Sam,” you mumbled under your breath, keeping your eyes trained on the task at hand. “He doesn’t need fixing. I just... I like him and... I like spending time with him. If that means he’s doing better, if he’s starting to look more like the guy you knew, then... that’s good.”

Sam paused, pursing his lips as he studied your face for the subtle reflexes upon your features. You weren’t sure what he was looking for or maybe it was that he was debating whether to argue with you further on the subject, but eventually he resided to concede, letting out a heavy exhale.  

“Just... thank you,” Sam said, relief etched into his voice. “It’s nice having my friend back.”

You looked up at him, a little stunned. “Sam, I haven’t done anything. We haven’t even...um... We aren’t...”

He smiled at you, something genuine, something softer than the cheesy grins you were used to from him. It was a glimpse into who Sam was behind the jokes and the comedic breaks in tension; a man who cared so deeply for the people in his life that he’d cross mountains to see them smile again. He’d come to your aid without so much as a second thought when you’d needed him most, when your world was thrown completely upside down, and here he was again, putting everything he had into making his friend feel whole again.  

Sam put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed. “You’ve done more than you realize.”

You stared at him for a moment, a little lost for words. Could just a few extra days spent wandering around the library, sitting across a café table nursing coffee and scones, and curling up on a park bench have that kind of impact? If you let yourself stop to realize how much brighter your days felt when Bucky was in them, maybe you’d understand what Sam meant.  

“Besides,” Sam shrugged as his smile drifted, “it’s nice to see you happy again, too. Moving on.”

You swallowed and it tasted of bile. The book nearly slipped from your hand.  

Sam chewed on the edge of his lip, a hand swiping over the top of his head. “I know it’s been a few years since we lost—”

“Please— don’t,” you choked out. 

Sam bowed his head, nodding, and you could already feel the swell in your throat. You exhaled a tense breath that struggled to push past your lungs and forced yourself to continue restocking the books, concentrating on the alphabetizing and weathered feel of the covers.

“It’s still hard for me to talk about him, too,” Sam admitted, leaning against the shelf. He shoved his hands into his pockets, a frown pushing on his lips that felt so incredibly unnatural to the man you knew. “But the pain of it doesn’t hurt as much when we have reasons to get up in the morning. Reasons to smile, still. Good things to look forward to.”

You nodded, willing yourself not to cry. It had been so long since you let yourself drift into the memory of the man you’d lost, the name behind the membership card of the loved ones left behind to war heavy in your pocket.  

“All I’m saying is Bucky’s good for you too, kid,” Sam smiled softly nudging you in the shoulder and tickling your sides until a laugh escaped. You clamped a hand down over your mouth as the two of you earned another pointed stare from the elderly woman lurking in the romance section. Sam raised his hands in defense.  

You wiped at your eyes, cheeks burning from grinning. “I could have told you that, you know.”  

“Speak of the devil.” Sam nodded over to the top of the staircase where a man emerged, holding onto the banister; a mop of long brown hair swayed down into his face, a dark green army jacket hung over his shoulders with a sleeve draped down at his left side untouched.

Whatever remained of the lump burning in your throat dissipated, the weight in your pocket feeling a little lighter. A smile grew so wide on your checks you’d nearly forgotten the frown that had ached in the very same muscles just moments earlier.  

“Bucky! What are you doing here?” you laughed as he approached, a little surprised to see him. You nearly wrapped your arms around him before you stopped yourself. You’d only gone as far to hold his hand and you weren’t even sure he’d be comfortable with it given Sam was standing directly on your left.

“Hey,” he replied nervously, pushing a hand through his hair. It looked noticeably softer, a bit of a shine to it, and you wondered if he’d started to care for it again. It was the first time you’d seen him without the baseball cap on. He exchanged a look with Sam before turning back to you. “You said that it got pretty slow on Thursdays and I just wanted to offer you some company but... seems like that’s already covered.”

“Sam can leave!”

Sam pouted dramatically at you as Bucky started to laugh under his breath. It wrinkled up into his eyes and you saw for a moment what Sam had meant; a brightness had returned to the shimmering shades of the open blue skies in his eyes in favor of the muted and darkened ocean waves you’d seen that first day in the VA.

“That hurts, you know,” Sam whined, hand clutching at the fabric on his chest as if he could reach inside and touch his own heart. “We were friends long before this one wandered on scene.”

“Bye Sam,” you sang, waving him off with a nudging on his back. Hands pressed into his shoulder blades, Sam dug his heels into the multicolored carpet under his feet to keep you from pushing him along. You started to laugh loud enough for the woman who scolded Sam earlier to turn in your direction with a scowl upon her face.  

“Alright, alright,” Sam groaned. He stood up straight, brushing you off. “Have fun, kids. Buck, I’ll see you Thursday for the game, right?”

Bucky nodded; hand tucked into his pocket. “Steve’s on nacho duty and we both know he’ll bring enough for twenty people, so you better.”

Sam grinned, pumping his fist in the air. “Exactly what I want to hear.”

“Weren’t you leaving...?” you teased, arms folded over your chest. Sam stuck out his tongue at you and quickly disappeared down the steps. You could hear the rhythmic bounce of his footsteps all the way to the bottom floor. You turned back to Bucky. “So, Thursday night football, huh?”

“Steve started it,” Bucky chuckled, a nervous hand raking through his hair. “They’ve been trying to rope me into game nights since baseball season started. Never had the interest before, I guess.”

That was what Sam was talking about; the small changes in his friend, little pieces of hope embedded into each day, small allowances of motivation and joy. He was finding it again.  

“And now?” you inquired and Bucky shrugged.  

“Sounds like it could be nice. Haven’t watched a game with them like that since before—” He swallowed, eyes darting down. It took a minute, a short breath in and a tense exhale before he cleared his throat and pushed out a smile. “Anyway, how are you? I didn't mean to interrupt if you were hanging out with Wilson, honest.”

“Oh, don’t worry about Sam. He likes the attention too much.” You laughed, stepping a little closer.  

Glancing down at his hand as he held it down by his side – not tucked into his pocket, not curled up in a fist – and you dared to reach for it. You felt the slight twinge of surprise as he jolted under the touch, but relaxed almost instantly as you intertwined your fingers.  

“I’m better now that you’re here,” you said simply, running your free hand soothingly along his arm. It wasn’t unfamiliar contact but it was still new. You could tell it still felt like the first time for him any time you touched him, like he was trying to retrain his body on how to accept touch like this; something gentle and affectionate. You put as much compassion and warmth into each embrace as you could, hoping it might help alleviate some of that anxiety.  

He smiled at you, squeezing your hand in return. “Was kinda hoping you’d say that.”

“Yeah?”  

He nodded, a smile growing on his face as he watched your right hand slide along his arm, running over the bumps in his jacket and feeling for the muscle underneath. If it bothered him, he gave no indication. Instead, he squeezed your hand again, readjusting his fingers, rubbing his thumb sweetly along the back of your hand.  

“Come on,” you nodded, gesturing to the book shelf behind you. “I’ve got more books to put away and I could use some of that company you promised.”

***

Three hours later and Bucky was sitting on one of the beanbags in the Children’s Corner, reading the latest book on a seemingly never-ending list you’d assigned for him: The Silver Linings Playbook by Mathew Quick – the story of a man determined to find the good in the bad as he navigates an evenly matched chaotic love interest, the approval of a strict, suburban Philadelphian family, and an undying loyalty to Eagles’ football.

After Bucky had helped place a few of the novels on the tallest shelves, you insisted you weren’t intent to put him to work and pushed him onto the beanbag chair. Most of the time he pretended to read while he watched you weave around the aisles. Always bright when patrons approached and sneaking a few lines of narrative from each book as you placed it on the shelf, as if you could capture a glimpse of each story and hold it for later.  

You were never more than a few aisles away and he caught you peering over at him every so often, just checking to make sure he was still there. He winked at you as you caught his eye and a laugh would escape passed your lips despite your effort to hide it before you disappeared back to your task.  

He was nearly halfway through the book, using the same clip you’d given him the first day of book club, when he heard the small voice of a child clear their throat.  

A girl, no older than eight, stood behind you as you stocked one of the children’s shelves. She tapped on your spine and backed up a few paces, holding her hands tightly in front of her.

Bucky couldn’t quite make out what she was saying, but you knelt down to her level – the same as you’d done for the boy in the café – and nodded intently to what she was saying. Then, after scratching at your head, scrunching up your face in thought, you brought the girl over to a different aisle and pulled out a book for her.  

She glanced over the cover for only a few seconds before she tugged the book tight to her chest and squealed. She thanked you quickly with an enthusiastic wave before she rushed off to a couple standing by the elevator. She wrapped her arms around her father’s legs, excitedly showing her mother the book you’d selected for her.  

But Bucky couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. You stood from your place in the aisle as you watched the interaction between the girl and her parents; how the father patted her on the head and ruffled up her hair, much to the child’s infectious delight, how the mother picked up the book and raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

Your hands were crossed over your heart, a smile brimming bright on your face. Bucky couldn’t imagine how anyone had come to be as genuine and warm as you were; filled with an unending compassion for others beyond anything he’d ever seen before and a love in the simplicity of kindness. When you looked back over at him, he could hardly catch his breath.  

“Hey,” you called sweetly, skipping up to him. The sleeves of a golden yellow sweater hung past your fingertips and you curled the excess fabric into your palms.  “My shift’s over in a few minutes.”

Bucky blinked a few times, pulling himself from his stare before he glanced over at the clocking hanging high above the books. “Wow. That went fast.”

You nodded, swaying on your heels.  

“Luciana’s?” you asked as you bit down on your lip, that nervous kind of look about you like you might actually believe he’d ever turn down more time with you.  

Bucky exhaled a breath of relief, closing the book in his lap. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Come on,” you grinned, extending your hand to him.  

You took the book first, placing it into the small bag draped over your shoulder, and slipped your hand into his. Bucky let you tug him up to his feet, though he didn’t need the help despite the sinking feeling of the bean bag chair numbing his legs. He liked the feeling of your hand wrapped tightly in his own and he liked it even more so when you didn’t let go.  

“Heading out, dear?” Mrs. Jefferson called by the front desk as you passed by. She ran her eyes over Bucky, that signature smirk present upon her lips, though you didn’t seem to notice. She winked at him and he felt the tips of his ears burn red.  

“Yes, ma’am! I’ll see you tomorrow,” you replied, waving her off as you pulled Bucky to the doors.  

It was warmer outside than he was expecting, with children running down the sidewalk and tourists in matching t-shirts chasing on their heels. They carried pinwheels in their hands and bags of popcorn as if they’d been by a carnival – which seemed odd in the middle of Brooklyn. Another family across the street pushed a small child in a stroller with paint on her face in the shape of rainbows and a bag of cotton candy curled up tight in her hand.  

Bucky narrowed his eyes, confused.  

“I love this time of year,” you sighed, leaning your head to his shoulder as you walked. “Look at the sky. It’s beautiful.”

The sun was beginning its decent beyond the horizon, the dark cast of a night sky peering over the light blues as they faded into reds and oranges and a distant glimpse of purple. The stars had begun to peak through the clouds.

“Forgot how dark it can get,” Bucky said as you guided him back to the residential streets.  

You shrugged. “Earlier sunset though. Makes for a nicer walk after my shift.”

Bucky smiled at that. You always managed to find the silver lings in every cloud, no matter how dark or grey or filled with rain – you found the good. He wondered for a moment, if you could manage to do the same in him, too.  

“It was nice of you to come by today,” you said. You nudged his hip as you adjusted your hold on his hand with a gentle squeeze. When he looked down at you, you were smiling at him.

“Just like spending time with you.” Bucky shrugged, trying to play it off casually, though his heart was racing. You nodded slowly, the smile growing even wider on your face, though you didn’t say anything.  

The sidewalks were empty on this part of the walk and while a silence had taken over between you, it was comfortable, like the wrap of a warm blanket. Your hand still tucked into his, a gentle squeeze now and then to remind him you were there, a soft humming under your breath. There was a sense of peace in it, a safety he hadn’t known in a very long time.  

The quiet had been his enemy for so long. He’d done everything he could to avoid it; favoring instead the white noise of a broken satellite channel, the clanging of the radiator he’d never fixed, the static of an empty radio station. The quiet allowed too many memories to come through, memories he would have rather left behind when he boarded that plane for the last time. The quiet mocked him and pushed him so far inside himself, he was underwater.  

But now—now there was a kindness in it. The quiet granted him the moments to listen for the gentle rise of your breaths and the hum in your voice. It allowed him a chance to focus on the click of your boots to the sidewalk and the way you said his name like he was something to behold. The silence gave him you.  

And it was ripped away in an instant.

He felt the vibration of it, felt the rumble in his chest and the skip in his heart, before he ever heard the thunderous echo of the explosion.  

No time to react, Bucky shoved you to the ground, throwing his body on top of yours, his arm casting up to shield your face. He couldn’t feel the heat of the fire, but he knew it must be close.  

“Bucky!” you called, frantic, but your voice sounded too far away. His ears were ringing, his heart pounding so loudly he wondered if it could jump straight out from his chest, if it would spill broken and bloody onto your sweater below.  

You called his name again, trying to grab his attention, but it was muffled, like you were calling to him from beneath an ocean.  

He dared a glance back over his shoulder, searching for enemy soldiers, IEDs, tanks, trunks, anything, but he was only met with empty streets, autumn-colored leaves, and brick buildings when he was sure all he would find was dirt and desert.  

Something was wrong.

“Bucky, you’re alright. You’re safe. Focus on my voice,” you called to him again and he felt the touch of something cold on his face. Your hands. Cupping at his cheeks, your thumbs brushing gently over the rush of heat on his skin. He stared down at you, breathing heavy, but you were steady, calm. “Bucky, breathe for me. Come on.”

You took in a deep breath, urging him to follow.  

But no—he didn’t have time. He had to get you to safety. He had to get you out of the line of fire before—

Another explosion.

He flinched as it erupted, wrapping himself tighter around you, caging you down against the sidewalk in an effort to take the brunt of debris though he felt nothing on his back. You groaned underneath him, a slight pain in your voice.

“Bucky, honey.” Your voice was miles away. He could only hear the last remaining remnants of an echo at the end of a tunnel. Your hands pressed against his face again, urging him to look at you. Your eyes were wide as you searched his, full of concern and maybe even sadness, but no fear. Why was there no fear?

“Look up for me,” you told him gently, gesturing to the sky. “You’re safe, Bucky. It’s only fireworks. Look.”

Bucky kept his focus on you. His vision was blurry, a painful ringing piercing in his ears. When you looked up at the sky, tenderly tilting his head to follow, he saw the trail of illuminated sparks against the backdrop of the setting sun as it raced into the sky.  

Then – the explosion.

He still recoiled at the sound as it erupted into his chest, but he kept his eyes focused on the stream of red and gold as it fluttered against the backdrop of deep navies and the peppered brush strokes of fading purples along the horizon, the smoke disappearing in ghosted shadows against the clouds. His lips parted in shock, his breaths coming in a little quicker.  

“No, I... I thought... I was so sure it...” He couldn’t finish a sentence, his mind racing faster than he could speak. He shook his head, staring up at the outlines of the firework long after it faded, the wind carrying it away. It felt so real.  

“Let’s get out of the street, okay?” you soothed, drawing your fingers down his cheeks, smiling encouragingly at him. He nodded, feeling a bit out of it, like maybe he was in some sort of trance.

But then, it happened again.

The firework exploded high into the air and Bucky pressed his face to the crook of your neck, drawing you in as close as he could manage. He was shaking as you ran your hand along his spine.

“It’s okay, honey. I’ve got you.” Your voice was the only thing keeping him from disappearing inside himself entirely. He focused on the imprint of your hand on his back, the feel of your fingertips as you traced the lines on his face. He concentrated on the heat in your breath as it touched his cheeks and the pressed of your body under his.  

“I live close by,” you told him, gesturing to a street off the corner. “Let’s go now, alright? Before the next one goes off.”

Bucky nodded quickly, too lost within his own head to feel the rush of embarrassment seeping into his features. His felt nauseous, his arm shaking, his legs weak and numb as he slowly backed off of you.  

As you began to stand, he noticed the tiny rocks embedded into your clothing when they fell down to the sidewalk, bouncing against the concrete by your feet. There were scrapes on your elbows and a tear in your sweater.

“Come on,” you called to him, extending your hand, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the patch of red on your skin.  

But then he spotted another stream of light flying high into the sky and he reached for your hand, gripping it tight before the firework went off. Even prepared, it made him stumble on his feet as it echoed down into the empty streets.  

“Focus on this, alright? Focus on what you can feel,” you said, squeezing his hand tight in your own. You picked up the pace as you guided him a few blocks away from Luciana’s, further into the residential streets.

If Bucky had been in his right state of mind, he would have thought it was rather pretty; the way the sunset cast a stunning illuminated glow onto the faded brick and the pots of flowers hanging from the windowsills. The fireworks lighting up the darkest parts of the sky in effervescent colors.  

You were beautiful as you tugged him along – hair a little misplaced, leaves trapped in the fabric of your sweater, cautious looks back in his direction as you pulled him by his hand. So beautiful, it kept his focus as another firework went off and he felt the hardened pressure of your grip.

“Go on inside,” you instructed, and Bucky realized he was standing at the door to an apartment – your apartment. He didn’t even realize he’d walked up a flight of stairs and crossed inside a building.  

You were staring at him when he looked at you again and it was only then he saw an ounce of fear in your eyes. You squeezed his hand. “Come on now, honey. Please?”

Bucky swallowed, nodding as he stepped inside. He tried to look around, wanted to know the sort of things you kept around your apartment; if it was littered in as many books as you carried in your bag or if it had the warm tones of the colors you wore in your clothing decorated around your living room. He wanted to look at old pictures on the wall and the stand of DVDs you held onto, even without a workable DVD player, as they piled by the television. He wanted to know so much more about you.

Even in the distance, through the walls and the locked windows, he heard the firework erupt into the sky, the flash of it echoing into your apartment and lighting up the living room, and his whole body winced.  

“Couch,” you told him, quickly kicking your shoes to the mat and shrugging off your jacket. You grabbed a book from your bag and tossed it onto the coffee table. When Bucky didn’t so much as move, you took careful steps closer to him and stilled.

“Do you know where you are?” you asked cautiously, almost instinctively, like maybe you’d done that before.  

Bucky swallowed, though it tasted of bile. He nodded.

You bent down to untie his boots. He stepped out when you asked him to, the slight chill of your fingertips against his ankles as you removed the shoes. Then, you grabbed his hand and led him to the couch.

You laid down with your back pressed against the arm rest, one leg draped down along the back cushions, the other hung over the side. You gestured for him to follow, patting at the space of the couch between your legs.  

“I...” Bucky started, finding the words lost on his tongue. He knew it would help. The pressure, the feel of you to ground him back to reality, to keep his mind from the memories swarming back to the surface, but all he could feel was the emptiness on his left, the shame of a missing piece and he couldn’t stand for you to feel it, too.

“Bucky, please,” you urged. “Let me help you.”

The echo of another firework broke into the sky, the light illuminating your apartment, and despite Bucky’s best efforts, his body flinched.  

He clenched his jaw, desperately trying to keep himself in the present moment, to focus on you and the distant scent of a pine candle on the coffee table, but all he could see was a rush of wind, sand in his eyes from the storm, the laughter of a kid far too young to be carrying a weapon of that size, the low hum of a jeep, a reflection over a hillside, someone screaming, his throat raw and burning and—and—and—

“Bucky? Are you—”

He crawled down onto the couch, sinking you into the cushions and resting the full of his body weight against you. He set his head against your chest; his ear pressed to your heartbeat so he could hear the steady thumping inside, the rise and fall of each breath. His right arm snaked up around your shoulder blades, tucking his hand against you like he was cradling a pillow.  

You were incredibly still for a moment, stunned that he gave in, but then he felt you relax under him. A hum nestled in your chest as you slid a hand along his spine, drawing lines and circles to ease the tension in his muscles. The other swept against his hair, pushing it from his eyes, raking into his scalp.  

You laid there with him like that for a moment, soothing your hands along the tension in his body and humming soft melodies under your breath to distract him from the fireworks as they lit up the night sky. He still flinched, but he recovered quicker, focusing on the steady beat of your heart under his ear and the movement of your hands on his spine.  

He felt something warm touch other the crown of his head, a shaken breath brushing over his hair. Then, the book from the coffee table made its way into your right hand, the clip you’d given him on the first day of book club, affixed to the last page he’d read in the library that day. Resting the binding on his shoulder, you began to read.  

“’When I read the actual story- how Gatsby loves Daisy so much but can't ever be with her no matter how hard he tries- I feel like ripping the book in half and calling up Fitzgerald and telling him his book is all wrong, even though I know Fitzgerald is probably deceased,’” you started, a soft smile evident in your voice. “’Especially when Gatsby is shot dead in his swimming pool the first time he goes for a swim all summer, Daisy doesn't even go to his funeral, Nick and Jordan part ways, and Daisy ends up sticking with racist Tom, whose need for sex basically murders an innocent woman, you can tell Fitzgerald never took the time to look up at clouds during sunset, because there's no silver lining at the end of that book, let me tell you.’”

Bucky sighed, sinking further into your embrace. He didn’t even notice as the final firework took its bow amongst the stars or the burst of applause in the distance, too focused on the gentle vibrations in your voice, the smell of an old book as you flipped through the pages, stealing glances up at your face as you smiled with every word.  

When you finished the chapter, you closed the book and set it gently upon the table. Your hands returned to his hair, carding through it and drawing a hum from his lips.

“You alright?”

Bucky nodded, feeling a little dizzy. He certainly felt alright enough for the numbness to wash away and a steady stream of shame and humiliation to rush in and take its place. Slowly, he lifted himself from your embrace, crawling back against the couch and sitting on the edge of the cushions. You followed him, scooting up against his side.

“I’m sorry.”

Your shoulders sank. “Bucky, please, don’t apologize for—”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this stuff, Y/n,” Bucky sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose. Bile was etching its way up his throat. He’d never felt so helpless, so small, so vulnerable as if he were no more than a child. He was dead weight on your shoulders. He couldn’t put that on you, he couldn’t let you carry the burden he’d become.  

“What if I want to?”  

He dropped his hand, looking over at you to find you watching him with that same desperation he’d felt to keep you safe when he’d heard IEDs exploding in downtown Brooklyn just moments before. You reached out for his hand, putting it gently into your lap when you were met without resistance and began to trace over the lines in his palm.  

“What if all I want to do is be with you? What if it’s all I can think about?” you continued, a low ache in your voice he didn’t expect. You lifted his hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to the knuckles and drawing a shuttering breath from his lungs. “I’d hold you for an eternity if that was what you needed.”

Bucky stared at you in stunned silence. He was a mess, barely stable and breaking apart at the seams and... and here you were, willing to stitch him together with needle and string. You saw a mosaic when all he could see were broken pieces. His lips parted to speak, but nothing came out.  

Instead, your hand made its way to his cheek, cupping at the side of his face. Your eyes softened, flickering down to his lips, the touch of your fingertips grazing over his jawline and along his neck like maybe you could feel every pulse of his heartbeat.  

Could you feel his fears, too? The ones that warned him that you wouldn’t like the broken, disfigured fragments he’d become? Could you tell that he was sitting on the edge of a waterfall with the rush of water under his legs, just waiting to be pushed off the ledge? Did you know it was your hand on his shoulder pulling him back to the shore?

He leaned in closer, testing his courage, until his nose brushed against yours. So impossibly close, the heat of your breath warm against his skin. You stayed there for a moment, waiting, foreheads pressed together, until Bucky dared to close the space between.  

Chaste and honest. Slow and aching. He kissed you and the first touch left him breathless, shaken as he drew in an inhale. You pulled him closer, hands wrapped tenderly on the sides of his face and he could feel your lips curve up into a smile as he turned toward you, wrapping his arm around your waist to hold you closer.

God, he’d never wished more for his left arm to find its way back to his body than he did in that moment. He just wanted to feel you in every way he could, to wrap himself around you in his entirety, to hold you the way a woman should be held.  

You pulled back suddenly, laughing under your breath, and he realized your phone was buzzing on the table. You didn’t move for a second, just staring at him, trying to contain your laughter, and he found himself smiling so wide, it reached his eyes. His cheeks ached a little, too.  

He realized it the moment you reached out and wiped your thumb over his lips, how you handled him with such intricacy and care, how you touched him like he was made of worth, how you looked at him like he was something to adore – he was in love with you.  

You lunged for your phone, still smiling as you brought it to your ear. “Hey Nat, I’m kinda busy right— Oh.” Your face fell. “Are you alright?”  

Bucky narrowed his eyes, his hand setting on your knee to give it a slight squeeze.  

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” you said into the phone, pressing your lips into an apologetic line. “I’ll be right there.”

“Everything okay?” Bucky asked as you hung up the phone. You nodded, reaching back out for him and your hand found its way to the side of his face. You held it there, thumb brushing along his cheekbone fondly before you leaned in and pressed slow, brief kiss against his lips – something so casual, so intimate, as if you’d done it a thousand times before. He wished you’d do it a thousand more.  

“I’m so sorry, but... I have to go,” you sighed, a frown pushing down at the corners of your mouth. “Please believe that I’d stay if it was anyone other than Natasha... Something happened at her job and I—”

“No apologies, right?” Bucky eased, resolving your guilt before you even had a chance to allow it to rise to full display. “You don’t have to explain yourself. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re sure?” You weren’t convinced, but he could tell from the hope in your eyes that you wanted it to be true.  

“Yes,” Bucky replied sincerely. With the fireworks long faded into the night sky and the gentle chirp of crickets beyond your window, the only remaining cause of his racing heartbeat belonged to the woman sitting beside him, the casual touch of your hand against his face. He turned to kiss at the inside of your palm before he lowered your hand into your lap.  

“You could stay here, if you want,” you offered nervously, glancing out to the window half wondering if a new set of fireworks would begin to light against the pitch black of the sky.  

Bucky shook his head, though he smiled for you. “I should head home anyway. I’ve got a book to finish.”  

He reached for The Silver Linings Playbook and held it up in his hand. He had a hard time letting his own smile fall with the way you were looking at him and he tucked the book against his chest as if it could feel his heartbeat. He wondered if you picked this particular book for him in hopes he might start seeing silver linings the way Pat did along the pages of the novel— how you seemed to, as well.  

If anything, you might be his very own silver lining.  

“Come on,” Bucky said, standing from the couch and extending a hand to you. “I’ll walk you there.”

You bit on the edge of your smile in an effort to contain it. It did no use and for that, Bucky was thankful.

[hey-there-love]

Apologize: The Morning After

Summary: Was it an accident waking up in Bakugo’s bed or was it grand design

Content Warning: Aged up, NSFW, 18+, Masc oral receiving, penetration, little tiny dacryphilia, AU, Adult Language, Enter at Your Own Risk

WC: 2.3K

Type: Imagine

Hot. You were unbelievably hot. You kicked your leg out from under the comforter and let it hang over the edge of the bed. The bright sunrise flooded through the cracked blinds, beating down onto your skin. Refusing to open your eyes to let the reality of being awake sink in you remained completely still. That was until you heard soft snores from your bed.

Your eyes shot open, confused on who the snores belonged to until it clicked in your head. You slowly rolled your head over to make sure. This wasn’t your bed or your room. This was Bakugo’s.

Shit!

You internally screamed. You had never shared a bed with him before. Spending the night was more intimate than what you did in the dark. It brought everything into a different light. A light that you weren’t ready to confront.

You took a minute to admire the sleeping being infront of you. There he laid, blonde hair splayed against the pillow and his forehead. His smooth face was illuminated by the sunny glow. Not a furrow or frown line in sight. Slightly parted rose colored lips blew small puffs of air. He looked peaceful, angelic almost.

Your chest felt tight, feeling guilty for gawking at him while he rested blissfully. Memories flooded into your brain from the night before. The dull ache between your legs was a reminder of your actives. You came to the realization that you loved this boy, you couldn’t deny it anymore. You had to escape before you languished in your thoughts any longer.

You quietly sat up and threw your legs over the side of the bed. You were ready to run as soon as your feet hit the ground. You felt Bakugo’s hand reach up and grab your wrist gently. “You’re not leaving are you?” His husky voice rang through you ears. You had been caught.

You turned your head slightly to meet his eyes. His once hard, crimson glare was different. Now they were soft, searching for something. It made you melt. You mentally cursed before saying, “No...just brushing my teeth.”

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and released your wrist. “Proceed.” Bakugo stated. You reached inside your bag and pulled out your toothbrush.

Hastily, you retreated to the bathroom and shut the door. Leaning against the counter you took a ragged breath. Your head hurt. You were aggravated with yourself that you came to your deduction in his presence instead of the privacy of your own thoughts. A place where you could sift through it all and try to make sense of your feelings. As much as you wanted to run, you also wanted to go fall back into Bakugo’s waiting arms and snuggle into him.

You inspected yourself in the mirror, utterly grossed out with how you were presented infront of him. However, you didn’t mind falling asleep in his trademark black shirt and briefs. You threw some water on your face and scrubbed the smudged mascara from under your eyes. While brushing your teeth, you worked diligently to finger rake the tangles out of your hair.

“Oi, hurry up. You’re not the only one with shitty breath.” Bakugo’s muffled voice came from the other side of the door. You flung the door open, revealing the man in a pair of black sweats that hung off of his waist deliciously.

“Wow.” You sighed. He shot you a confused, sideways look. “Your breath really does stink. I can smell it from here.” You grinned and poked the flesh of his cheek.

Bakugo’s face lit up red before saying, “Shut up before I melt your eyebrows with it.” You crinkled your nose in response and moved out of the bathroom. You laid back into his bed and awaited his return.

When the door opened, you were aware that the Bakugo you were used to still wasn’t present. His stance wasn’t rigid like normal, it was light and airy. The tension he always carried was gone. It was different, a good different. He slid back into bed under the covers next to you, his arm slinking around your waist to pull you closer.

Delicate kisses were littered across your neck, tickling you. You bit your lip to suppress your giggles. It didn’t work. “Love that sound.” He smiled and continued to pepper them along your collarbones. Bakugo’s long fingers began to poke at your sides, earning more giggles.

“Stop it, we’re going to wake up Kiri!” You whinned, attempting to grab his arms to stop the assault. This only made him work faster. Your ribs were burning with the pain of laughter.

“Can’t wake someone up if they’re not here!” Bakugo hollered and laid ontop of you, making sure there was no easy getaway. Deciding that you couldn’t flee safely another idea came into mind.

You grabbed his jaw and pulled him towards you, landing a slow kiss on his lips. This halted his actions, instead his hands moved to prop himself up. You bit his lip lightly, earning a groan in response. You throughly enjoyed the noises he made. Maybe this sleeping over thing wasn’t half as bad as you made it out to be.

His hand slid down to the briefs you adorned, toying with the band that laid across your skin. You lifted your hips slightly, not breaking the kiss. Bakugo slid the underwear down your hips to your knees before taking a finger to play with your clit. Hushed noises escaped your throat to his lips.

His finger slowly made its way inside, collecting the slick to bring it back to your clit. Bakugo rubbed back and forth leisurely before continuing to pay attention to your core. He thrusted two fingers in, making your back arch from the bed.

“Your pussy is so perfect, Y/N.” He groaned, pulling down the briefs with his free hand and freed your legs. “What if I just cockwarmed myself for a little while...” Bakugo trailed off as he curled his fingers, drumming against the spongy spot inside of you.

You nodded quickly, before connecting your lips with his. You could feel his grin against your mouth as he slid off his sweats, freeing his dick. You instantly grabbed it and began to stroke his length. Bakugo replaced your hand with his before looking into your eyes. “Can I? I’ll put a condom on in a minute I swear.”

You had never had Bakugo raw before. You contemplated for a moment. You weren’t as worried because you both had been very open about your health and he revealed he wasn’t with anyone else in a long time. Plus, you were on the pill. You licked your lips slightly before answering, “Okay, you can Katsuki.”

That’s all it took. Bakugo began to tease your heat slowly with the tip. Sliding up and down to dampen himself with your slick. He finally aligned himself with you and pressed in slowly. It was a foreign feeling being skin to skin. “Shit, you feel so amazing.” He hissed, sinking himself into you. Pretty soon you were completely filled with his dick.

Bakugo pulled you into a tight embrace and rested his head against yours. Your walls fluttered around him as you adjusted to the new sensation. “Holy fuck, so good.” You moaned wrapping your arms around him, enjoying the new level of closeness. You had never felt more safe.

“Mhm, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to feel you like this baby.” Bakugo whispered and planted a kiss against your cheek. Time seemed to slow down. You tried to blissfully enjoy being in the moment with him, but your arousal grew immensely. You wanted more. You needed more.

“Please, move Katsuki.” You begged, moving your hips to urge him.

“Only for a few.” He murmured, drunk on your velvety walls. His thrusts began short and swallow. Making sure to map out each crevice and rib inside of you. Your whimpers were music to his ears.

You ran your hands through his hair, gingerly pulling at the roots. The Bakugo that was nestled between your thighs was new. It was Katsuki.

You wanted to treat him for once, make him feel like he deserved to be treated like he walked on air. You placed your hand on his chest, lightly pushing him to lie on his back. “What are you doing baby?” He whinned at the loss of contact between you.

“Switching things up.” You responded, straddling his waist. He folded his arms behind his head and gave you a smirk indicating for you to start. You began to leave kisses on his neck, trailing down to his chest. You licked a strip of heat down his abdomen to the blonde tuff of hair, planting a kiss onto it. You grasped his cock and looked up at him through your lashes in an attempt to be seductive.

It definitely worked. Katsuki’s eyes bore a hole in you, awaiting your next move with anticipation. You began to kitten lick the tip gently before pressing your lips upon it. He hissed in approval as a hand reached to the back of your head. You slowly took him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks out on the way down. There was no way your could fit his whole dick in your mouth comfortably so you used your hand to massage the rest.

“Damnit,” Katsuki moaned and pulled the hair in your eyes away from your face. “You look so pretty while your sucking me off.” You felt your cheeks turn red. It was either a result of the compliment or the interrupted air flow. You took a breather, but still toyed with him. The hand that rested on your head cupped your cheek, swiping his thumb across your bottom lip.

“So fucking perfect.” You braced yourself and pushed Katsuki’s cock to the back of your throat, swallowing the majority of his length. “Fuck.” He groaned and pressed your head down, urging you to go past your limit. You allowed him to fuck your mouth throughly for a few minutes. Tears welted in your eyes. Animalistic growls escaped his chest indicating that his release wasn’t far away.

You knew he was about to be pissed at you, but you didn’t care. You quickly removed him from your mouth and straddled his waist again. “What the fuck.” He whinned, throwing his head onto the pillow.

“Would you just be quiet for once.” You said, lining yourself up with his cock. You hardly ever rode Bakugo. He was always the dominant one, constantly pinning you in place and fucking you into the mattress at any given time. You always took it, enjoying letting someone else take control for a while.

You teased yourself with his dick. Sliding up and down his length. “Oh you’re one to ta-“ He attempted to say, but was quickly cut off by you sinking onto him slowly. You bit your lip as you adjusted to the pleasure of him being that deep. “Fuck.” He hissed and gripped onto your thighs. There were definitely going to hand marks later on.

Leisurely, you moved making sure to glide on every single inch. Your hands moved up to clutch your breasts through the thin material of his shirt. You were a moaning mess, it had never felt this good when you practiced riding alone. This was a whole new feeling, his dick dragging against your walls and hitting your spot perfectly each time.

Katsuki looked like he was enjoying the same amount of pleasure. His eye brows furrowed together, while his jaw hung slack. Instead of the grunts and groans that he normally made he moaned and whinned like a little bitch under you. You relished in the fact that you were the one who was making Katsuki Bakugo fall to his knees.

You increased your pace, feeling a knot growing in your stomach. You threw your head back as you gear shifted him. Katsuki could feel your walls clenching, indicating that your orgasm was in sight. He began to encourage you. “You’re so beautiful when you fuck yourself Y/N.” He thumb connected to your clit and began to rub circles. “You take my dick like a pro. Are you gonna cum all over me?” He prodded stroking your clit faster.

You were speechless, you were swirling down the drain. “I’m cumming!” You screamed, seeing stars. That was all it took for Katsuki to take control once again and flip you onto your back, still inside. Your walls fluttered, grasping onto his dick. It made his own release speed up. He rammed into you roughly, every word that left his mouth was dirty.

Your legs began to shake. “This is my fucking pussy.” He growled possesively, “Will always be mine.” Katsuki quickly pulled out and stroked himself a few times before finally unloading and painting your stomach with his seed.

He jumped up and returned a few moments later with a warm wash cloth. Inspecting each area carefully, he made sure to wipe all your crevices and his load from you. He laid beside your silently as he ran his hand through your hair.

You both stared at each other blissfully for a few minutes until he looked down at the mattress. “Don’t make this awkward okay?”

You scrunched your face together lightly. You were obviously confused. Could he tell you had more feelings than what you led on? Katsuki sighed before hiding his face.

“Will you go on a date with me?”

[kohakuarisaka]

Untamed (chapter 3 of 5)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Every year, without fail, Hawks went into a rut: when autumn began, and then again in early spring. He would honker down up north in a secluded cabin. For the first time, he brought you with him.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Non-canon compliant: Hawks’ quirk does not work like this. Reader is a hero that works at Hawks agency. Pre-existing relationship. Reader is a female with female genitalia. Feral behavior. Rutting. Biting. Spanking. Slight BDSM. Consensual sex. Wing kink. Oral sex. Romantic relationship.

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5

[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]

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"Baby," a voice cooed at you while hands gently shook your shoulders, stirring you from sleep.

"Come on. Get up. The sun's gonna be rising soon," he continued, speaking to you softly.

You groaned like a wounded animal and tried to resist the pull to consciousness, hoping you could slip back away and he would cease this assault.

Of course, that didn't happen, and the murmuring and shaking didn't come to an end. You found yourself turning around and groggily taking in the sight of Hawks. He already looked wide awake, gold eyes beaming, skin glowing, handsome face as immaculate as ever.

It made you want to punch him.

"Get up," he said, more so telling than asking, albeit politely.

He had warned you last night that he intended to wake you early; but, that didn't stop you from groaning tiredly, rolling over, as if in protest, before complying with his request, removing the blanket slowly, afraid to expose yourself to the cold.

He had stoked the fireplace before waking you; that much was clear, seeing as it wasn't blistering cold when you wiggled out of bed. It was chilly, of course, but not enough to leave you trembling helplessly.

You realized that Hawks had already dressed himself, boots thumping quietly on the floor as he stepped around the bed. He had slipped on a grey T-shirt, and didn't seem to be feeling cold at all, judging by the lax way he rolled his shoulders, wings jutting out from his back gracefully.

He gave you a sideways glance, an almost untrusting look written across his face.

"I'm getting up!" you hissed at him.

Hawks wasn't expecting that sudden outburst and flinched a little, eyes widening slightly and feathers shuddering behind him. It was a comical sight, if you were being honest. It wasn't like him to be so high strung.

Before you could assume you had upset him, Hawks blew raspberries and turned away, heading for the stairs.

When he walked away, you most certainly did not admire the way his cargo pants hugged his ass, nor the way his shirt was pulled tight across the plains of his muscular back, nor how his crimson feathers looked so beautiful draped behind him.

Hawks didn't laugh when you met him downstairs; but, he sure looked like he wanted to. Here he was wearing some loose, comfortable clothes like it hadn't snowed all night, while you were dressed up in thick pants and a heavy coat with multiple layers underneath, ready to weather the elements.

As soon as you stepped downstairs, you were hit with the familiar smell of coffee lofting about the cabin. You recognized the aroma as his favorite, the one he stockpiled at the agency, that was almost always coming from his office.

He had taken the time to pour you some, as well, evident by the mug he was trying to hand to you with a suspiciously innocent look on his face.

"Seriously?" you laughed when you eyed the receptacle he was offering.

It was his merch, clearly. The mug was black with sparkly gold trim, the pattern matching the chest on his jumpsuit . It was covered in comic book style quotation marks containing, what you were guessing, was supposed to be his quotes.

Hawks watched you admire the cup, looking a little too smug for his own good, and returned to sipping from the very plain mug in his other hand.

"Do you really say these things?" you laughed, not expecting an answer because there was no way such nonsense flew from his mouth in the middle of a fight.

"Aheh. 'I am speed'," you read aloud with a scoff. "More like, 'I do speed'," you teased with a grin, catching the way he almost choked on his coffee, shoulders trembling with laughter.

"Who the hell approved these?" you added on.

"The hero commission, I think," Hawks replied, shrugging his shoulders a little.

The coffee, of course, tasted great. He bought the expensive, high-class stuff, after all. Hawks was the only person you knew who could sleep in the dirt with his visor skewed across his face, without a complaint to be had, but refused to drink anything but imported, specially grown coffee beans.

He was ushering you out the door the second you were finished with your coffee, pushing you out into the snowy forestscape, hands grabby and wings fluttering anxiously.

Before you could shudder and complain about the cold, Hawks scooped you up into his arms, kicked the door shut with the heel of his boot, and took to the sky.

You couldn't believe he was out here without a jacket on. Your fully covered arms clung to him for dear life, shivering and trembling in the cold. He wasn't flying particularly fast; but, the winds felt punishing, ice cold biting at your cheeks and seeping in through your clothes.

You were too cold to really appreciate the beauty of the forest covered in freshly poured snow. The glistening, white peaks sparkled like something out of a fairytale in the dimly lit morning light.

"Come on, babe," Hawks cooed, turning his head to blow hot air right on your ear.

Well, no wonder he wasn't cold. It seemed to make sense to you, then, why he went into his rut during these times of the year. He was generating enough heat to be a transportable furnace.

"If you keep clinging to me like that, you're gonna miss the view," Hawks uttered, so close that his lips moved against your skin as he spoke.

You peeled back from him, away from the warmth you were desperately trying to steal. He hadn't stopped flying yet, but slowed down a bit.

"O-oh..." you whispered, taking in the snowy wilderness.

A few miles past the cabin's backyard was a cliff that dipped down into rolling mountains. He had flown overhead, granting a wonderful view of the many acres of untouched wilderness, towering trees and lush forest landscape over rolling hills and mountains.

But, Hawks hadn't dragged you out here at the crack of dawn just to see the snowy landscape. He wanted you out here right at sunrise for a very specific reason.

He had made it just in time for the sun to peak out from the horizon line, like a giant glimpsing through the trees on the mountain top.

The sun was shining a mystical light across the mountains. The overcast clouds were dark purple gliding across crystal clear, blue skies. Rays of red sunlight glided through the trees while gold laid out across the piles of snow like a glistening blanket.

"See?" Hawks murmured, his flight coming to a halt.

He hovered, fairly high up, wings flapping gently, arms still wound tight around you, holding you close. There was a gentle breeze brushing through his hair, causing the feathery strands to tickle at your cheeks.

While you were looking at the landscape in awe, he was staring at you. The sunlight lit up your face and reflected heavily on your eyes, making them glow like crystal orbs. You had finally stopped shivering, too in awe at the sight to notice the chilling bite of the wind.

He didn't say it aloud; but, the most beautiful thing in the sunrise was you.

He liked to tell himself that the rut was making him mushy, emotional. Surely, powerful pro-hero Hawks couldn't be this soft? But, he knew his rut was only amplifying what he already felt so strongly.

His rut made him less inhibited, surfaced darker, feral desires that lay in waiting under layers of discipline he had spent most of his life building.

Even without his rut, you had a power over him he couldn't deny, the power to break him, to peel back the masks he wore, to melt away his self-control, until he was reduced to a desperate animal.

Oh, but the beauty of it all was that you loved that side of him. You had proved to him that you loved every side of him, even the parts that he tried so desperately hard to ensure would never see the light of day.

Even if he could blame his desires on his mutation, that didn't change that he was an assassin, for heroes, yes, but a murderer none the less.

You-

-you knew that, and yet, still, those soft hands held him as if he was untainted. You purred beneath his touch as if those weren't the same hands he had used to kill.

"Keigo?" you hummed.

Just like that, there you were again, freeing him from the torment of his own mind, a lifeline to free him from drowning in the ocean.

"Thank you for this," you uttered, turning your head to look at him.

God, he was beautiful. His gold irises were amplified by the sunlight, like shiny coins in a wishing well, taking in the sight of you shamelessly.

The bird-like curve of his eyelids already gave him a mystical appearance, now further illuminated by the rays of light shining down from above. The wind was blowing, tossing his already frazzled hair in a senseless dance.

The bright red plumes that made up the shape of his wings looked like something out of a dream. In the sunlight, the feathers glowed magnificent crimson, glowing in sharp contrast to the pale white, wintery landscape.

Your hands, that had been gripping his shoulders during the flight, wove up the back of his neck, fingertips touching the trimmed hairs there. You felt his hands tighten where they were holding you, his arms weaving tighter, as if he could get you closer.

"Do you like it here?" Hawks uttered softly.

His tone concerned you a little, as if he was sincerely worried that you were a prisoner here.

You smiled, replying, "it's the first time we've gotten to truly be alone. I'm enjoying myself more than you think."

His gaze softened at your words. A couple of your fingers played with the soft, short hairs at the top of his neck. He felt unbearably warm there, skin slightly damp with sweat. It was startling, considering how cold it was outside.

You felt the soft brush of his lips and let your eyes flutter shut. He was slow, careful, like he was tasting something new and delicious for the first time.

When he pulled back and tilted his head, you felt the faintest drag of his chin across your cheek, felt the fine hairs of his beard tickle your skin.

He hadn't shaved in a couple weeks, leaving you to see him in a mess than most didn't get the honor of. The normally neatly trimmed hairs he shaved down to a fine patch on his chin were now covering most of his jawline, the same beautiful, pale blonde as the hair on his head.

Tantalized, you leaned in, nuzzling your cheek against his jaw, before tilting your head back and feeling the drag of his soft beard against your skin. It felt good, maybe a little too good, and you failed to suppress a quiet gasp.

When you had pulled back far enough to catch his gaze, you immediately realized his eyes had changed. The calm was gone; now, something akin to a storm was brewing underneath.

It was a look you were very familiar with.

He let out a low exhale, as if he had been holding his breath. Your name fell from his lips, low and sultry, a warning, or a curse, and it made you shudder.

Hawks tilted back suddenly and started a sharp decent downward. Having flown together many times, you weren't afraid. The arms around his shoulders tightened and you let out a soft gasp, but more so out of surprise than fear.

His wings fanned out and took him sharply soaring through the trees at a speed much faster than he had brought you here. His grip on you was almost painfully tight, as if his fingers were trying to dig past the fabric of your clothes to get to your skin.

Excitement made you forget about the biting cold, the forest around you distorted almost violently. Suddenly, the cabin door was creaking and then being slammed shut. You hadn't even seen the cabin come into view. Everything felt like a daze.

He flew up to the loft and dropped you unceremoniously at the edge of the bed. The tumble had resulted in you facing away from him; but, you could feel his eyes burning through you.

"Take off your clothes," Hawks commanded, his voice oddly polite despite the nature of his request.

Just as soon as you started working your jacket off, he was kneeling to pull at the laces on your boots. He was strangely gentle when he pulled your shoes off, less so when he tossed them aside. As you worked your shirt off, he pulled your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop, leaving you mostly bare and cold.

You rotated around and leaned up on your elbows, catching his cold stare, indicating that you were not done yet. You peeled your socks off, feeling a rush of excitement at the look he was giving you.

Hawks usually wore a kind, harmless face, not that it was unnatural, for he truly was a good person. However, most could easily forget or be blind to how powerful he was.

Now, in his gold eyes, that was what you saw, the reality that he could take whatever he wanted, when he wanted. You didn't have to be reminded, for every sparring and training session did just that: you couldn't best him if your life depended on it.

Still, Hawks wasn't that kind of person. He was the kind of loved, often times so passionately that you feared you couldn't keep up.

Even now, when his hands took hold of your waist, his body language dominating, wings spread wide behind him, you felt loved.

An amused sound, like a hum, rumbled out of his chest as he carefully maneuvered you around.

You were compliant, letting him roll you around and push your chest down into the bed. The hand on your back was gentle, but commanding, fingers splayed wide in the space between your shoulder blades.

Instead of nudging your thighs with his hands, a boot-clad toe poked between your ankles, commanding you to spread your legs, which you did with a low moan. You leaned up on your toes, presenting to him like an animal.

The sight threatened to send him into a spiral, and you felt his clothed body fall over you, pushing you down into the bed.

His wings flapped once, sending a sharp gust of wind spiraling around the room. There was a painfully obvious contrast between the soft texture of his shirt and the rough texture of his pants.

He made it very clear, with a roll of his hips, that he was ready to take you. The feeling of his clothed erection against your sex, combined with the knowledge that he could just slip right in without preamble, had you mewling.

"You like this," Hawks observed, the words like thunder as they rolled off his tongue.

He retreated, suddenly reeling back and standing behind you, warmth leaving along with him.

"You like when I just take?" he asked, accentuating 'take' with a smack to the back of your thigh. It wasn't hard enough to hurt, but it did manage to startle a yelp out of you.

"Yeah," he uttered lowly, agreeing with his own observations. "You like being Hawks' little plaything," he continued, almost purring the words.

Your delirious brain didn't really know what to expect next. When you heard a thump, you had no idea what to make of it, until you felt breath on your skin and realized that was the sound of Hawks' falling onto his knees behind you.

He didn't waste any time diving in, lapping a heavy tongue across your slit, from top to bottom. His hands gripped your thighs, keeping you still while his tongue breached your entrance.

If his enthusiasm and lack of grace wasn't enough, the rumbling sound he made was enough to make it obvious he liked it.

You couldn't fathom that your taste could possibly be that good; however, you didn't dare comment, especially not when he was doing things with his tongue that shouldn't be humanly possible.

A rough smack to your behind startled you from a delirious daze of pleasure. You yelped quietly, but otherwise remained compliant. When he smacked you again, this time growling faintly into your sex, it was clear he wanted something that you weren't delivering; but, you didn't know what.

"K-Keigo, what-" you whined, breaking off into a howl when he smacked you again.

Normally, such a touch would have you instinctively shriveling away; however, his grip on you was tight, and it kept you still.

Hawks smacked you again, you helplessly cried out, again, and the sound faded into moans that you couldn't possibly contain with what he was doing. You started to wonder, when another smack was delivered, if he was just doing that for his own amusement.

Eventually, he stopped and leaned back, rising to his feet. His hand slid over yours, large palm practically swallowing yours, and guided it back to your sex. You rotated a little, angling your body to follow his movement.

"Feel that," he gently commanded. "How wet and warm you are for me."

You heard the floorboard creak as he leaned back, clearly to get a good view. You did as he requested, immediately driving two fingers into yourself. Sure enough, you were slippery, walls compliant and squishy, and unbelievably warm inside.

Being ready for him with little provocation wasn't exactly a new thing. You were both very busy heroes and keeping your relationship on the downlow. That meant quickies more often than proper time together.

Yet, Hawks sounded immensely pleased; with himself or with you, you couldn't quite tell.

He returned to the floor, hand brushing your knuckles to push your fingers in as deep as they could go.

"Keigo, what are you-" you began, cutting off when his tongue returned to your heat, right alongside your fingers.

"Finger yourself," he told you, sounding oddly blissful despite the fact that you hadn't touched him at all. His cock was still trapped inside his pants, throbbing against the rough material.

You complied with his request, lacking in any grace or proper friction considering the awkward angle. However, Hawks groaned in approval at the view before leaning back in.

His tongue dipped in right alongside your digits. Immediately, he forced the pace and you were desperate to try and keep up, fingers squelching in and out of your core alongside the slobbery mess of his tongue.

Your fingers couldn't compare, lacking in the length, thickness and dexterity of his digits. But, it seemed that Hawks was less focused on getting you off and more focused on playing with you; or, maybe, you had severely underestimated what the taste of your essence was doing to him.

At some point, he pulled back, grabbed your wrist to remove your fingers from your core, and sucked them into his own mouth. You weren't expecting the teeth, and let out a low hiss when his fangs threatened to pierce the skin, holding you firmly in place while his tongue sucked your fingers clean.

He didn't release your hand when he was done. You heard the floorboards creak as he stood up, felt him tug your hand down, until your knuckles brushed his clothed cock.

"You want that?" Hawks breathed.

His free hand gently spread over the space between your shoulder blades, pushing you down before you could dare think to lean up. Your cheek was resting against the sheets, hair spewed about in a mess. His hand wandered, pushing hair out of the way until your neck and shoulders were properly exposed.

From where you laid on the bed, you couldn't make out the sight of him; but, you could see one of his wings, stretched out, looming predatorily.

"Yes," you replied hoarsely.

His hand glided over the prominent bump where your first vertebrae jutted from the top of your spine, and lowered, setting between your shoulder blades once more, where he held you still.

"Then, take it," Hawks uttered, his other hand releasing your wrist.

You let out a low hiss, wanting to curse him for making such a ridiculous request. You couldn't see his face; but, you sure as hell could feel the smirk he was wearing as he stared at you, watching your handle fumble with his belt.

You doubted it was mercy; but, Hawks leaned in closer, the tops of his thighs sliding over the backs of yours, making it a little easier to undo his belt buckle.

The button on his pants followed, but not with ease, before you tugged his zipper down. You couldn't tug his pants down like this, leaving you to fumble around with his boxers, trying to fish his cock out.

"Keigo, you fucking ass-" you growled, not bothering to hide your frustration.

Hawks laughed softly, sounding a little more out of it than he did amused. "'m sorry," he cooed. "-like seein' you struggle."

The slur in his voice should have given it away, his patience had depleted; however, it still surprised you when he suddenly swatted your hand away. He hooked his thumb on the hem of his boxers and pulled them down just enough for his cock to bob free.

You felt the smooth tip nudge at your entrance, the faintest warning, before he pushed forward and entered your moist heat.

"Ohhhh fuck," Hawks howled.

He gave you no time to become accustomed to the sudden intrusion, immediately pistoning his hips back and forth, driving his cock in and out of you.

One hand pinned your torso, while his thighs pinned your legs, and his other hand gripped your hip for leverage. You shifted your feet, trying to lift up on your toes to better the angle, and bumped against his boots.

He was still fully clothed; and, really, that shouldn't have mattered so much. After all, how many times had he freed his cock from his jumpsuit to take you quick and hard before tucking it back in and immediately looking as if nothing nefarious had occurred. Yet, still, the realization had you feeling dizzy.

Before you could nudge a hand between your thighs, something beat you to it. You recognized that bizarre texture. It was soft, sure, but a tad bit pricklier than a normal feather, with an unnatural, firm touch. The little heathen knew exactly how you liked to be touched there, too.

The wet, lewd noises of your union, skin slapping together, was drowned out by the litany of moans pouring from his mouth. If he wasn't crying out in ecstasy, he was huffing and puffing like he had just ran a marathon.

If you were being honest, he was being just a little too rough, a little too fast, offering you no reprieve. You didn't doubt that he would stop if you asked him to; but, you sure as hell didn't want him to. The intensity of it all had you on a plain of existence you rarely got to experience, where pleasure became blinding and mind-numbing.

His hand slid off your back and onto the bed, grabbing a fistful of the sheets as he set a brutal pace, the kind that threatened to unravel your sanity.

"Fuck! You feel so fucking good," he growled, sounding so out of breath and lost. "Gonna fill you up. Yeah, I am. Want my seed dripping out of you all fucking week."

High off the pleasure, and maybe a little influenced by his own state, you moaned approvingly at the suggestion.

"Baby," he whined, suddenly sounding like he was in pain. The feather fluttering against your pearl intensified, practically vibrating against you with how fast it was moving.

"Need you come, need you to come," Hawks pleaded, the words hissing out from his lips between desperate pants.

You didn't think you could come in that moment. Everything felt so good, from his cock rearranging your insides to his feather flicking at your clit. The pleasure was tingling down your thighs and crawling up your spine. You could barely breathe, let along process a coherent thought beyond Keigo.

The hand that had been holding your hip let go and joined the other in gripping the bed. He arched over you, forehead meeting your back.

"Come for me, come for me," Hawks sobbed.

You realized then, as he trembled behind you, that he had reached his own completion, and he didn't slow down until his orgasm waned. You could feel his seed, like molten lava as it filled your insides.

Hawks was still panting when he growled, "again."

He flipped you over, winding your legs over his waist and somehow managing to keep his cock seated inside of you during the transition. Your arms flopped uselessly above your head. You felt weak, laying there like a doll while he turned you over. Still, it felt good: his cock, his hands, his warmth.

One of his arms looped beneath your lower back and tugged you properly onto the bed. He climbed onto the sheets and followed, dragging you beneath him.

He was prepared to continue thrusting into you wildly and blindly chase another orgasm when your eyes met and he froze up. You could practically see him blink away delirious arousal, the sight of your debauched face bringing him back to his senses.

"B-baby, do you need me to stop?" Hawks offered, the words falling from his lips so weakly.

You huffed out a weak breath and reached for him. He leaned down, letting you wind your arms across his shoulders. Your fingers dipped across his clothed back until you reached his wings.

Hawks literally shouted when your fingers dipped into the exposed seams on the shirt and touched the baby feathers growing fresh from his back. The sound rattled your bones and made you jerk from the startle.

He didn't have to be told twice, obviously, for Hawks continued his thrusting immediately. The slippery, wet sounds of his claim over your body was downright disgusting, and you loved it. Your legs clung desperately to his hips, heels digging into the backs of his thighs.

One of his feathers was still pressed against your clit, now trapped between your bodies. It had stopped moving; but, every time he thrust back into you, it created delicious friction.

Your assault on his wings rendered Hawks incapable of speech. The pleasured sounds he made was almost unnatural. If you didn't know any better, you would have thought he was in pain between the broken, blabbering moans and choked, sharp gasping.

His arms were still wound beneath you, holding onto you for leverage and clinging to you so closely, so tightly, it was almost crushing. His wings were arched up high, flapping occasionally as if to increase the momentum behind his thrusts.

His face fell into your throat, forcing your head back into the sheets. He was burning hot, practically oozing sweat. In the corner of your eye, you could see the red tint staining his ears. You could practically feel his frustration gnawing its way through his body and into yours.

Without warning, you felt what couldn't be mistaken for anything other than Hawks' teeth piercing the skin of your neck. Sure, he had bit you before, even left faint hickies on occasion; however, this was something else entirely, and forced a scream from your throat.

You had no doubt he had pierced the skin, judging by how it burned. He was growling into the skin, holding onto you with his teeth as if you were attempting to flee. You didn't dare release his wings, fingers woven through the fine plumes, caressing the sensitive skin of his shoulder blades, where crimson feathers grew.

The bite hurt, without a doubt, but there was no denying the electrical shocks of pleasure it sent through your body. If it wasn't that, then it was the growls vibrating from his mouth onto your skin.

Suddenly, your orgasm hit, and left you screaming and gasping with a sort of ferocity you didn't think you were capable of. Something that sounded almost like his name fell from your lips at some point. Your back arched and your legs trembled where they rested around his hips.

You failed to realize he was following closely behind you. Your grip on his feathers had gone limp and you didn't notice the way his wings arched up, the tips of the longest quills nearly touching the ceiling. He kept going and going, until he was spent and your cries of ecstasy came to a halt.

Hawks let go of your throat and leaned up, removing his arms from beneath you to set his palms on the sheets. He should have felt embarrassed or ashamed or something. But, looking down at the bleeding bite wound on your shoulder, watching the way your chest heaved with heavy breaths, seeing the tint of red along your cheeks and neck, he felt blissfully proud.

Hawks scooped you into an embrace and carefully rolled onto his side, bringing you in with him and cradling you against his chest. One of his wings fell over you, the plumes stretched wide to hide you from the outside world. All you could see was him, his handsome face, the crimson feathers of his wings.

You were acutely aware that he was still inside you, still somewhat hard; but, his temperature was lowering and his breathing was steadily returning to normal. Your fingers untangled from his plumes and came around to rest limply on his chest.

He lapped his tongue softly against the bite wound until it stopped bleeding before peppering it with kisses. It stung a little and you squirmed in his grasp.

"I'm not sorry about the bite," Hawks confessed lowly, leaning back to look at your face.

"Me either," you replied, offering him a weak smile.

He looked blissfully unaware until you leaned in and sucked some of the skin of his neck into your mouth. Hawks groaned approvingly, laying still until you were satisfied and let go, leaving behind a faint, purple bruise.

You stared at his handsome face, watching the vibrant, red blush slowly leave his features as he calmed down. Blonde locks were clinging to his sweat soaked forehead and everything between the two of you reeked of sex. Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to complain when he looked so damn happy.

Hawks leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss against yours lips. Before he could retreat, you tilted your head and leaned in, not letting him escape. He hummed into the kiss, letting you lead until you were content and departed with a wet smack.

"Just a little bit longer," he promised, fingers gently digging into your back.

"Tell me what you're thinking," you requested, nuzzling your nose against his.

Something uncertain flickered in his gold eyes and his lids narrowed slightly.

"It's not sensical," he uttered lowly, and you felt one of his hands slide around to your front. His thumb lovingly brushed along the dip of your tummy, beneath your belly button. His gold eyes shifted down, staring at the expansion of your naval with dedication.

You both had implants. It wasn't going to happen. He knew that. Of course he did. But, he couldn't help but feel dedicated to commit to the effort, as if it would.

Your hand followed his, spreading over his fingers to press him down gently over your lower abdomen, as if this would be successful, as if there was a chance he would take. The encouragement to put him ease.

Hawks wanted to believe it was the rut talking. Some of it was, his body deliriously driven to mate, to the point that he overheated and arousal pained his core. But, his motivation wasn't purely biological. It was because it was you, whom he trusted with every fiber of his being.

But, he couldn't bring himself to tell you that. You loved being a hero, and he wasn't going to take that from you.

It felt special, being hidden with him like this, beneath his wing, whispering such depravities to one and other, that the rest of the world would never know. You felt safe, in a way that felt impossible. Here, as irrational as it sounded, you felt like Hawks could protect you from the world.

[glazelilyy]

Hello! Congratulations on the milestone! ☺️ Your event sounds very interesting! Can I request Childe + https://s3-ap-southeast-1.amazonaws.com/tz-mag-media/wp-content/uploads/2017/10/23085151/12122014514_e7938dbd78_h.jpg

the picture:

𝟓𝟎𝟎 𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 - 𝐚 𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢

pairing - childe/tartaglia x gender neutral reader

genre - fluffy fluff fluff fluuuuuuff

word count - 451

a/n - i was gonna make this one semi-cracky (as in childe falls overboard and takes you with him LOL) but i was in the mood to make some tender content for our lovely boy so yaaaaay :D also can i just say this scenery is GORGEOUS WOW (also totally not inspired by that one scene from tangled what are you talking about-)

you'd seen the many facades of the famed eleventh harbinger.

the pristine, shining mask handcrafted by the tsaritsa herself of her cold, blood thirsty harbinger of death and retribution where his oceanic eyes froze over like a frigid tundra and the blood in his veins flowed forwards and backwards to collide into each other and form a tornado from deep within him.

the charming (albeit too charming) party mask adorned with glittery sequins and welcoming shades of cornflower blue and muted yellow that reminded you of beautiful sunrises against the horizon of a never ending expanse of blue seawater. with his homey smile and boy-next-door like attitude, you'd never guess of the monsters that raged beneath his skin.

and then, there was the mask he adorned as "ajax". frayed at the edges with chipped, pale blue paint that crumbled off to reveal the cracked ceramic underneath, adorned with thumb-stained finger paints and covered in dulled, faded bits of sparkling glitter. it held the aura of a child's dream long lost to the currents of tragedy; of adulthood, wherein childhood dreams dissipated into thin bursts of smoke and left behind the unmistakable smell of gunpowder.

you had walked amongst his many disguises and familiarized yourself with them for so long, but this particular look of his was...new.

he sat across from you in the dilapidated, cerulean boat where its painted edges had succumbed to the tides of the water and chipped away leaving behind the bare, brown wood. childe's hands gripped yours not in fury, charm, or vulnerability, but in something much more warm and gentle than you'd ever experienced. his eyes bathed you in their mellow ambience; a cool sapphire rather than a dull icy color, or one of turmoiled ocean waves. a thick dusting of red coated the vast expanse of his freckled face, and it seemed as though there was no way to break the tender, loving smile that had been tattooed onto his lips.

the boat gently swayed upon the calm, lake waters, but your heart felt much like a buoy out at sea and childe was the vast expanse of water you laid in.

so you held no complaints when words never met the roof of his lips and slipped past his guarded mouth, nor did you falter in your affection when his lips praised your worth in both hushed, tender whispers and sneaky presses of kisses to any part of your body that lay vulnerable to him.

as he scooped a fuchsia flower out from the water and placed it into your hands with the most gentle of kisses to compliment the gesture, you came to realize that perhaps he was wearing no mask at all.

[sunmoonandeddie]

sunrise

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2,798

summary: He’s not sure what he’s done to earn each morning, but fuck, does he love it.

warnings: There’s a fight between the two but it is in fact angst to sweet good fluffiness <333 also cussing lol

a/n:  Thank you so much to @captswilson​ for commissioning this!!!  I had so much fun with it!!!!!!!

There is something majestic about the sun rising.  It peeks through the curtains in Bucky’s room, little bit by little bit.  It illuminates the desk and then creeps across the floor, towards the edge of the bed.

He’d done his best to organize the room in a way that would ensure you wouldn’t wake up to the sun in your eyes.  His precious girl loved sleep and he was going to make sure you got as much of it as you wanted.

The light has only reached the foot of the bed, and he knows he probably has another thirty minutes to an hour before you wake up.  Maybe two if he can find the will to leave your embrace and fix the black out curtains that are supposed to prevent this sort of thing.

But you’re so warm and soft against him and he’d just gotten home from a mission the night before and there’s a million other reasons keeping him in bed and all of them start and end with you.  He’s also scared to get out of bed for the fear of you waking up while he’s not cuddling you.

There’d been a fight the morning of the mission.  One that had resulted in crying and you suggesting that you be gone by the time he got back.

And he hadn’t said a word.  He’d just left.

“Jamie?” You mumbled as you felt him get out of the bed, despite how hard he’d tried to not wake you.

The super soldier winced as he turned around to face you, to look at your sweet, sleepy face.  “Hey, baby…,” he said soothingly as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Where are you going?” You asked, even as your eyes saw his phone in his hand and the message he’d received.  “You’re leaving?”

He hated the way that your voice cracked and the little quiver in your lip.  “It’s just a quick in and out mission, sweetheart,” he said reassuringly.  “I’ll be back in three days tops.”

You were wide awake then, pushing yourself up.

He’s distracted for a moment by the sight of you in one of his t-shirts.  Especially considering that he knows there’s nothing on underneath.

But it wasn’t the time for that.

“Three days?”  Your voice is sharp and bordering on angry now.  Frustration lined the contours of your face as you stared at him, hard.  “But what about our trip?  We’ve been planning this for months and I finally got the time off of work!”

And fuck, he knew that.  He knew that this weekend was special.  It was your anniversary, and you two had finally planned a trip away for yourselves on one of Tony’s private islands in the Caribbean.

But with the mission call, those plans had disappeared, as well as the plans for the ring box buried in his side of the closet, in a pair of unworn boots hidden amongst all the other pairs of black combat boots.

Bucky wanted to tell you to just quit your job and work for Tony or even just let him take care of you.  You’d never have to work again.

“Baby, I have to go,” he said softly as he tried to reach out to cup your cheek.  A crack ran through his heart as you jerked away from his touch.  “You know I do…  They call and—”

“Yeah,” you said, cutting him off as you stared at him long and hard.  “You go.  You always go.  It’s fine.”  But by the tone of your voice, he knows it’s not fine.

He could always read you.  Bucky was able to tell how you were feeling just by how you breathed, the way your hands moved.  But for the first time ever, he can’t.  He has absolutely no clue what you were feeling.

And that scared that absolute shit out of him.

He whispered your name as he tried to reach for you again, but you got off the other side of the bed and stood up, moving towards the closet.  “What are you doing?” He asked.

“You’re the one always leaving.  Maybe I should, too,” you muttered as you began to pull your clothes from the hangers.

“What?!”  He was full blown panicking then.  You couldn’t leave.  “Baby, baby, no.  Don’t leave.  Please.”  He rushed towards the bed, grabbing the clothes you’d already tossed there and began to hang them back up.  “Can’t we talk about this?”

“Talk about what?  Talk about how I’m never going to be your priority?  How you’re going to keep telling me that you’re gonna retire soon, only for it to never happen?”

Bucky knew he didn’t have a right to get angry at that, even though it was true.  He had been telling you for over a year that he’d retire soon and then you two could really settle down.  Maybe get a dog or have a baby.

And every time you asked, he’d just say it wasn’t the right time.

But he did get angry.  He was human, after all.

“Real fucking mature,” he said with a scoff, shaking his head.  “You know, if it wasn’t for my paycheck, and therefore these missions, you wouldn’t even be living in this fancy apartment.  You wouldn’t have a suite you live in for free in the fucking Avengers Tower in the center of Manhattan,” he snapped.  He was going too far, but he was so frustrated and angry.  Because he did want to stay.  He did.  But he had debts to society that he needed to repay.  “Hell, your little office job wouldn’t even pay for an apartment in Jersey City!  I give you everything, and you can’t even handle me going away for a few days so we can have everything that we do!”

You took a step back, your eye glassy.  “So that’s how you feel,” you breathed out.

Bucky had gone way too far.  He’d said things he’d never even thought before, but it had come out because he was hurting and there came that mean streak inside of him that insisted that he hurt you back.

He shook his head, a few rogue tears falling down his cheeks.  “No…  No, that’s not how I feel,” he said quietly.  “Please…  Can we please just talk about this?  I—”  He was cut off as his phone dinged again, and he cursed under his breath as he realized it was Sam texting him that they needed to leave in ten minutes.

A snort.

His eyes met yours right before you looked away, crossing your arms as you moved to the window and stared out at the waking city.  “We’ll talk about this when I get back,” he said definitively.

But as he headed for the door, he heard you say, “Sure we will.”

He was in a state of constant anxiety the entire mission, wanting nothing more than to call you and explain but now knowing exactly what to say.

What could he say?  He was cruel and mean and horrible, and god, he really wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t there when he got back.

The mission ended up taking seventy-nine hours, and he had worked himself into a tizzy the entire jet ride home.

He stormed down the ramp and into the car that would take them to the city, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for Sam and Wanda to climb in.  “If you don’t hurry up, I’m leaving without you!”

“We get it, you’re excited to go home to your girl,” Sam chuckled as he got in, Wanda quickly following.

She was quiet, and he knew it was most likely because his thoughts were too loud to keep to himself.  There was no way she didn’t know about the fight you two had.

“Did something happen between you two?” Sam asked, glancing over at him as they started towards the city.  “Usually you two are on the phone every chance you get during a mission.”

Bucky’s forehead rested against the cold glass window as he stared at the passing scenery.  “Yeah…  Something like that…”

When they got home, he went straight to your shared apartment, hoping to every god there was that you were still there.  Maybe you’d be at work and you could get that vacation time back and use it next weekend or something.

He just needed his baby.

Bucky’s hand rested on the door handle, his key card in his hand.  He was terrified to go in, and he took a few steadying breaths, just like his therapist had taught him.

What was he gonna do if you were gone?

He finally opened the door, his eyes going wide as he saw you putting away some laundry.  “You stayed,” he breathed out.

“No.  I didn’t,” you said quietly, your voice cracking.  “I left.  I packed all my stuff up and I left and went to a hotel.  But then I…  I couldn’t just leave.”  Tears welled up in your eyes.

“I don’t care,” he said.  “You came back.  That’s what matters.  And I’m here now and I…”  Like the broken man he was, he fell to his knees in front of you and clung to your shirt.  “Baby…  I need you.  I’ll do anything, please…  Just don’t leave me…”

He was surprised when you fell to your knees with him, breaking down as you threw your arms around him.  “I’m sorry I said that stuff.  I love you.  I love you.  I’m so sorry, Jamie.”

Kisses were pressed all over your wet cheeks as he shook his head.  “No, I’m sorry,” he murmured.  “I was cruel and I was lashing out because I was so scared, but I should’ve just talked to you.”

“So you didn’t mean all that stuff?” You whimpered, almost shocked.  “About me using you for your money or whatever?”

“No.  No.  I could never think that stuff.”  He cradled your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours fiercely.  “I was just upset and lashing out and I…  I swear to you, I will never say anything like that ever again.  But please don’t leave.”

You curled against his chest, comforted by the heat of his embrace.  “I won’t.  I’m not leaving, I promise.  I love you so much.”

“I love you more.”

There’d been a lot of crying last night after you two had made up and talked through everything.

And then a lot of make up sex, but there was usually a lot of sex after he got back from a mission, no matter how long he’d been gone.

A smile creeps t across his lips as he reaches down and lightly brushes his fingers against your inner thighs, feeling the heat from the beard burn he’d left.

Sunlight’s crept a little further up the bed, reaching your tangled legs.  Your foot brushes against his calf as you start to stir, your nose smushed against his chest.

Bucky coos softly, caressing your soft cheek to get you to fall back into your slumber.  It takes a few minutes, but he does it.  Somehow, he manages to untangle your limbs and slip out of the bed undetected.  He freezes as you mumble, shifting towards the warmth of the spot he’s just vacated, and he feels kinda bad.  He knows how much you love how warm he is.

But he needs to get something.

He takes a moment to fix the curtains so you can sleep a little longer before heading for the closet.

Everything is out of its usual order thanks to your hasty exit and then return.  Neither of you had cared much about the proper order of the closet once he had you in his arms.

But that’s beside the point.

It’s not hard to find.  He gets on his knees and goes through the line of his shoes, finding the very last pair of black combat boots.  They’re shiny and brand new, lacking the wear and tear of his other pairs.  Bucky reaches into the right shoe and pulls out a small ring box, his heart hammering.

Is he really gonna do this?

Yeah.  Yeah, he is, because he’d been more scared the past three or so days than he had been in his entire life.

He would rather go through everything Hydra had put him through again than ever risk losing you again.  All the torture, all the pain, all the wiping.  All of it has led him to you and god, it was worth it to wake up to your sweet face.

There weren’t girls like you back in the forties, and he couldn’t imagine going back like Steve had.

But he supposes if Steve felt about Peggy the way he feels about you, then…  How could he blame him?

The lid flips open as he sits on the closet floor, the diamonds gleaming in the light.

It had taken a lot of work to get the ring that had belonged to his Ma, which was ridiculous considering it’s his family.

But the Smithsonian apparently doesn’t like giving back items that could be considered stolen property.

It took him threatening to break in and take it by force (as well as a lot of other stuff) for them to hand it over.

He then got it cleaned and resized for you, and it’s been sitting in that shoe for three months now, waiting for the perfect time.

But there is something he has to do first.

Bucky creeps to the bedside table, sneaking a glance at your peaceful face as he grabs his phone and then disappears into the bathroom.  It’s there that he types out his message to Pepper and Sam.

Bucky: I’m out of missions permanently.  I’ll train new recruits and if there’s a Thanos level threat, I’ll jump in, but otherwise, I’m done.  I gotta think about my girl.

He turns off his phone before he gets a reply, setting it back on the table as he climbs into bed, the ring box clutched tightly in his hand.  There’s no space for missions when he wants a future with you, with the possibility of a family, maybe a few little ones running around in a few years.  He can’t handle seeing the fear in your eyes when he kisses you goodbye anymore, or the disappointment when he slipped off to the quinjet.

And he wants to be there for your future.  He doesn’t wanna leave you as a widow or a single mother.  He wants to be there with you for every step of life.

His lips press to your forehead as he gently curls around you again.  God, he could just stay in bed with you forever.

“Jamie?”

Bucky can’t say he’s shocked when you wake, your eyes slowly blinking open to find him already looking down at you.  “Good morning, pretty girl,” he whispers, almost like he’s afraid to break the stillness of the morning.

Even though he’s sure it’s almost noon.

He takes a breath, resting his forehead against yours.  “You know how much I love you, right?”

“Well… yeah,” you say quietly as your nimble fingers reach up to run through his shaggy brown hair.  Maybe you would give him a haircut soon, sit on the bathroom sink as he stood in front of you.

“If I…”  Bucky swallows around the lump in his throat, suddenly overcome with emotion.  “If I told you that I texted Sam and told him I’m out of missions forever…  If I told you that from now on I’m only gonna help train new recruits…”

“Yes?”  You don’t move, blinking up at him with a fond smile on your lips.

And god, he’s so grateful for you and your patience.  You know whatever he’s going to say is important and he needs your full attention.

That, and you’re also excited about the possibility of not having to worry about him dying every other week on a mission.

He brings the ring box into view, his mouth drier than the Sahara as he opens it up.  “Will you marry me?” He breathes out.

A giggle escapes your lips as you lean forward and kiss him fiercely, your arms thrown around him.  “I thought you’d never ask,” you mumble against his lips.  Everything that had been said in the heat of the moment those few days ago is forgotten as he slides the ring on your finger and holds you to his chest.

And Bucky can’t help but smile as the sunlight hits your face, illuminating your gorgeous eyes.  He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve this morning with you, waking up next to you in his t-shirt, but he’d spend the rest of his life earning every single sunrise.

[trulymadlysydney]

a concept is Harry waking you up early in the morning to go drive down to the beach to watch the sunrise maybe in the fall. he’s leaning down after getting dressed to whisper your name, rub your shoulder and kiss along your ear to wake you up. And when you groggily wake up all confused because you know he loves to go for an early swim in your pool, but he’s too bundled with a beanie on his head and a hoodie on his body, and this is a little too early, even for him. But he’s quietly explaining how he wants to go watch the sunrise with you as he lifts your arms to put one of his brightly colored sweaters he had worn last night in you as your brain attempts to turn on. You rub at the sleep in your eyes as he tells you that he’s already gotten your pants, socks, and clog sandals set out for you and, “I’ve already made your coffee how you like it”. And you sigh and nod “ok” with a sleepy smile because he knows you aren’t a morning person but he’s tempting you however he can, and of course you’d go wherever with him when he has a little glimmer in his eyes because he’s so excited for this. You go to the bathroom to brush your teeth, wash your face, and quickly tame your hair into a bun. it’s a short drive down to the beach, and he’s holding your hand between shifting gears. Despite the 15 minute drive, when he glances over and sees your eyes drool and shoulders start to sag in the seat, he places his hand on your thigh and jolts you back awake and of course you swear, “I’m up, i swear” and Harry laughs at the yawn escapes you that’s bigger than your face. Then at the beach, it’s empty, the sky has lightened a lot, and you’re leaning against his chest as you both sat on the blanket he’s brought. And you’re both just talking quietly and when the chilled morning breeze runs through you and shiver, he’s there tightening his arms around you and kissing into the back of your hair that’s still slightly damp and smells like your shampoo. And it’s just sweet and soft, when he’s talking it’s right by your ear, and the vibrations of his chest are soothing and his arms are so warm around you that you start to fall back asleep. And when the sun is finally peaking up over the sea, Harry’s sits up a little straighter and says your name in quiet awe, “look, sweetheart” and you barely crack an eye open blearily making out the swirled oranges and pinks and purples and you hum “oh wow” happily because you just can’t keep your eyes open, but the abstract image you managed to make out made it feel like you’re dreaming. your breathing evens back out and Harry feels you relax more into him and he looks down at you and realizes that you’re sleeping and takes notice of the ring on the finger of the hand that lightly holds onto his arm across your shoulders and how you accepted his request letting him be your forever last night, as he hums a new melody that comes to mind at the moment.

This is the softest thing I have ever read in my life omfg like he knows you’re sleepy so he’s doing everything he can to bribe you awake and he’s just being so sweet and soft with you and it’s so romantic and cozy 🥺🥺

[lantsovsupremacist]

nikolai lantsov: august

@wafflesandschemingfaces requested a piece inspired by august, and i am more than happy to push the august agenda. THIS TOOK WAY TOO LONG IM SO SORRY!!! i hope it’s okay that i worked this in as a part two of “mirrorball.”

happy AUGUST babes! this was originally going to end angsty but i was feeling generous so enjoy the happier ending :)))

he tasted like salt, which had been a rarity at home. with the prices spiking in the cities, the smaller markets in the countryside could not supply even the simplest spice. having reignited the placated desire, you were greedy for more of him.

over the last seven months, you took advantage of nearly every opportunity the volkvony offered. you strengthened your abilities at sea with the careful instruction of the two other tidemakers onboard. tamar’s twin brother, toyla, guided your interest in grisha literature and history.

certain adjustments proved more difficult than others. you were no stranger to early work or rising in a shared room. however, despite the bright flush from the use of your powers, your muscles ached under the strain of the new practice. you found your training to be an unfamiliar yet cherished consistency.

you struggled with feelings of inferiority at first. the other female tidemaker, yelena, was a stowaway from the little palace. disregarding her heavy contempt for the school there, her experience helped you immensely.

peter was also a comfort in his own way. another self-taught grisha himself, it only pained you to hear of his family’s acceptance and attempts to teach him. your family might not have thrown you to the fjerdans but they offered little to help you control the power.

time could not move backwards to prevent your wounds but it could move forward to heal them.

now, perched on the deck beside yelena, you were calmer and more confident than ever before. you watched sturmhond out of the corner of you eye, turning your head in the wind to guide a piece of hair back out of your face. his white shirt billowed in the wind, sleeves rolled up and hands in the air to help dictate one of his famous stories.

“you look at him as if he hung the stars in the sky himself,” yelena snorted, elegantly drawing up a rather powerful wave to hasten your journey south, “trust me, he’ll take the hint and never let it go.”

but for you, perhaps he had. a new constellation, at least. three stars shined brighter than before for you, now visible to the naked eye. freedom, purpose, and opportunity. his gracious offer extended to beyond the imaginable.

“i could never have dreamed of this,” you replied earnestly, lightly bumping into her hip with your own.

“kerch does not have blondes, no?” she teased, exaggerating her already thick ravkan accent.

you blushed, nonetheless, “you’re going to get us off task, yelena.”

she rolled her eyes, returning her attention to the sea with a grunt. you did not miss the small smile that barely touched her face after, however. you would have missed it if she had not adjusted your arm, lifting it higher to create a higher crest.

in truth, you did not mind. you enjoyed observing. from your station at one side of the hull, you had a suitable view of the surrounding activity on the deck. storytelling only happened to be one of the aforementioned pursuits by the crew.

—

the first time was an accident. you nearly ran into him one morning during your second week onboard. the sun had filtered through the cracks in your room, beckoning your rise. you chased the sunbeams up the staircase adjacent to the door and soaked in the warmth they graciously provided.

the sunrise was magnificent. too distracted by the beauty painted in front of you in the sky, your elbow caught the captain’s. your eyes immediately went wide, an apology poised on your tongue. growing up with seven siblings, you were accustomed to making yourself smaller to allot room for the others. what other habits would you lose during your time aboard the volkvony?

“that’s quite alright,” sturmhond replied, eyes twinkling at the pale pink flush of your cheeks, “i suppose the sunrise caught my attention, as well,” he turned his head back, “though, that might not be all that did.”

as the tempo of your heart approached a crescendo, you nodded with a nervous smile. your eldest sister’s experiences with boys were all you had to go off of. your parents were together, yes, but as you aged, you realized that the nature of their union simply secured stability for the both of them. love had been an after thought and a forgotten one at that.

“want to watch it with me?” his eyes were brighter than the sun, more vibrant than the various hues splattered across the sky.

sounding just as much of a child as did he, you responded, “i would love to.”

he waited for no counter, immediately taking your hand in his to nearly drag you up the stairs. his hand was surprisingly warm despite the slight chill in the morning air. your brain fought the feeling of his touch at first, recognizing the pressure of his fingers now intertwined with yours but refusing to reciprocate the gesture.

by the time the sun reached a pinnacle in the sky, shining it seemed for just the two of you, you had given him your hand and your heart.

you let him memorize your story, pausing when he could not remember the order of your siblings. you repeated it until he could. the mornings were filled with whispers and soft touches. you thought he was helping you write a new story—one where maybe, you could have your perspective at the forefront.

—

the pressure of his his knee shamelessly pressing into yours dominated your thoughts. you decided that it would be more disconcerting to slide away from him but each passing moment added fuel to the fire of his warmth. you did not know what to think about the way he made you feel.

“i’m not who you think i am,” the privateer spoke, deadly calm. his tone did not waver, nor did the contact his eyes maintained with the horizon.

you wanted to tease the boy beside you but one look at the frown overtaking his face gave you pause. you felt increasingly uncomfortable, which you never did with him, not even when he first introduced himself. it was all wrong.

“i’m not sure what you mean,” you whispered hesitantly, trailing your fingers in the dust of the deck before they grew too numb to control.

his jaw clenched. his eyes bore into the sea. you only heard the sound of his breath—strangled and uneven.

“sturmhond,” you tried, watching as the wind ruffled his tawny and unkept hair.

“no,” he strained, “nikolai.”

an unusual name but a beautiful name, you decided.

“i-i don’t understand,” you fought to get the words out—battling with breaths instead of bombs, syllables instead of swords.

you wanted to push it all aside for naive hope, content with your pocket of fool’s gold.

“do you remember when we sailed to the outskirts of ravka?” he questioned you, gaining control of the previous shake in his voice.

you hummed in reply, trying to put together the pieces of his puzzle before he realized you had not finished yet.

the blonde looked like he was in pain when he next spoke, “the prince,” he began with his eyes timidly locked on your own, “his name is nikolai.”

contrary to your lack of education, you were clever and thus, able to fill in the blanks for yourself.

“who else knows?” you might have hoped for something more but you were not innocent enough to believe the prince only shared his identity with the girl who had succumbed to his longing stares.

“the twins,” he began with a sigh too heavy for him to carry alone, “yelena. one or two others.”

yelena knew. for some reason, your stomach turned at that. you knew it was misplaced and unnecessary jealously but there it sat all the same, weighing you down like an unmovable stone. a similar pressure pulsed behind your eyes, forcing a collection of tears to your waterline.

he offered an apology with words, but it was his eyes that held the true sincerity, the way his fingers restlessly knotted in his lap, and that even though it was a fight, he had moved aside to give you space. you wanted to believe that everything would be okay despite the change, that it could be, at least.

your heart ached. you never wanted him further away from you. or closer. his body was too familiar now.

nikolai never belonged to you, not really. and even if ravka would inevitably melt his golden heart and carelessly mold it to their benefit, he belonged to the broken country. not to you. never to you—alone.

with that, of course, you could not belong to him, either. a farmer’s daughter who did not complete her primary studies. maybe you did have a claim to grisha power, but you knew enough about ravka to understand that you would be a soldier. you already felt like one, fighting an endless battle between your head and heart. diligence and desire.

“you let me—,” you swallowed thickly, “give myself to you. you made it so easy to be sure.” now, you were no longer as certain in your decisions.

he kicked his feet in the water, unable to carry your gaze lest he lose it much like your heart, “i hoped it could be different.”

you searched for anything to ground yourself in along the horizon, burning your eyes in the sinking sun, “you’ll have to go back, then.”

he nodded, his head bobbing more fitfully than the waves, “yes.”

your did not want to talk any longer because if you did, you were sure that you would cry. you decided that you had, in fact, been foolish. how could you live off of hope alone? your destiny belonged to the fields not the sea.

“okay.”

“okay?” nikolai repeated, voice dancing between disbelief and what might have been anger, unable to remember the next step, “that’s all that’s left?”

“i think so,” you replied airily, turning to brush a lock of his hair behind his ear, “because i understand. i might not want to. well, i certainly don’t want to but—,”

you were cut off and for the blonde boy beside you to do it, you knew he had good reason. he gave you a voice simply by listening, something few had done for you before. your words had been stolen by his lips in the end.

“i might not be able to give you nikolai,” his lips were down turned but now flushed with color, “but i can give you sturmhond. i can give you nik,” he brought your hand to his heart, “that is if you’ll have me?”

you did not belong to prince nikolai of ravka. he could not be a character in your story. but, you could write another chapter. you could change the plot for the better.

you kissed him with as much fervor as he had earlier. he twisted his fingers into your hair, winding a passage to the back of your neck. you curled into the warmth radiating from his side, fisting his shirt before slowly pulling away.

“i can’t believe you’re a prince.”

that earned you a laugh. the laugh you knew you could never live with losing. if you could not have him entirely, you would hold onto anything that could be yours. just yours. for now, the heat of the sun on your faces split wide with grins was enough.

grishaverse taglist: @just-a-human-witha-pen @ilovemarvelanne1 @story-scribbler @subjecta13-thefangirl

[justanobsessedfangirl]

The Sacrifice Part 2 - The Maze Runner Minho Imagine

Request from @elizabeth-brown: hey when your requests will be open can you do 'the maze runner' one with minho. where one day when new greenie was coming up he had letter with him. on it there was written that if they sacrificed y/n they would let everyone out. so keepers decided to vote. most of them voted 'yes' so without any emotions Alby kick y/n into the maze. then minho realized his feelings. y/n survived the maze and WCKED took her. after one year she escaped WCKED and ran into the scorch. Minho missed her miserably. y/n searched the safe heaven. and when Group A searched safe heaven they saw y/n and she was so mad. you can end it however you want either she forgives them or not. and please tag me

Masterlist

Part 1

Author’s Note: Thank you guys so much for the kind words! I really appreciate all of it! :)

Word Count: 3.8k

The sun was rising. You stared up at it as you walked, your cracked lips parted, mouth dry beyond belief. The cloth you’d wrapped around your head was already growing warm. Beneath your long-sleeved shirt and jeans, your body was scarred with sunburns. Your backpack hung heavy on your shoulders and scraped against your back painfully. Still, you kept walking through the sand.

Crumbling buildings lined the barren street. At the end, next to an intersection, you saw one that still had an intact roof. You willed yourself to move faster, but your steps continued in the same plodding manner as before. The sun beat down heavier.

A dry wind whispered past, bringing swirls of sand to flight. They looked beautiful in the golden rays of the morning but cut like glass as they whipped past your cheeks. With a grimace, you reached a weathered hand up and pulled some loose cloth farther over your face, squinting your eyes for protection. The sound of your heavy breathing filled your ears.

How familiar that was. How familiar exertion was. Before you could stop yourself from thinking, from remembering, you saw his face. He was by your side, smiling, goading you to run faster. He was betting you that he could reach the doors first.

“If I win, you owe me half your dinner,” came his playful tease, so vividly that you almost thought it was real. If you let your gaze wander, you could barely make out a mirage of him jogging ahead of you.

What was it you’d said, back in that other life, where you ran the Maze and lived in the Glade and weren’t as alone? You smacked your lips together now, looking for any moisture, and croaked, in a hoarse voice, “What do I get if I win?” The effort made you cough. Stopping in your tracks, you doubled over hacking. You expected to see the worn stone of the Maze beneath your feet, but there was only sand. Knives scraped your throat. You tasted blood.

“You can have anything you want,” Minho responded. You lifted your head, hoping for a glimpse of his face and seeing only sand.

Tears filled your eyes. You wanted Minho with you, right now. You wanted to not be alone. You wanted to not be here, to not have made any of these choices, to not have to keep going and keep trying and keep surviving all because of one promise. You wanted to reach the doors -- no, not the Maze doors, never the Maze doors again, the doors to a crumbling building in a crumbling town in the sun-baked, sand-ridden, abandoned Scorch.

Straightening up, you started for the building again. You reached it in a few long, purposeful strides. The door hung half off its hinges. You slipped inside, shutting it as best you could behind you, hoping that would keep at least some sand out. The inside was blessedly dark. The front room seemed kind of like a cafeteria, with a few tables and chairs and a long counter at the back. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as you remembered the last cafeteria you’d been in. You wanted to spit on this place as payback.

Instead, you walked behind the counter, sunk to your knees, shrugged off your backpack, and curled into a ball. Your head pounded. You squeezed your eyes closed, pressed your palms to your temples, tried to hold back any more tears. The memory of Minho floated to the front of your mind again.

“No need to cry,” you could hear him saying. You could almost feel him tuck a finger under your chin, like he’d done before, and raise your head. “I’m still here.” And then you opened your eyes, hoping to see that cocky grin that would make the whole world would seem a little better.

But Minho wasn’t there. You weren’t in the Glade anymore. You weren’t even with WICKED anymore. You were somewhere in the middle of the Scorch, alone and trying to survive and failing.

With trembling fingers, you unzipped your backpack and pulled out your last bottle of water. It was half-empty. You stared at it numbly. How far could half a bottle of water take you? When you used to run the Maze, a lifetime ago, you never went in without at least one canteen full. Minho had teased you during your first run for taking three. You wondered what he would say now.

“We’ll figure it out together. We’ll get out together.” That’s what he would say. That’s what he had said, right before you went into the Maze for the last time.

I tried, Minho. You wanted to scream it out to the Scorch, let every damn Crank within a hundred miles of you hear it. Maybe Minho would hear it too, back at the WICKED compound, back in the Glade. He said he would find you. You’d repeated his words so many times in your head that they were practically imprinted in your brain. They were like a touchstone, something you remembered for luck and courage.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he’d said.

You’d never said it back. You wished you’d said it back.

You forced yourself to stop remembering and took a sip of water. It was like ice filtering through magma cracks, soothing, soothing, soothing, and then gone, evaporating and leaving behind seething bubbles of lava. You wanted more. You wanted so much more for yourself.

You twisted the cap back on and shoved your water into your bag before you did something you’d regret. Leaning against the counter, you let your eyes close. Fatigue made your limbs heavy, and the warm air settled over you like a blanket. You hoped the sun would be gone when you woke up. Then you would walk, as you had for countless nights, with no real directions in mind, only the understanding that you needed to keep moving or else you would die. Somewhere out there, there was a safe haven.

But in your dreams, there was darkness, and in the darkness, there were Grievers. The Maze walls, dripping with ivy, closed in around you as you ran. Your breaths came short and fast, more from fear than effort. You had no bag, no weapons, just the shoes on your feet and a little bit of hope in your chest. But the Grievers were closing in.

Mechanical limbs whirred, slamming against the Maze floor so forcefully the ground seemed to shake. You whipped your head around, caught a glimpse of them, turned back and ran faster, looked again and saw them even closer. Metal clanged together, the sound of razor-sharp fangs gnashing, slick with slime. A rush of wind sliced past your arm. You tried to move faster, just a little faster, just enough to keep narrowly avoiding the Griever’s claws, just enough, please, just enough to make it to sunrise--

A wave of fire burned a line across your back. The pain was white-hot, so bad you couldn’t keep your eyes open, you were stumbling and faltering and barely moving and the Griever was going to get you, only with your next step you felt nothing but open space and then you were falling and falling and falling.

You hit the ground so hard the air went out of you, and only then did you realize you’d been screaming. A moment of shock passed. Then you shrieked again. Your back burned with pain, but it wasn’t fire, not like you’d thought at first, it was a cut, huge and sprawling and parting the flesh of your back. Blood drenched your shirt. You screamed, blind with pain and fear, waiting for the Griever to finish you off or sting you and send you into a spiral of even greater misery.

Something grabbed your arms, hoisted you up, strapped you down. The Grievers have me, they’ve got me, they’re going to kill me, you thought, even as you felt human hands and heard human voices and saw human faces.

“No!” You caught a glimpse of one of them holding a syringe, a Griever in disguise. Twisting away, trying to avoid it, you let out a scream so loud you thought your vocal cords would be torn to shreds, just like your back, just like the ravaged mess that was left of your back. The needle pierced your skin.

Immediately, your yells dropped off. The people or the Grievers or the Grievers masquerading as people laid you face down on a stretcher. You couldn’t move your neck, or your arms, or your feet, but every step they took as they carried you sent bolts of lightning through your body. Your face was wet with tears, with blood. The jostling stopped. Every nerve in your body rebelled in pain, and then there was a cold hand on your cheek, forcing your chin up. Grinning down at you was the face of the devil.

You woke now with a start, a cool sheen of sweat coating your body, phantom pains chilling your back. Your heart thundered wildly. Acting on pure instinct, you shot to your feet, looking frantically around the room. She would be there, you were sure of it. The devil, with her blonde hair pulled back into a tight bun, her lips painted red with the blood of her victims.

But the room was dark and empty and you were alone.

You untensed with a long, slow exhalation. Tiny daggers still ran up and down your spine, dancing along the scars the WICKED doctors had said they couldn’t fix.

“An unfortunate variable,” the devil had said about the Grievers, “but necessary.”

Necessary.

You spat on the floor, wishing it was her pristine white cafeteria, half-hoping you’d look up and see her standing there so you could strangle her. But that thought was fleeting and your head shot back up in fear, scanning the room again and again to reassure yourself that Dr. Paige was nowhere to be seen.

When you were sure there was no one lurking in the night-shadowed corners, you hefted your backpack onto your shoulders and made for the door. Outside, the desert air was chill and dry. The occasional wind stirred the sand as you walked, footsteps making quiet whispers along the dusty sidewalk. Moonlight paved the way forward.

Goosebumps covered your arms as you replayed your dream, your memories, over again. Yes, the Grievers had gotten you, but not the ones in the Maze. It was the hidden Grievers, the ones who said they were good, and that they were going to save the world, and that you were helping.

“Thank you for participating, Y/N,” Dr. Paige had said. “I’m sure it wasn’t a pleasant experience. The data we gathered on the group’s response to a requested sacrifice will prove very useful, I assure you.” And she’d smiled at you. She’d actually smiled, pointy, predatory canines on full display behind her parted red lips. “The data from your response will also be very beneficial. Thank you once more for your participation.”

You were too shocked. You were in too much pain. The synapses in your brain weren’t firing correctly, still stuck trying to piece together that the sacrifice was some kind of test. An unfortunate variable. “What...what happens next?”

Dr. Paige had already left. Someone lower in the chain of command gave you a nonanswer about your role in Phase One being complete.

“But what happens in Phase Two?”

There was no answer to that question, no matter how many times you asked. You asked when you were stable enough to be moved to your own room, when you were compliant enough to walk the halls of the facility with a chaperone, when you were obedient enough to eat in the cafeteria among the staff members.

“WICKED is good,” they’d say. And then they would smile at you.

You shuffled through the sand. Reaching a hand, which you pretended wasn’t trembling, into the side pocket of your bag, you pulled out a meal replacement pouch with WICKED emblazoned on its side. Even as you ate, you worried. The dream loomed over you like a heavy cloud, and your food supply was dwindling. You wished for a sip of water, just a taste, a small trickle to wet your lips, something to help the powdery bar go down.

You wished you’d started hoarding food at WICKED earlier. It was only when you noticed that change was coming, that the air was electric and the people were alive, that you started to slip items from the cafeteria into your bag. The doctors had stopped ordering you in for blood tests and scans, which they had pretended were for your back, and then they stopped sending you a chaperone. It was almost like freedom.

“Code Green. I repeat, Code Green. All personnel begin preparations for Phase Two. I repeat…” The message came over the speakers while you were in your room, a barebones cell with a cot and a desk. In a flash, you were on your feet, pouncing on the opportunity. You slung your WICKED bag over your shoulders, ignoring the discomfort as it pressed into your bandaged back. Peering through the crack in your door, you couldn’t see anyone in the hall. The lights were flashing in time with the announcement, strobes of green slicing across the walls. Holding your breath in anticipation, you tried the door handle. Unlocked.

Heart fluttering, you pulled it open a crack and slipped through, shutting it gently behind you. No chaperone sitting outside. No guards patrolling. No people at all. You bolted down the hall.

Thinking about it now, as you finished your second to last meal replacement, the perishable food long since gone, you wondered why it was so easy.

Phase One. Phase Two. Thank you for your participation. An unfortunate variable. Unfortunate unfortunate unfortunate thank you for participating thank you for the data thank you for trying thank you for dying. Phase Two, I should have raided the cafeteria will you be in the cafeteria, Minho are you in the kitchen? Where are you where am I why is this happening what is--

Welcome to Phase Two.

You crumpled the meal replacement package in your hand and threw it into the air, letting it fly with the wind.

Minho’s voice was in your head. “I’ll raid the kitchen, the Med-jack Hut, bring us weapons.”

You shook your head and it faded. “I would have done it if you were there,” you said. Your voice was a croak. You cleared your throat and tried, “I would have…” The words floated away. I would have tried harder to survive.

“I tried so hard, Minho.” You thought of your bottle of water, only a few sips left. “I tried to wait for you in the Maze, but WICKED took me.” Grievers and white-clothed doctors and searing pain. “I tried to wait for you at WICKED, but...I think they let me escape.” An unlocked door, no patrolling guards. The vast expanse of the Scorch beyond, and a snippet of an overheard conversation about a safe haven at the end. “I tried to reach the end. But I don’t know if I can do this anymore.” Sand. So much sand. Lightning storms and a burning, vengeful sun, and a throat so dry it hurt. “I can’t do this anymore.”

And still, you walked. Because there was nothing else to do. Because you were a Runner and Runners never stopped. Because you thought this might be another test, another phase, and you wanted to reach the end. Because the mirage of Minho was nearby, talking.

“We’re almost there,” he said. You rubbed your sand-crusted eyes and tried to find him. “We have to keep going.”

Other voices chimed in, pitched low and hard to hear. You hoped you could hallucinate Newt, too, and maybe Zart and Frypan, who had tried to help, had tried, just like you tried. You moved faster, feet cleaving through drifts of sand.

“There it is!”

You missed the sound of an excited Minho. You remembered the first time he’d had a little too much to drink at a bonfire, and he’d picked you up and twirled you around. You’d never smiled so much.

The memory used to be good, then it turned painful, and now you were just numb.

You kept walking. Around you, the city was fading into sand. Ahead stood a tall dune. You wanted to stop and stare and convince yourself to turn around. But you kept walking. Behind the dune, you’d see Minho and Newt and Zart and Frypan and maybe even Alby, and maybe you would forgive Alby, or maybe not, but you would still see him because everyone would be there.

You boot punched a hole into the sand dune, sending streams of gritty yellow dust cascading down the slope. Stepping forward again, you sunk into sand up to your mid-calf. Again and again, and then you stumbled and fell in up to your elbows, and still, you crawled.

“We can do this,” Minho said, from somewhere above or behind or by your side. He was climbing with you, barely out of sight. His playful grin was audible.

“Bet I can beat you to the top,” you said before he could.

“What do I get if I win?” he asked.

You smiled and there were tears in your eyes and sand on your cheeks. “You can have anything you want.” And you climbed higher.

“I want you to say it back. Please say it back, Y/N. Please.” His voice was fading. You were leaving him behind as you neared the top.

Sand burrowed into the lines of your face, past the seams of your clothes, finding every nook and cranny of your body to hide in. It was in your mouth, your ears, your eyes. You struggled to breathe. Your head felt as light as a cloud. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you finally promised as you reached the empty crest. Still on hands and knees, you peered over the other side of the dune. The slope was empty. Everything was empty.

You rolled onto your back, eyes shut against the fading night sky. Your arm bumped against something stiff. Reaching a hand out blindly, groping for it, you came back with a stick. You looked at it through squinted eyes. Atop the stick was a flag, and on the flag in big, thick letters, the same font WICKED used for everything, were the words, “Safe Haven.”

You laughed. The bitter chuckle was alone in the Scorch. Overhead, the sky was lightening, and soon you would be alone in the daylight of the Scorch, alone in the Safe Haven.

Shrugging your backpack off, you reached inside for your water and the last of your food. The bottle was empty. You didn’t remember finishing it, but you figured you must have. You chucked it to the side, listening as it rolled down the sand dune. You wouldn’t need that anymore. The air grew warmer as dawn approached and you opened your last meal replacement. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you could hear voices. You wondered if you were going crazy, decided you didn’t care because you had tried Minho I really tried I’m sorry please promise me I’ll see you tomorrow please don’t let it end like this please.

You took a bite of the crumbling meal replacement bar and immediately spit it back out. It had soaked up the last bit of moisture in your mouth. You tossed the package to the side, where you’d abandoned your water and your will.

The sky grew pink and orange and yellow, and, finally, there was the sun, high in the sky, and you had no idea how much time had passed while you stared, and you didn’t care. There was no further destination in mind. This was it. And with the sun up there and you down here, you hoped that maybe this wouldn’t count as dying alone.

“There it is!” Minho again. Funny how he kept saying that. And then the voices of the other Gladers chimed in again. You wondered if you would keep replaying that moment until you finally passed. You wondered how it would feel. You wondered if there was water on the other side.

The sand rushed down the sides of the dune in waterfalls. You could hear it, even if you didn’t have the energy to look. It sounded like a whisper. Beneath the whisper was the panting of a group of people.

Runners, you thought. All of the Runners before and all of the Runners after, coming to take me away. Would Minho be among them? Was he dead, like you and like those sad souls who’d been killed by the Grievers (An unfortunate variable, but necessary) and all of the people who’d gotten the Flare, which you barely understood because no one had answered any of your questions?

Why is this happening and where am I going and what do I do and how did I get here and when can I go home, please bring me home, I want to go home and I want to see Minho one last time because I never promised him back and I should have.

“Y/N?”

Minho. You didn’t have the energy to speak or even open your eyes to see the hallucination.

“Y/N!” Feet pounding against sand, then hands on your arms, looping around your back, pulling you close and shielding you from the sun. “Wake up, Y/N. Clint!”

No, Clint wasn’t supposed to be here. Clint had voted for you to be sent into the Maze. You were pretty sure you used to hate him for that, but hate took so much energy, and you just wanted to pretend Minho was holding you until you didn’t have to think anymore.

The people nearby talked unintelligibly, oscillating between murmurs and gleeful shouts. There was cotton in your ears and a blindfold over your eyes and strong hands on your back, propping you up. Then there was a splash of water on your face and the world opened up again.

There was Minho. Better than in your memories, because he was here, in full color, so perfect you needed to squint. He was on his knees and holding you. Above, Clint was pouring water over your head. All around you were Gladers.

“Minho?” you croaked, although there was no question who it was. Dark brown eyes, now filled with tears. Full lips curved up in a smile. Scatters of freckles across his cheeks. Minho.

Minho nodded and pulled you into a hug. “I thought…” he trailed off. Then he laughed, a sound so bright and so happy that the water on your skin felt a touch cooler, the sun on your shoulders a shade dimmer. “I should’ve known you’d survive.”

“There’s no safe haven,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue.

Minho shook his head, still buried in your neck. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Smiling, you pressed a hand to his cheek, coaxing him to look at you. When he did, you leaned in and finally felt at home.

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

Author's Note: I wanted to put a longer, more serious note at the end instead of the beginning so I wouldn't deter any newcomers from reading. I just wanted to say thanks to everyone for letting me try out this style! I'm not very happy with how this turned out but it was good practice. Hopefully, I can use this experience and write better pieces in the future. Thanks again for letting me experiment and for the encouragement. And my requests are always open :)

Tag List: @officialfictionalwreck @elizabeth-brown @newtsgirl-hehe @jjjmaybank @adoregin

[gamergirl929]

It Was A Dark And Stormy Night... (Tobin Heath x Reader)

Outside, a storm rages wildly, it’s lightning stirring you from your slumber, at least that’s what you think until you hear soft cries coming from a room away, soft cries coming from Carter’s, Tobin’s daughter’s, room.

The lightning outside cracked loudly, illuminating the room with a sudden blinding light, loud enough and bright enough that it had woken you from a deep slumber.

It’s moments later that you realized it hadn’t been the storm that woke you, but a soft cry coming from a few rooms over.

You glance at Tobin, quickly realizing that she’s fast asleep, which was in no way surprising when you consider how hard she’d been practicing since her return to the USWNT.

You slip out of bed slowly as to not wake the exhausted woman, before you tiptoe down the hallway towards Carter’s room.

The second you enter you frown realizing the little girl had tried to somehow escape her crib, but was unsuccessful.

“Shhhh.” You coo. “It’s okay Y/N Y/N's here.”

Her bottom lip trembles as the little girl reaches for you.

“Y/N Y/N.” She cries burying her face in your chest as you pick her up.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you.” You whisper as you bounce on your heels, the toddler’s cries tapering off.

She sniffles as she nuzzles into your neck, the little girl whining softly.

“Mommy?” She asks quietly and you frown, running a gentle hand down her back.

“Mommy’s REALLY, REALLY sleepy.”

Another crack of lightning makes the pair of you jump, the little girl in your arms crying against your neck.

“Come on, Y/N Y/N’s got you, no tears.” You whisper as you, place her back in her crib, Carter staring up at you with a trembling bottom lip.

Slowly, and cautiously you step over the crib’s side, the little girl clambering on top of you as you attempt to get comfortable, or at least something close to it.

You wrap your arms around the toddler who buries her face in your chest, the tiny girl sniffling softly.

An even louder crack of lightning makes the little girl gasp, her hands covering her ears.

“Scary.” She whines and you frown, your hold on her tightening.

“I’ll protect you.” You smile softly, ducking down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“I wuve you Y/N Y/N.” She whispers against your neck as she buries her face in it and you smile.

“I love you too.”

                                                           ***

Tobin wakes the following morning with a lengthy groan, her arms stretched high above her head. She rolls towards you, though when she finds the bed beside her empty she frowns.

Her hand runs along the sheets, sheets that are now cold to the touch, lacking the heat she thought you would’ve left behind when leaving bed to make breakfast, as you usually had.

Reluctantly she leaves the warmth beneath the bed’s covers to tiptoe across the bedroom and out into the hallway, wondering where exactly you could be, meanwhile, outside the rain is still falling heavily.

She comes to a stop outside of her daughter’s room, her brows furrowed.

Had Carter woken during the night?

Tobin gives the door a little push, the frown that had been adorning her face immediately falling away when she sees you.

Carter’s lips smack together as she wiggles closer, her tiny hands holding fistfuls of your tee-shirt as you hold her securely to your chest.

Carter shifts slightly and almost immediately you move in your sleep, holding the sleeping toddler securely to your chest.

Tobin tiptoes to the crib, her heart swelling in her chest when you smile in your sleep.

She sinks to her knees, her chin resting on top of her folded hands that are resting on the crib’s edge as she stares at you with glassy eyes.

Brown orbs dart from your sleeping face to Carter’s, her brown orbs hidden behind her shut eye lids.

Tobin reaches into the crib, her fingertips dragging against Carter’s cheek.

“I love you both so much.”

She then turns her attention to you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

She traces your jawline, chuckling when your nose scrunches up in your sleep.

Slowly, your eyes flutter open, your brows furrowing as you take in your surroundings.

You smile tiredly when you realize Tobin’s knelt at the crib's side.

“Hey.” You rasp, voice rough from disuse.

Tobin grins.

“Hey.”

You shift, your arms still securely wrapped around Carter.

“Sleep well?” You ask, your eyes fluttering shut.

You were exhausted, you hadn’t actually slept until the sunrise, wanting to make sure the little girl in your arms wasn’t scared of the rumbling outside.

“I did.” Tobin reaches into the crib, the woman tracing the bags beneath your eyes.

“Doesn’t look like you did.”

You shrug.

“Someone had to protect Carter from the storm last night.”

Tobin’s brows arch.

“It stormed?”

You snort.

“Yeah, you were just dead asleep.”

The tiny body in your arms begins to stir, sleepy brown orbs fluttering open.

“Y/N Y/N?” She says sleepily and you grin.

“Y/N Y/N’s here.”

Carter turns her head, grinning when she sees Tobin.

“Mommy!” She squeals, holding her tiny arms out to her.

You pout as Tobin takes the little girl.

“I’ll take it from here. Go get in bed.” Tobin leans down, pressing a kiss to your lips.

“I’m fine.”

You chase her lips, stealing another, lengthier kiss.

You yawn as she pulls away, the forward giving you a pointed look.

You hold your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, just give me a sec.”

Tobin grins ducking down to kiss the top of your head.

“I’ll check on you in a bit.”

You hum, Carter giving you s smile before she blows you a kiss.

“Night Night.”

You chuckle.

“Love you Car Car.”

“Wuve you.”

Tobin reluctantly heads out of the room, wishing the three of you could curl up in bed together, but Carter needed breakfast and you needed sleep.

Tobin came to check on you, not finding you in the bedroom you shared, but still in Carter’s crib, fast asleep.

Tobin smirks as she snaps s picture of you.

“The team will love this.”

A growl sounds from the crib, your bloodshot eyes cracking open.

“Don’t you dare.”

Tobin bites her tongue between her teeth, the woman sending the picture to the USWNT’s group chat.

“Too late.”

You whine, turning away from the woman, your eyes fluttering back shut.

“Still love me?” She asks and you smile.

“Always.”